#my phone HATES vibrancy

[vivitur-moritur]

what's this? fanart for @nyoomerr's fic speak your mind (not that much!) ? Again? Yes! I love that fic with all my heart and soul. You should go read it! And leave a kudos & comment because it's amazing and the author deserves everything.

Anyway, this took me around 14 hours total T^T. INSANE. 9 & 1/2 of those hours were on the first page, which is wild to me, because I drew it second & very nearly decided to do just the second page. If I had to guess the culprit, it would be THE HANDS. I HATE DRAWING HANDS. Also, the sketches this started out as under the cut! (Also also, tumblr is MURDERING my vibrancy & resolution what is going onnn)

So I actually drew this on paper, originally, because I was doing it during a series of lectures & didn't have my tablet, and it started out formatted a bit differently.

The second of these is my planning page, so the sketches there are ROUGH. Also, at the time I was drawing this, I’d literally never done a comic before.

Anyway, after that, I started digitizing the second page, but I decided I didn’t like the arrangement of it. So because it’s easier to sketch layouts on paper, that’s what I did! Twice.

And so I got that done, and digitized it, and I then started messing around with the first page. You know, the one I completely skipped working on for no apparent reason.

This is how I planned it out, on the notes app, on my phone, drawing with my finger. (At 1:25 in the morning. Y'know, like a normal person!)

And then I spent forever drawing, a final version and now I'm here! I know this is kinda weirdly long for an art post, sorry about that. I just think it's cool to see the full weird process! Weird because usually my pieces don't go through so many mediums and revisions before the final version.

[pandenewie]

39 - Do-over Date

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AN: This is the second to last chapter :(( I don't want it to end

If you had told Y/n at the start of the year that they’d be dating Jungwon in just a few months time, they’d laugh in your face and remind you that they hate him… Well life works in funny ways because as Y/n’s eyes land on Jungwon’s slouched figure, hate is the last word that comes to mind.

“How many times do I have to tell you to sit up straight?” Y/n playfully scolds once they’re in earshot. Jungwon immediately turns around to greet them, his eyes narrowing as he takes in their outfit. “And how many times do I have to tell you not to break the dress code… they literally changed it for you and you’re still rebelling.” Jungwon replies, tugging on the hem of Y/n’s shirt for added effect. “Where’s the fun in that?” Y/n pouts. They catch Jungwon’s hand before he can pull away and place it on their hip - his second hand quickly mirroring the action on the other side. Wrapping their arms around his shoulders, Y/n steps closer to minimise the space between them. “And besides, I know you love my outfits.” Y/n teases, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his nose.

They take note of the subtle blush that makes home across his cheeks. All this time, and some simple teasing still has this effect on him. "I love you not getting in trouble a little more…" Jungwon mumbles, his attention being pulled from the conversation to focus solely on Y/n's lips. Y/n takes note of this and can't help the smile that spreads across their lips. They bring a hand up to gently tussle Jungwon's red locks - that are already beginning to lose their vibrancy, before pulling away to sit down next to him.

"So, what are we working on today?" Y/n asks, their head immediately taking its place on Jungwon's shoulder. "Well, I'm working on some stuff for prom… I don't know what you're doing." Jungwon says, his words causing Y/n to playfully roll their eyes. "Distracting you, probably." They mumble, pressing a few small kisses against the skin of Jungwon's neck. One of Jungwon's arms moves to wrap around Y/n's waist - pulling them impossibly closer. "My favourite distraction." He whispers, leaning down to press a kiss against the top of Y/n's head before turning his attention back to his open laptop.

His words have more of an effect on Y/n than they'd like to admit. They bury their head further into the crook of his neck - an attempt to hide the reddening of their cheeks. His favourite distraction? That’s certainly something they could get used to hearing.

“How long are you gonna be working on this?” Y/n mumbles. “Bored already?” Jungwon jokes, causing Y/n to playfully nudge him. “That’s not what I meant.” They roll their eyes. “But you did promise that we were going to go on an actual date after this… not one just in the school library.”

Jungwon looks down at Y/n with an expression they can’t quite pin. Apologetic? Pity? “I’m sorry babe… just let me finish this one thing and then we’ll go, okay?” Jungwon asks - pressing yet another kiss to Y/n’s head. To say it’s been a little tough balancing his time between his school work and his relationship would be an understatement. Although he’s been working on not overloading himself as much as he used to, he still has a lot of responsibilities that need his attention. This means, most of the “dates” that he and Y/n go on are either in the school library, the public library, or at each other's houses. He knows that Y/n doesn’t actually mind this but part of him can’t help but feel bad for not being able to do things like all the other couples at school.

Sighing, Jungwon pulls out his phone and sends a quick text to Wonyoung, saying he’s got the planning started for prom and asking her to look over it. That gives him a couple of hours to spend with Y/n and Y/n only.

Speaking of Y/n, their attention is grabbed as Jungwon quickly turns off his laptop and starts placing it in his bag. “What are you doing?” Y/n asks. “We’re going on a date, remember? I’m done for the day.” He replies, smiling at Y/n. They narrow their eyes at him, not completely believing his story. “You better not be blowing off work for me. I know I said I wanted you to work less but I don’t want you throwing away all your responsibilities.” Y/n scolds, pointing a finger accusingly to his chest. Jungwon takes the finger gently and intertwines their hands. “I need Wonyoung to look over what I’ve done so far and she’ll be busy till later tonight, which means you have me all to yourself for the rest of the day.” Jungwon clarifies.

All to themself? Now Y/n likes the sound of that.

“You know, I’m kind of getting flashbacks to camp right now.”

“What do you mean?”

“That was the last time you covered my eyes and ominously led me somewhere.”

“It’s not ominous! It’s romantic.”

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Jungwon playfully rolls his eyes at Y/n’s comments as he leads them through the park. Once he gets to the spot, he moves Y/n to stand against a tree. “Okay, keep your eyes closed until I tell you to open them.” Jungwon says, brushing some of Y/n’s hair out of their face before fully stepping away.

Y/n can hear movement and the subtle sound of Jungwon mumbling to himself. How badly they want to open their eyes and see what he’s up to but they know that would ruin the surprise - whatever it is. They’ve learnt that Jungwon has a knack for this sort of thing, and the last thing they want to do is ruin it for him.

Y/n jumps slightly at the sound of something dropping, followed by a mumbled curse from Jungwon. “What are you doing?” Y/n laughs. “Nothing, everything is under control.” Jungwon says, mildly out of breath. “You can open your eyes now.”

Y/n doesn’t hesitate to rip their hands from in front of their face, their eyes landing on the scene in front of them. Jungwon sits, wide smiled, on a checkered blanket - a picnic basket placed at his side. The basket is practically overflowing with Y/n’s and Jungwon’s favourite foods and there’s a few candles placed strategically around the blanket (that Y/n recognises from Jungwon’s bedroom).

“What’s all this?” Y/n asks, in awe. From what they remember, today isn’t a special occasion or anything. They’ve only been with Jungwon for about a month (not counting the whole fake dating part) and it’s not either of their birthdays. Are they missing something?

“I just wanted to do something nice for you… I feel like I’ve been kind of a shitty boyfriend recently.” Jungwon says, causing Y/n’s eyes to widen. “Are you kidding? Babe, you’ve been amazing!” Y/n exclaims, kneeling in front of Jungwon. “I wanted to give you a real date… one that isn’t just watching me do work.” He mumbles, looking down nervously. Noticing his mood, Y/n gently cups Jungwon’s cheeks and presses their lips against his. “I love it.” They mumble, pecking his lips over and over again until they both break out into wide smiles.

“Okay, what did you bring? Give me a haul!” Y/n claps excitedly as Jungwon reaches into the basket to show off all the food he got. He probably went overboard, given the fact that it’s just the two of them but he wanted to make this date perfect. Y/n’s reactions grow in enthusiasm with every item that Jungwon pulls out, causing his heart to flutter with happiness. Judging by the excited glimmer in Y/n’s eyes, he can tell that his hard work paid off. He’s gonna make this a date to remember.

The sun begins to set behind the trees surrounding the park, casting an orange glow across the grassy plain. The other couples and families that were scattered around slowly begin to pack up and go home, leaving Y/n and Jungwon as some of the few people left.

“It’s really nice out here.” Jungwon mumbles, his eyes slightly closed as he lays his head on Y/n’s lap. Their hand gently moves through his red strands, watching fondly as Jungwon relaxes under their touch. “It is, I feel like I could stay here for hours.” Y/n replies, quietly.

Despite being in public, the lack of people around makes the whole setting feel very private. Glancing around the park and not seeing anyone nearby, Y/n quickly dips down to capture Jungwon’s lips in a kiss - catching the boy off guard. Jungwon squeaks slightly at the sudden contact but kisses back nonetheless. “What are you doing?” He mumbles between kisses, his voice slightly muffled by the continuous pressure of Y/n’s lips. “Loving you.” Y/n mumbles back.

The words seem to almost float through the air as Jungwon gazes up at Y/n. It’s as if his brain has short circuited. Before Y/n can say anything else, Jungwon quickly sits up and connects their lips once again, pulling Y/n against him with even more passion and urgency than before. Y/n’s hands quickly find themselves cupping Jungwon’s jaw, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. Jungwon can’t help but lean closer and closer to Y/n, wanting to be as close as possible. His movements cause Y/n to fall backwards, the two pulling away momentarily as giggles escape both their lips. Jungwon slips one of his hands underneath Y/n’s head, cushioning it from the hardness of the ground whilst the other gently grips their chin, pulling them back into the passionate kiss.

“Jungwon, Y/n!”

The two quickly pull away from each other at the sudden call of their names. They look around to see Niki, Jongseob and Shota running towards them. “Oh, shit. Were you guys making out? Sorry.”

Jungwon rolls his eyes at Jongseob’s words, helping Y/n sit up and fixing their tousled hair. “What are you guys doing here?” He asks, looking at his friends slightly annoyed. He loves them but god, can they be oblivious. Who sees their two friends practically on top of each other and decides to approach? “We were at the playground.” Niki says, only adding to Jungwon’s confusion. “What are you guys doing at a playground?” He asks. “Playing… duh.” Shota clarifies.

“Is that watermelon?” Niki asks, excitedly pointing towards the picnic basket. He immediately sits down and begins rummaging through the basket. “Riki, maybe we shouldn’t-” Jongseob begins to speak but gets cut off by Y/n giving him the go ahead. “We have too much food, anyway. You guys can have some.” Y/n smiles.

Jungwon is conflicted as he watches his friends sit down and start to eat. On one hand, he loves watching Y/n and his friends get along - and knowing that Y/n wants to share their food and spend time with them makes his heart flutter. But at the same time, this was supposed to be a picnic for him and Y/n alone. He can’t help but pout at the fact that his friends have shown up and invited themselves.

Taking note of his pout, Y/n can’t help but smile at their boyfriend’s cuteness. They reach over to grab his hand and give it a reassuring squeeze, silently promising that they’ll handle it. Once the other three boys have had something to eat, Y/n ushers them away - claiming that the playground would be much more fun than sitting here with them and Jungwon. Deep down, it’s just an excuse to get Jungwon all to themself once again.

Once the boys leave (not without pulling extreme kissy faces), Jungwon lets out a sigh of relief. “I thought they’d never leave.” He mumbles, leaning his head on Y/n shoulder. They bring a hand up to run through his hair, laughing slightly at his comment. “I could tell, you were pouting.” Y/n says. “Because they were stealing your attention.” Jungwon mumbles. “Well, we can’t have that.” Y/n replies, jokingly. 

Jungwon moves to sit in front of Y/n and opens his arms. Rolling their eyes, Y/n carefully climbs into his lap and secures their arms around his neck, causing Jungwon to tilt his head up to look at them. “You’re supposed to be spending time with me…” Jungwon mumbles, leaning forward to press a kiss against the corner of Y/n’s lips. “Not them.” Y/n can’t help but giggle in response. “Never knew you were this possessive.” They comment. “Not possessive just…” “Clingy?” Y/n cuts Jungwon off with a teasing smile, causing him to look at them with a deadpan expression. 

Just as Y/n begins to laugh, Jungwon tightens his arms around their waist as much as possible - causing them to let out a squeal laugh as he squeezes them in his grasp. “Babe! You’re gonna kill me.” Y/n whines, their laughter increasing as Jungwon begins to shake them back and forth. “What? I’m just being clingy.” Jungwon teases back, earning a groan in response. “Okay, okay! I'll take it back, you’re not clingy.” Jungwon releases his grip at Y/n’s words, causing them to let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

It falls silent between the two for a second as Y/n catches their breath. Jungwon just sits there, watching with fondness as Y/n adjusts their hair - a small pout spread across their lips at Jungwon’s playing around.

“How long have we been together?”

The question causes Y/n to look at Jungwon with confusion. Where is this coming from? 

“Uh… counting the fake dating or…?” Jungwon nods at Y/n’s words. “Then… 3 months? Maybe 4?” Y/n’s voice trails off as they try to remember when exactly this whole thing with Jungwon started. They have to admit, things moved so quickly that it’s hard to determine an exact start.

“Why do you ask?” Y/n asks, causing Jungwon to shrug. “Don’t worry about it… it’s too soon.” Jungwon mumbles, Y/n’s ears perking up at the mention of too soon. “Wonnie,” Y/n mumbles, a slight whine to their voice. They press a gentle kiss to his lips, as if to convince him to share what’s on his mind. “You can talk to me.”

Jungwon sighs before looking up at Y/n. His eyes glimmer slightly as the two hold eye contact, pupils pooling with admiration as well as fear. “I just think… that I might be falling in love with you.” Jungwon speaks slowly, every word hitting each corner of Y/n’s brain. He watches eagerly as Y/n’s face contorts from one of confusion to relief. Y/n can’t help but lean in to kiss Jungwon once again, something the two do a lot when they’re so overwhelmed by feelings that they don’t know what to say. Jungwon smiles into the kiss, knowing exactly what it represents. Y/n is telling him through actions, not words. And he understands every single thing.

Pulling away with a sigh, Y/n rests their forehead against Jungwon’s - eyes closed in bliss. The sun has long set by now, the dim light of the candles being all that illuminates the space. After a moment of silence, Y/n opens their eyes to stare directly into Jungwon’s. “That’s good,” They whisper, unable to hold back the smile that creeps its way across their face.

“Because I think I’m starting to fall in love with you, too.”

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[cyborg-franky]

Hi Franky! Can i ask for a modern AU with Uta x male!reader spending some time togheter? (singing and play music or going to eat something) thanks! 💖

I didn't do male reader, oops! Also this is my first ever EVER EVER time writing adult Uta so I hope I didn't mess up. It's hard when her only canon personailty is a child or... ya know.

Uta x GN Reader SFW Modern AU WC: 570

Uta stared out the window, watching the drops of rain cascade down the glass, she took in a deep breath and sighed. Her breath fogged up the window, she drew an unhappy face on the fog her breath created before she adjusted. She hugged her knees to her chest, resting her chin on her knees.

You hated to see her feeling down, you guessed it was because the weather was miserable, it always had an impact on your girlfriend. It meant she couldn't go and sing in the garden or go and visit her brothers. 

Another sigh before you came up behind her, you put hands on her shoulders, gently shaking her. “Wanna go out? I know what will cheer you up,” You smiled down at her as she leaned back, her bright eyes shining up at you as her frown turned into a smile.

–

You knew she’d wanted to try out this new cafe ever since she’d heard about it on one of the influencer videos she watched. As soon as she stepped foot inside her eyes widened in wonder as glanced around. Seeing all the cool musical-themed decorations, cute plushies, and colorful designs.

“Here? Really?” She said, clapping her hands together as you were both shown your seats, under a fake Sakura tree in the corner with pink neons and flowers everywhere, she clung to your arm as the waitress set the menu in front of her.

She got a latte with foam that looked like a kitty, sandwiches cut into hearts, and an assortment of delicate little cakes with music themes. She was loving it, she took so many pictures. She held up her phone and gave a peace sign, nudging you to pose. You chuckled and copied her as she pressed the button.

“That’s a cure photo of us, I’m going to post it.” Uta proclaimed with the biggest grin on her face as she updated her profile picture. You just smiled, she was so much more alive and bouncy now you were out together.

–

After your lunch you took her by the hand, leading her into the back, she blinked but followed. Down the brightly lit stairs and to a row of rooms. She quirked her visible brow at you before you opened the door to the room you booked. 

“This is the best,” She said when she realized there was a karaoke room.

There was no way you could keep up with her or even do a duet but you loved to hear her sing, you loved when she danced and sang and smiled. You loved her and loved her vibrancy. She ran to the stage and hit the screen, looking through the selection of songs, and stamped her feet, giddy that some of her favorite bands were listed. You sat down at the table and watched her. 

After she sang a few songs for you and only you, your own private show to your girlfriend's beautiful voice, always amazed she could come up with dances on the fly, she was one of the most talented people you’d ever had the joy of meeting.

She flopped down next to you, letting out a breath, you held her close and kissed her forehead as she looked up, leaning up and stealing a kiss. A giggle snuck out at your surprised reaction, her arms around your neck.

“Thank you! Today was perfect..” she sighed happily. 

[sarcastic-kai]

Kakashi Hatake headcannons

I copy and pasted this from my wattpad lol since i havent written in a hot second and I feel bad about it :/

•What he's like in the mornings•

Kakashi isn't a morning person. He hates the feeling of being in a deep, peaceful sleep, then having that ruined by his alarm clock or the sharp, unforgiving rays of the sun.

That being said, he always tries his best to be pleasant for you in the mornings, and he usually doesn't have to try very hard because waking up next to you is always worth waking up.

˚˚˚˚˚

You run your fingers through your lover's hair, giggling as the motion only seems to make it more fluffy.

"Darling," you whisper. "It's time to wake up, my love."

A soft grunt leaves Kakashi's lips before he shifts defiantly and rolls to face away from you.

Rolling your eyes, you huff with irritation. Every single morning it seems to be the same routine. Kakashi ignores his alarm, you try to wake him up, he ignores you.

A small, mischievous grin snakes up your lips. Now it's time for your favorite part.

You sit up and shift to kneel beside your husband. Still grinning, you bite back your laughter as you snatch up your pillow, raise it above your head, and swing it down onto his with a loud, "HATAKE YOU'RE GOING TO BE LATE!"

The pillow makes contact, followed by a muffled "oof!"

Kakashi sits up, glaring at you as you double over in a fit of snickers and giggles.

Grabbing the pillow, he throws it back at you, hitting you square in the face and sending you rolling off the bed in surprise.

You get up, scowling playfully at Kakashi as he smiles sheepishly at you.

"Oops. I guess I used too much strength."

≈≈≈≈≈

•His favorite date idea•

Kakashi isn't one for over-the-top, grandiose gestures of romance and love. He's more of a laid back, simple outing sort of guy. He's different from a lot of people. While some people are made of  bright bursts of violent vibrance, he is composed of gentle swirls of pastel tones. So while some people may set up an elaborate evening of fancy dining, extravagant entertainment, and romantic candlelit beach walks; Kakashi Hatake prefers to keep it relaxed and fun. His go-to date ideas are either a walk through the village, a stop at Ichiraku, and a movie at his place; or a lazy night in with take out, movies, and lots and lots of cuddles.

˚˚˚˚˚

"Y/n!"

You look up from your homework to see your best friend, f/n, standing in your doorway with their arms crossed and a start expression.

"What're you doing?" They ask, and you wonder why they sound so irritated.

You look at your textbook then back to them. "Uh... homework."

They roll their eyes and point to your phone next to you on the desk.

"Well, dummy, it's 8pm and you said you had an outing with Kakashi at 6:40."

"oh shit!" You jump up, knocking your chair back and snatching your phone off the desk. To your dismay, you scroll through your notifications to see multiple texts from your boyfriend, the last one dating to 20 minutes ago. you bite your lip, guilt and anxiety beginning to grow in your gut.

"Fuck," you mumble, running a hand through your hair. "he's been waiting for so long. Oh god, he probably hates me now."

"Actually, I don't."

You look up to see Kakashi standing behind your friend.

You expression drops, staring at him in shock and dismay. "oh my god..." you whisper.

Coming to your senses, you rush to him, nearly tackling him with a hug. "oh my god, Kakashi! I am so so so sor-"

Before you can finish, he plants a solid, loving kiss to your lips, cutting you off effectively.

Pulling away with a grin, he says, "don't worry about it. I cancelled the reservations because I remembered the big test you have coming up, so I let you study for a little longer. I ordered pizza to my place, and I am ready to walk you over there right now."

≈≈≈≈≈

•When you're sick•

Kakashi is a very gentle, concerned individual. After all he has been through, one of the hardest and more reoccurring lessons he has learned is to cherish those you love, and to take care of them. So when you're sick, he does just that. He spends extra time with you, gives you cuddles, brings you soup, the whole nine yards.

˚˚˚˚˚

"'Kashi..." your throat is horse and quiet, and you barely manage a whisper. But even that amount of effort sends your throat back into its painful, stinging blaze. You let out a whimper, but it quickly turns into a erratic fit of coughs.

The grey haired shinobi leans closer to you from his chair beside your bed, his brows furrowing with concern.

"Hey... y/n... is there anything I can get you? Maybe some cough drops or some tea?" He puts the back of his hand to your sweat-slicked forehead. "You're burning up. Your fever still hasn't gone down."

You try to say 'thank you captain obvious', but it comes out as a raspy, "thank... obvious", as your voice cuts in and out with the effort it takes to speak.

Kakashi seems to get the message though, and his signature mask crinkles in the way that you have learned to detect as his smiling underneath it.

"You're welcome y/n. I'll get you some tea to help your throat, okay?"

You close your eyes and nod, but just as he gets up to leave, you reach out and grasp his sleeve. He turns to look down at you, curious.

You smile up at him weakly. "Read... to me?'

Kakashi stiffens up, and you can see just a hint of a blush creep up his face and around the tops of his cheeks that arent covered by his mask.

"I- I really don't think you want that."

≈≈≈≈≈

•What he's like in bed•

Kakashi can be both a very gentle lover or a very rough one, depending on his (or your) mood. But either way, he is very considerate and very giving. He makes sure to make you feel loved and satiated, littering your body with kisses and showering you with praise.

He's open to a lot of things, and will try anything at least once if you ask him to.

He'll usually last about 1-3 rounds, depending on how wound up he is. He's very... needy after being on a long mission, but he always puts your wants before his own.

He's a king of aftercare. He'll draw you both a bath and massage you, peppering you with kisses and whispering sweet nothings into your shampoo sud-covered hair.

˚˚˚˚˚

You moan against your lovers neck, tightening your grip on his grey locks.

With every shift of his body and roll of his hips, he fills you up, stretching you around his member in the most delicious way imaginable. His thrusts are strong and consistent, hitting your sweet spot every time, driving you to the brink of insanity.

"oh god, 'Kashi," you whimper, moving one arm to wrap around his back and pull him impossibly closer to you. He grunts in response, his hot, labored breaths fanning across your neck and shoulder that he is nestled into.

Without warning he bites your collar, eliciting a sharp gasp and drawled out moan from you as you arch your back, pushing your breasts into his chest.

You can feel him smile against your skin, but you don't pay any attention to that, since all your focus is on your impending release. Kakashi's thrusts increase in speed, only serving to tighten the coil in your lower abdomen. Your entire body is tingling with arousal and lust, and with a few  more thrusts you come undone.

Your entire body tenses up and you cry out in pleasure as your eyes roll to the back of your head and your mind goes blank. Kakashi keeps going, only faltering from his rhythm for a couple thrusts before he finds it again.

You want to tell him to slow down, but nothing comes out of your thoroughly fucked self. Instead, your moans increase in pitch, drawling out into some sort of desperate whine. But if you are whining for more or less, Kakashi can't tell, and you truthfully don't care.

Once your orgasm has finished wrecking your body it winds down, but it is quickly flailed up again by Kakashi's own chase for release. Within seconds your extremely sensitized body is driven to another orgasm, and for a few seconds, you swear you lose consciousness.

Pleasure envelops your entire being, blinding you with its enticing white light. You writhe and scream with bliss, the erotic sensations are like you've ever felt before, they're breath taking.

Once You float down from your high, and your stomach is coated with Kakashi's release, your eyes reluctantly flutter open to gaze up at him.

His grey hair is messy and matted with sweat, falling unusually flat on his gorgeous face.

He grins down at you, before quickly leaning down and kissing you passionately. You smile into the kiss, returning it with a spent effort.

Kakashi pulls away, brushing his knuckles against your face in a loving gesture.

The way he gazes at you, as if you're the most beautiful and precious creature on earth, makes you blush furiously and you cover your face with your arms.

Kakashi chuckles, pulling out of you and running an arm along your side comfortingly.

"Come on, y/n. Let's go get cleaned up."

[riallasheng]

Fruit Emoji Ask:

🍈 Who’s your blorbo and what are some of your favorite headcanons/ideas about them that repeatedly show up in your fics? Free pass to rant about blorbo opinions.

(Blorbo: your absolute favourite character)

I've had some people say that a blorbo is the cahracter you lose braincells over; 'always have rotating in your head'; a character you hyper related to; a character you're obsessed with and so on (I got SO MANY messages SO FAST after admitting I didn't know what a blorbo was, it was so nice and also so funny XD, thank you EVERYONE who came and answered my question! And I'm including you, Janet, in this, as I got your ask alongside the messages and I thank you very much for it ^_^)

And for those definitions, I don't really have a blorbo? I've got some favorite characters whom I enjoy reading about / seeing / writing, but no characters that I am really obsessed with or lose braincells over or the like^^;;

So I'll just go with your absolute favs, as that way I actually have an answer!! ^^

Just going with fandoms as I think of them, it's hardly an exhaustive list, however XD I also am going to keep it to just 2 or 3 characters for each fandom just to try and keep things something resembling reasonable in length XD

Anderson / Century 21: Phones is one without a doubt. I ADORE how calm, sweet, and gentle Phones is and how he is so happy not to be in the limelight and just how well he bounces off the far more fiery.... well, most everyone XD ------ Lady Penelope herself. She's legit in my top ten for ALL TIME favorite characters in all media so that's an easy one. The stoic is my favorite character type, and Penny is a calm, cool under fire stoic, and a badass and competent spy to boot (Also, all three of her novels were awesome, as were her comics) ------ Scott Tracy as, again, I do so love the stoic, esp a stoic who trends towards deadpan snarker / dry wit. Scott rarely gets angry, and tends to stay calm and cool even in the most fiery of situations, and I just really enjoy his character and stories that he 'stars' in... helped by the fact that he and Penny were the 'leads' of the Theydon novels and I adore those books ^^

Conan Doyle: Watson, when he's the version of the character seen in the novels. A collected but very passionate man, and quite brilliant in his own way. While I am a HUGE fan of the Granada Holmes and other Holmes shows, I hate how Watson was reduced to a bumbler or fool. outside of the novels, I'd have to say that Freeman in Sherlock and Law in the Sherlock Holmes films are my favorite examples of the character Sherlock Holmes himself, as I adore how he can go from calm and cool to the point of nearly emotionless to near manic vibrancy and activity. He tends to be super interested in things that he cares about... but giving no energy or care to things that don't interest him. I adore him in the novels, and in many of his depictions, not including many of the more recent depictions. Professor Challenger. A volcano of man. As massive in stature and personality as he is in (well earned) reputation. He was pretentious and self-righteous... but he cared deeply about people and the world and would come roaring to the defense of those in need.

Zag: Used to really like Miraculous, but honestly I have lost interest in the show and characters. Last thing I watched was the NYC special and Season 3, still have neither watched nor been interested in watching S4 or S5. I'm idly interested in watching the upcoming film. Maybe it'll be decent and interesting where the show proper is not. BUT... I do like the REST of the Zag shows a lot. They're a ton of fun and I've gone out of my way to watch them, and rewatch them fairly regularly. Can I say everyone in the Zak Storm, Ghostforce, and Power Players? ...no? ...dang it. hrm, gonna go with Cece, Calabrass and Liv. Cece is the calm, logic driven Spock to Zak's Kirk, and as mentioned above, I do so love the stoic XD Calabrass is very much NOT a stoic, but he bounces SO WELL off everyone else, and I adore how he quickly became a 'dad' to the crew, but in particular Zak. Liv is independent, spunky and very helpful/caring (to the piont that it can be a weakness at times).

Gargoyles: Brooklyn, Elisa, and Xanatos here. One of the few cases where the stoic is not my favorite, as I ended up finding Goliath rather boring ^^;; I love Brooklyn's deadpan snarker / gallows humor personality, Elisa's fiery and competent manner, and Xanatos adaptable and suaveness. I also like how well rounded they are ^_^

Transformers: Hot Rod / Rodimus is my fav here, or at least the marvel comics and g1 cartoon version of him (gallows humor and deadpan snarker with a firey and vibrant personality). I don't really like him much in IDW (but then I didn't like IDW pretty much at all) I also love Cheetor, seeing him go from a well meaning but unseasoned kid to a competent and crafty warrior by the end... ach, just love it (actually love the entire BW crew) Lots of other characters too, just trying to keep it to my top favs

i had more, but it made the post glitch out, so cutting all but this XD

[thissliceofnonsense]

Can I be someone else?

I've made another post talking about the concept and main character, ummm... lets call them.. *looks up names that mean empty*

Cassia. This name is a variant of the Latin Cassiah. It means “futile, empty, or vain.” 

Perfect.

Okay, so the next step in my story writing process is to write a bit of prose so I know how to write the character, it may or may not end up in the 'final'. Who knows?

So here's some first draft prose:

I'm not a morning person. I'm not a night person. I'm not an afternoon, evening, or midday person. The sun rises and sets, over and over and over again, each day blurring into the next. My life passes me by and I watch with mounting disgust.

I hate being alone.

Nope. Let's try something else. This is very...meh.

Okay, how about a quick prose bit about Cassia choosing a paint color for their room with their friend, and when the friend leaves to grab something, Cassia realizes they don't have a favorite color, that they don't know who they are without someone else around.

(I want to make the disclaimer that I do not know how socializing works and this is inspired by a tumblr post so yea.)

"What do you think? Beige?" "Who are you and what have you done with Julie." I grabbed fistfuls of vibrant colors. "Something from here, obviously." Julie laughed, light and genuine. She was easy. So much easier to be around than anyone else right now. Julie never wanted to go with more than one person at a time. She never held a grudge or cared how you acted. She was just... there. I could slide into whatever behavior felt best and not have to worry about how actions argued in my head. Julie pointed to a purple that would've made my mother puke. "How about this one?" "My parents will go insane." "Well, you're an adult now, you can make your own choices." "Wow, wow, wow, quite the rebel." Julie laughed again. "No, not really." She held my choices, glancing at each for a few moments. "What's your favorite color?" "Purple." Julie shook her head. "That's my favorite color, silly. What's yours?" "Purple." "Pfft. Okay." We spent a while picking out differing colors. Julie, the only artist of our friend group, talked about how different shades could look different in different applications and how to pair colors. It was nice to listen to her talk. She liked being listened to, to have someone to laugh with, and I could be that person for her. I asked her questions about the colors and her art and if she had any paintings I could hang up. "A Julie masterpiece!" Julie stopped short and looked at her phone. "Ah, sorry. I have to go." I winced. "Oh. Okay. Bye then." She walked a few steps, before turning around. "Thanks, by the way, for not talking about it. I'll let you know when - when the date is, okay?" I nodded. "And pick YOUR favorite color. Okay? Not mine." And she was gone. I sighed, making a mental note to text her pictures of the color I chose and to ask her questions about the best compliments for it. She needed the distraction. I looked at the different colors in my hand. Would Julie be suspicious if I went with the colors she liked? Perhaps she would feel validated that her choices were picked? I put the purple away. She said to pick my favorite color. I stepped away from the choices and looked at them from afar. They blurred together in a swirl of shades and vibrance. My favorite color? When I was five, it was red because my parents thought it meant strength. When I was twelve, it was green because my sibling liked the way sunlight filtered through forest leaves. When I was eighteen, it was purple, because my only friend thought it was the most perfect color in existence. Not that she would be my friend for much longer. She had her suspicions now, it wouldn't be much longer before she said the same things, as they all did. "You don't make decisions for yourself. Stop being a suck up. You just want attention. Be yourself. You're too fake." And they were all right. I didn't have a favorite color. They all felt the same. Static.

Eh. How was that?

Anywho, next up is the backstory moments!

i wonder if magic is real, but only in a really mundane way.

when i was little i could almost inerringly switch back to disney channel right as the ads ended when i was channel surfing.

maybe youve never accidentally crushed a ladybug underfoot. maybe your microwave popcorn never burns. maybe you can spin around lots and lots of times before you get dizzy.

is that magic??

honestly im not sure if these are magic or just small, invisible skills. im not sure which i like better.

[fleurdemaes]

It’s funny, cause this sat in my drafts for over six months, and during that time frame I actually came clean. And subsequently lost them a week later. Closing the door on an 8 year friendship with nothing but a cruel phone call and a series of rushed, angry texts. I really hate how it ended, but not that it did. So in the name of catharsis, I leave this here:

To a friend,

I’d really like to hold your hand. Maybe hug you until my arms go numb-- trace the line of your neck with a fingertip, settle my soul between your collarbones, wrap myself in the warmth of your laugh. I want to do all of this, but I can’t. Because you didn’t ask for my love, not in the way I want to give it. So I’ll bear it. I’ll take my bottled up love into the palms of my waiting hands and tell it it’s okay. Tell it it’s alright to grow, to burn, to die. Give it the space to do all three, but never in the light. Never with an audience. And i’m afraid that’s what hurts the most, knowing this beautiful, expansive thing will live only in the darkness i’ve allotted it. Understanding that being in the dark too long can warp my delicately wrapped love into something ugly-- resentment, anger, bitterness. And those are the last things I want laid down beside you, because you’re the sun. A collection of vibrancy I cherish, and I never want to be able to say i’ve dulled you. But it kills to know I think you’re something extraordinarily special, while you don’t think of me at all. I really do love every part of you, you know? But of course you don’t, and i’ll never tell you. I wish I could.

From, a friend

[celestiababie]

Snowed In- C.BG

Pairings: Beomgyu x gn! reader

Genre: Angst, suggestive, mature, college!au, lovers-to-enemies!au

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of handjobs and sex, mentions of peer pressure, reader and Beomgyu are stupid, classic case of misunderstanding and miscommunication, let me know if I need to add anything

Word Count: 1.261k

Summary: You finally hear Beomgyu out after years of hating him...all thanks to a snow storm.

A/N: I randomly got the urge to write this- I hope people find some enjoyment out of this! Feedback is always appreciated!

"You're an idiot, Choi Beomgyu. I hope you get trapped in here forever."

An annoyed scoff leaves Beomgyu's mouth, his eyes moving away from his phone to shoot you a glare, hating this situation just as much as you.

"If I'm trapped here forever, you're gonna be trapped with me, dumbass. Now shut up while I look at the weather."

You roll your eyes in response, looking outside his bedroom window, watching the heavy snowfall, not a single color in sight, as if the snow washed away the vibrancy of the city. Trees, cars, and houses were covered in a thick blanket of snow, the crystals shining from the street lamps reflecting off of them.

While some may consider your current surroundings an early winter wonderland, you couldn't be more pissed. You were positive the world was playing some sick joke on you the moment your professor paired you with Satan himself, better known as Beomgyu, but now this was a step too far. You knew that with the expected six feet of snow, there was absolutely no way that you'd be going home to your bed tonight.

All you wanted was to curl up in the warmth of your own covers, maybe even treat yourself to a cup of hot chocolate as you binged whatever show you hadn't finished yet, but at least your current rage could warm you up instead.

"Why the fuck did you invite me over if it was gonna snow?"

Beomgyu groans and refreshes his phone for the hundredth time as if the weather app would suddenly tell him something different and all the snow would vanish instantly.

"Don't try and blame this on me. Did you check the weather before you came here? No. It would have made more sense for you to check the weather since you had to leave your place."

You bite back a response, knowing that for once in his life, Beomgyu was right, but you'd never admit that out loud.

There were almost no words in the dictionary that could describe the mutual hatred you had for each other. Your friends never understood why you hated the boy so much, but you had every reason to.

How could you not hate the guy who gave you your very first heartbreak and humiliated you?

While others would know him as the hyperactive lovable idiot on campus, he'd always be the guy who asked you out in high school because the seniors dared him to, gave you your first kiss, and then lied about getting a handjob from you the next day. You were elated when you walked into the school doors, ready to look for the boy you had fallen for, only to be devastated when you heard the rumors being whispered about you.

Nothing between you has been the same since. You knew no one would ever believe you if you denied the rumors, so you did what any "mature" teen would do...you doubled down on the lie and made a few embellishments of your own, claiming that Choi Beomgyu had a small dick.

It was safe to say that the rivalry had started there and hasn't gone away even after starting college. All you wanted was a peaceful college life, away from any childish drama, but when you saw Beomgyu in your Art History class, you were tempted to drop out of the course. And when he became your partner for end of semester project, you were ready to send in your letter of resignation.

"My friends know I'm at your place, and the last thing I want is another incident where people think I slept with you or something," you hiss out as you reposition yourself in Beomgyu's uncomfortable desk chair, causing it to squeak.

Beomgyu glances up from his phone with an indifferent look, biting the side of his cheek and letting out a heavy sigh through his nose.

"If your friends think you slept with me and don't believe you, that's their problem. And can we maybe not talk about that right now? Or ever?"

You narrow your eyes at the nerve of the boy sitting in front of you on his bed. He's the one who ruined your high school reputation, and yet he's the one who wants to forget it ever happened?

"Why not? It seems pretty relevant to our current predicament. If you hadn't lied about getting a handjob, I wouldn't have started hating you, and we could've—" you cut yourself off from finishing your sentence, worried about the words that nearly left your lips.

We could've been together.

Beomgyu chooses to ignore your unfinished sentence, for now, as he tosses his phone aside, giving you his full attention with a scowl on his face.

"You don't even understand what really fucking happened, Y/N. I'm not as shitty as you think I am."

Your gaze challenges his as you tilt your head in amusement.

"What don't I understand, Beomgyu? I'm pretty positive I know everything and can gather up that you're just a massive asshole."

Another long sigh leaves Beomgyu as he debates whether he should fess up to what actually happened, figuring that anything he said was useless anyways. But fuck it, what's the worst that could happen? You continue to despise him?

"I was dared to ask you out, but I already had a crush on you, and Yeonjun dared me to "man up" and tell you. His friends found out after our date ended and asked me how it went...I told them I kissed you, and they started making fun of me for not doing more with you. I know it's stupid, but I panicked and said that you...ya know. I was gonna tell you myself and apologize, but you were already upset and said I had a small dick and avoided me anytime I tried to talk to you."

Beomgyu watched your face closely as your smug expression fell, soon replaced with a look of shock. All these years, you figured Beomgyu had made a master plan to humiliate you to score some cool points, but he was just a scared sophomore pressured by a group of douchebag seniors. Regret instantly floods your body at the realization that Beomgyu wasn't as much of an asshole as you painted him to be.

Yeah, he still lied and caused your humiliation. But you refused to give him the benefit of the doubt and allow him to apologize, opting for your own form of revenge.

"I— Beomgyu, I didn't know—" you scramble out, your mind racing a mile a minute.

Beomgyu breaks eye contact to stare at the pen holder on his desk as if it was the most intriguing item in the room.

"I know you didn't. But it's fine. I'm sorry for lying. Can we please not talk about it anymore?"

"I'm sorry for lying too...and not letting you apologize, and being a bitch to you for all these years." Your words come out mumbled, but Beomgyu manages to hear you regardless.

He clears his throat as he steers his attention to the blizzard outside, the harsh wind blowing snowflakes against his window.

"Um—I'll call you an Uber when the streets get cleared. You can sleep in my room tonight. I'll take the couch," Beomgyu awkwardly states as he gets up from his bed, leaving his room before you can even mutter a response.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding as his absence leaves you to bide in your thoughts.

I'm such a dumbass.

[astridthevalkyrie]

most to least good at taking pictures of their s/o with the aot boys?

coming in first place is armin, as much as i hate to admit it. he might even have a polaroid but even with his phone he always chooses the best filters, knows the places with the best lighting, will encourage you to post it to your socials because you look amazing even though he's already posted it to his with the captions "look how drop dead gorgeous they are"

bertholdt always chooses the best times, always makes sure you're smiling, and always checks with you after you take the picture if you like it. his camera roll is all pictures of you, it's adorable. he also has very organized filters to remember dates and places that he took the pictures so he's constantly texting you memories

everyone is surprised but eren is so good at taking pictures! you could be doing anything - reading a book, typing busily on your laptop, eating - and he'll sneak his phone out, take a really good shot from a nice angle, and then tuck his phone back in his pocket. a bit shy to admit that he does this, and slightly embarrassed to tell you that he looks at them when he gets anxious because they calm him down.

it's so frustrating, and yet porco takes pictures of you when you're sleeping, the asshole, and they still come out amazing! even with the bit of drool coming out of your mouth, he hushes your protests and insists that you look cute and besides, who's going to see it besides you and him and pieck who he's already texted??

jean takes the cutest selfies. that's just canon. wherever you are, whether at the beach or driving in the car or just lazing around at home, he'll hold his phone up and tell you to pose. 100% captions his photos with things like "me and my bae >>>> you (eren)" or "this asshole really messed up my hair after this ily but"

listen he doesn't just take them for the hell of it, but zeke is really good at remembering to take pictures at really fancy events where the two of you are super dressed up. more often than not he'll drag you away from everyone else for a few minutes because he found a really good spot that will bring out your eyes. times the picture and goes to stand with you, you two absolutely are that one couple everyone hates for being too cool.

i feel like reiner reserves pictures for special moments, and usually prefers that you be the one to take them. but he'll indulge himself every once in a while, takes a nice if kinda stiff picture of you two smiling and saves it to his folder of pictures to look at during a rainy day. also sometimes requests that you send him your own selfies since he thinks they're better.

floch will roll his eyes whenever you throw your arms around him from behind and ask him to take a picture, but he'll oblige you. the quality isn't really that bad, it's just that anyone looking at the picture can tell he wasn't enthusiastic to stop and take a picture when he could be spending time with you. almost always end up with him scowling in the photo, but he later crops himself out and keeps your smiling face in.

oh, erwin. i love him, i really do, but...yikes. he takes so many pictures of you, it's just that most of them are taken from a really bad angle or with a glaring light. he's proud of them, though, posts them like they're the greatest things on earth, and you just have to roll with it because you can't break his heart. please like every picture, he'll appreciate it and then continue to take more terrible ones <3

you would think that connie would be really good at taking photos, but he never takes one that fully satisfies him. it actually bothers him for a good while but he eventually realizes that what he loves about you is your vibrancy, how you move, the little quirks that are just impossible to capture on camera. so he actually prefers making videos instead, like recorded video diaries in which he narrates you doing everyday activities.

colt really tries, okay?? he really does. it's not his fault that someone (usually gabi) knocks his hand away at the side right as he's clicking the button, or that you move and the picture is ruined. luck is just never on his side. no matter what he does, something always happens to ruin the picture and he eventually just gives up. it's a perfect time for you to take a picture of him and capture his pouty face.

and coming in at dead last is levi, bless his soul. cannot take a single photo that isn't blurry or zoomed in weirdly and doesn't really get the point of taking pictures anyways. he's spending time with you, what need does he have for a picture when he could just look at you with his very own two eyes? you're much prettier when he's not looking at you through a screen at any rate. he prefers the real thing any day.

[kyuus4ku]

𝗔𝗚𝗔𝗜𝗡

dazai osamu

genre: minific ; hurt/comfort

warnings: alcohol consumption, profanity

word count: 3.7K

a/n: this is sort of a part two to this, but it's also kind of a stand-alone fic? i wasn't really planning on making this a series until @dazaiaiko gave me an idea ;) may or may not make a part three to this 🤔

anyways, my 200 follower event is open for reqs! you can find it here >:3

His room felt unusually warm, despite how his upper body was bare, his bandages being the only thing wrapped around his scarred torso and arms. Laying on the bed with his forearm shielding his eyes, Dazai concluded that the surface of his skin now felt like liquid fire.

That's what alcohol did to your system anyway.

His blood seemed to rush against his skin, and as a result, his organs felt cold from the lack of warmth and rejuvenation it was supposed to receive from the red liquid. The alcohol had managed to infiltrate his entire system, so much so that his blood seemed to be looking for a way to escape from the mitigation it offered.

He thought about the way he used to let blood seep out of his skin— intentionally— and decided that he was sick and tired of making himself bleed.

There was only so much of life left in him.

He let his slender fingers wrap around the cold neck of his gin bottle again, and gulped down the juniper-infused liquid, a small, almost unnoticeable wince of disrelish flashing through his expression.

One horrible gulp. The inner lining of his throat was immune to how the substance scorched his throat. A second one. His stomach felt sick with the way it slowly rotted at his insides. A third— his tongue finally got acquainted with the pungent liquid again. At last, another wave of relief shot through his body.

He couldn't care less about how his organs writhed in discomfort, and how his heartbeats were out of tune. He was too busy immersing himself in the bliss of not feeling anything physically and not toiling himself mentally. His thoughts and memories were up in the air, floating around him as formless clusters of luminous atoms.

His throat didn't burn as much as it did when the liquid first invaded and swam through his system . Oh, he had pointed that out already. His thoughts were starting to repeat themselves.

That was good.

Why? Well, for one, he didn't have to deal with new thoughts and their fresh, new, intricately-woven complexities, and two, he hated thinking more than he should. It was a privilege his mind subconsciously abused. Dazai was always thinking, so new thoughts just led to more thinking, and more thinking resulted in eventual realisation.

The more he realised, the more he understood, and the more he understood, the more fatuous everything appeared to be. Well, that was the simple, depressing explanation anyone could give.

But to him, this aptitude was what gave him power, but also what made him oh-so emptied. This power gave him a short-lived thrill. Attached to that so-called 'thrill' was the heavy weight of desolation.

He felt invincible.

He extracted every colour known to mankind, drained its vibrancy, and rendered the world more grey than it was before.

He felt lost.

Uh oh. He was thinking again.

It was already two in the morning. Was it 2am? He tilted his head and squinted his eyes, vision too blurred to properly decipher the numbers on his digital clock. Oh, it was 3am. He smiled dumbly, partially glad that he was halfway through the night. Then he thought about the morning— waking up to a new day with an inevitable hangover to deal with— and had his smile washed away by dread.

A buzz was heard from somewhere. That sounded like... his phone. His eyes travelled between the cluttered messes of empty bottles and disarranged clothes only to find the device's screen glow dimly from the floor.

A text message.

He reached out for his phone, almost toppling down on the floor right before he managed to steady his posture. Again, he squinted his eyes and focused on each and every letter written in the text bubble before his drunken self misinterpreted the entire message.

Where have you been?

An unknown number, or rather, a deleted number, once blocked from contacting him.

Despite all the measures he took to exterminate any trace of you from his life, he still had your number memorised.

He tried typing out a response, but his head started spinning. Straining his eyes made him feel like he was being driven through a vortex at lightspeed. The pit of his stomach was burning with nausea; he was starting to feel the tips of his fingers again. The numbness was wearing off— that wasn't a good sign. As if to save his bones from shrivelling up, he found himself quickly forcing down more gulps of alcohol down his throat.

The initiation of self-destruction felt like a favour he did for himself.

Conscience clouded with the haze of bittersweet rapture washing over him once again, it took him some time to notice that his phone was ringing. He picked up the call without even identifying the caller ID, but the moment he heard your voice, sobriety seemed to shoot adrenaline up every receptor in his body.

"You know I hate it when you leave me on read," your voice was a soft, yet annoyed whisper. He couldn't stop himself from smiling as he thought about the agitated look that was probably plastered on your face right now. He could draw that expression out from memory— that proved the amount of times he was a cause of irritation for you.

"I never really understood why you hated that," he tried to speak clearly, because he knew the minute you heard a slurred word come out of his mouth, you'd start to get worried.

Dazai disliked the way you worried about him— especially since you were no longer his partner. It gave him hope that perhaps attachment to a person wasn't such an idle concept— that it was pleasant and rewarding— and it fuelled his urge to succumb to the temptation of trusting you again.

It was hard letting you go once— he didn't want to have to do it again.

"Can you blame me for worrying about you?" you asked, a hint of longing embedded in your choleric tone.

"You shouldn't anymore though," he reasoned, earning a splenetic scoff from you. "The last time I checked, we mutually agreed to not give a damn about each other anymore."

He could feel a smile stretch across his lips— one that wasn't ensued from contentment, but from rage, the rage of being perpetually reminded that he was not in control of what he wanted to keep.

"I wish it were that simple," you huffed. A brief pause followed those words before you spoke up again. You were propped up on your bedroom's windowsill with a cigarette in your hand, the short moment of deadpan silence used to inhale two drags of smoke from the coffee-coloured rod.

It felt strange not having him around to nag the daylight out of you about how bad those were for your health, but months had passed— you were used to the absence of his incessant concern.

"Your colleagues called me today. They haven't seen you in days. What's going on?"

The urge to lie rendered him speechless. He wanted to tell you that everything was fine, that everything was the same as they were before, that nothing really changed, that nothing got better, that nothing got worse. But in the state of being completely blitz out as he was, it was strange to admit that Dazai felt more aware of himself than ever.

He was in the middle of a barren dessert: the sun was scorching every inch of his skin, but somehow he still had enough resilience in him to fight the urge of ripping his skin apart so he'd never have to feel anything again.

He was up in the sky, walking over the wispy clouds with light steps even though the blood in his veins coagulated due to the cryogenic temperature and the lack of atmosphere.

He was hundreds of meters underwater— the pressure of such a depth was in the process of grinding his bones to dust, yet he still kept himself alive. The sunlight penetrating the ocean's surface from above was the one thing he set his eyes on, even though the light was barely evident.

Maybe it was just the gin speaking, but he couldn't really bear lying to anyone anymore, especially since alcohol never tasted as good as it did back when he drank it for the taste, not the feeling.

"Dazai?" you called out, alarmed by his lack of response. Your ankle felt sore from tapping itself restlessly against floor, just like your throat, which was tired of tolerating a substance it didn't need.

"I'm here," he mumbled.

"Are you okay?"

"Mmhm," his response came out as a delighted hum. A small frown creased your forehead, confusion contorting your face. His sentences were usually drastically dramatic, overcomplicated, or enigmatic at best.

"You're drunk, aren't you?"

"Nuh-uh."

You internally screamed at yourself for even calling in the first place.

"For fuck's sake, Osamu," you sighed sharply, pinching the bridge of your nose with furrowed brows. "You're gonna be the death of me."

"Not if I die first," he grinned with what seemed like pride.

A tut of disgust escaped your lips.

"I'm coming over."

From the moment he tossed his phone aside to the minute you appeared at his doorstep, Dazai made sure he kept himself six feet away from sobering up. That being said, he couldn't even get himself to walk straight when he heard the doorbell. The second he opened the door he fell onto you, causing you to stumble back as you immediately forced yourself support his weight. More curse words left your lips as you tried to get him to wrap his arm around your shoulder.

It took a moment for Dazai to snap out of his daze, but once he realised whose arms he was being held in, he looked up to catch your gaze.

"You're here," he mumbled lowly, a delighted smile crawling its way up onto his lips. Baffled by the way his expression starkly contrasted from its usual glee, you kept your mouth sealed, questions zipping themselves through your headspace as you stared into those depthless, brown eyes. He managed to stand up straight with the aid of your hands supporting him by the sides of his arms. Figure swaying slightly, he managed to mouth the words "'m very drunk,'" receiving a light, sympathetic chuckle from you.

"Can't leave you alone for too long, huh?" you remarked quietly. Your hand travelled up to cup the side of his face, thumb brushing itself against his cheekbone as you observed his tired eyes.

Your heart felt heavy with sentiments you thought you had left behind with him. Guess some things never change, you thought. He stared at you, expression vacant, his mind trying to comprehend the fact that you were actually standing in front of him.

He never took the time to realise how empty your departure left him, and now that you were here, he could feel that same heartfelt adoration for you twist around his heart like a grappling hook looking for en edge to catch.

He used to think that he was more fond of the feelings you made him feel, but now he was starting to think that perhaps he was fond of the person itself. Then again, he really hoped his sober self would know better than to recollect memories he no longer wanted to dwell on.

"Why do you keep doing this to yourself?" you asked, not expecting— or even wanting— an answer. You led him back into his house, hand in his, and started to fuss about the mess his room was in.

Along with the mess of dirty laundry and scattered alcohol bottles, used bandages spilled over any surface they could drape from and tiny bottles of pills, some of which were half empty, sparsely decorated the nightstand by his bed, summing up just how unsightly his home was.

You turned to him and looked up. His eyes were glazed over with drowsiness, and even though he was three blinks away from blacking out, he still kept his hand in yours as if his life depended on it.

"How about I run you a bath?" you suggested. It was only a half-hour since your head was clouded with frustration. The rush out of your apartment to come back to the last place you wanted to visit barely gave you time to calm down.

He was right. You shouldn't be doting after him anymore. You shouldn't be so fixated on his wellbeing like you used to be. That part of your lives was over, done and dusted. He told you to leave, and even though he didn't mean it, you still did.

Neither of you could take the way your mere presences gnawed at each other's souls like parasites; it used to feel like the two of you were subconsciously ransacking each other's soul for something neither of you were willing to give.

But here you were, seated on a stool by the bathtub as you watched him try to keep his eyes open, naked body safe in the cold, bubbly water engulfing him. It's like that last huge fight and all those petty arguments before never existed. It was just like old times— two souls tied together with a red string that was yet to cut through your skins as time wore on.

"Don't fall asleep," you commanded, making him jump with his eyes widened.

"Very tired," he yawned meekly. The smell of soap was dampened by the way he still reeked of alcohol. He felt a little better though; his vision was clearer, even though everything was moving faster than he was. He kind of wished you didn't take the bottle away from him— he'd feel way better if he was still trying to waste himself away.

"I know. Just a little while longer. Hopefully you won't feel like shit once you head to bed after this," you said, dragging the soap-soaked loofah across his bare chest, the sight of old scars not effecting you as much as they did back when you first caught sight them.

"Who said baths were supposed to help with sobering up?" he asked, seemingly ready to annoy you already.

"I did. Now, shut up," you responded abruptly, ignoring that appeased grin on his face. He still looked like he was about to throw up, but his mind was far away from how physically ill he felt. He was now fixated on the nostalgia this moment offered, and little did he know, your thoughts were at the same wavelength as his. The two of you stayed silent for the rest of the time spent in the bathroom.

This wasn't new though— basking in the silence you both offered each other. It used to feel nice, it used to feel comforting, but over time, the feeling morphed into something discomfiting, like the lack of words exchanged was a warning that something was about to go wrong.

"Why did you leave?" he asked. He shifted his gaze to you, back of his head rested against the area above the bathtub's rim. There was a faint, Delphic smile on his lips— you could tell that he genuinely wanted an answer.

"You asked me to," you replied plainly, standing up to get a towel for him; it was also just an excuse to break eye-contact. Leaving the towel by the sink, you slipped out the bathroom to wait for him outside. He took a little longer than you'd wish for him to, so in the meantime, you picked out fresh clothes for him and a new set of bandages, completely unperturbed by the question he just asked.

He was drunk. That was it.

Dazai had a little bit of trouble getting out of the tub, and the possibility of him slipping to meet his death was likely if he didn't think his movements through. That would be hilarious. After all his attempts, perfunctory or not, all he needed to do was get slick wasted, have his ex come over to check in on him, give him a bath, and die in the bathroom by accident.

He sighed. He was so tired.

"How are you feeling?" you asked him once he was out.

"As high as a kite," he beamed, putting on a pair of boxers. You rolled your eyes.

You were seated on the edge of the bed, another lit cigarette in your hand while the other fiddled with a roll of bandages. His neck craned toward your direction, nose scrunched up in disgust as he glared at you moodily.

"Put that out," he grumbled. You ignored him, until he snatched the bud out of your hand, killed the ember, and threw it out the window.

"What the hell?"

"Bad for your health," he replied knowingly.

You groaned.

"Come here," you gestured for him to sit next to you, unraveling the white fabric. He hesitated at first, but was too drowsy to resist your assistance. You never knew what led him to trust you enough with his bandages and to see what they covered, but he was well-aware with the way you never used his flaws against him.

He knew you never would— you didn't have the guts to hate him as much as you wanted to.

"By the way, I'm going to need a better answer than that," he spoke up as you continued swaddling his chest and arms. "Besides, you were the only person I didn't have to do the honours of leaving first."

"Oh, what a fucking privilege," you muttered rigidly, eyes fixed on your fingers handling the strip of cloth.

"Y/n," he called out to capture your full attention. You looked him right in the eye, an impassive mask screwed tightly to your expression.

"Was it my fault that things didn't work out between us?" he asked timidly, eyes blank as ever. Your expression softened as you felt your heart drop at his question. You took a minute to dwell on his words, eyes dancing over his sharp, yet pale features. There wasn't a hint of emotion to his tone; he looked like he wasn't afraid of your answer.

"Do you really want to have this conversation now? In this frame of mind?"

Better now than ever.

"Answer the question."

You shut your eyes for a few seconds, keeping all the sawtoothed words you so desperately wanted to say trapped in your throat. Opening them up again, you met his gaze— was that dread now stuck in the depth of his eyes? You didn't know; those eyes had seen enough of the atrocities this world had to present. Sometimes you wished you could gouge them out to replace them with your own, maybe then his tainted past would somehow retire from haunting him.

"You can't blame yourself for everything. That's not how it works."

He scanned your glassy expression, surprisingly having nothing to respond with. He didn't really want to speak anymore. Besides, the whole 'I want closure' act was overrated. If he had to carry his unanswered questions to his grave, so be it. He was tired of searching.

Nevermind all that. He wanted to indulge himself in the moment of being so close within your touch again.

You dismissed the idea of leaving him alone. It was now six forty-seven in the morning. It was too late, or rather too early in the morning to even think about getting some sleep. Maybe making sure he got some rest was more promising. After an unnecessary amount of bickering, you managed to get him tucked comfortably under a thick blanket.

"I had a dream about you the other day," he muttered groggily, eyes lidded in what was half inebriation and half exhaustion. You took up the empty space next to him and propped your head up on your elbow, eyes admiring the way the rising sun snuck in through the window to tickle the tips of his chestnut hair.

"Oh? What was it about?" your voice was toned down and slightly scratchy, just the way he didn't like it. It offered him the type of comfort he was unnerved by, because he knew this could be one of the last times he heard your voice. He still let you run your fingers through his hair though— it used to, and still does help him calm down. Even though he was in a dormant state by now, your mere touch was, and will always be capable of muting all his gloomy thoughts.

"Lots of things, but it ended when you told me to jump off a building," he answered plainly, making your eyebrows twist in bewilderment.

"Oh," you couldn't help but laugh a little at how blunt he was. "And did you?"

"Yeah, I did," he nodded, eyes closed by this time. "It was the most liberating feeling ever."

"Mm," you pursed your lips. There it was— that familiar heart-wrenching guilt you felt from the possibility of not loving him enough to stay.

"Dazai?"

"Hm?"

"Why did you ask me to leave?"

He opened his eyes, pupils now directed at you. He should receive a medal for how he still understood what you were saying in the state of mind he was in.

"I don't know. You were sick of me, and I was sick of you, too. We're human beings, after all."

A small cough escaped your lips. It stemmed from your intention to check if your voice would break once you spoke up again.

"Was it my fault?" you asked, thumb now dragging itself against his cheek, endearment trailing after its touch.

"Of course not."

Tenderness flickered across your expression as a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips.

"So now can you tell me what's going on?"

Only when he was fully intoxicated could he word out his feelings properly, but as of now, he could feel nothing. It was as if he was being brought out from the depths; he was gradually being wedged back into the stage which stood between drowning himself and keeping himself afloat.

"It's just an episode. A bad one. It'll pass, or maybe I will."

You sort of hoped he'd say those words with his characteristic lightheartedness, but at least you weren't being deceived for once.

"Wish I could warn the next person you end up with," you muttered, laying your head down next to his. His hand found yours again.

"You don't have to," he smiled. "Not until I forget your number, at least."

taglist: @pompompurin1028 @hanazou @shamelesspastawobblerland @hanges-gf @whorefordazai @requiem626k @sonder-paradise @amemuraa @nullified-kiss

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[starshipsofstarlord]

Hi <3 I'm not sure if you're comfortable writing this but I'll try :) Smth where Buckys girlfriend suffers from a lung illness and normally he supports her whenever she feels bad, but one time he's on a long mission where he cant be there when he struggles breathing. Then the other Avengers at the compound take her to the hospital and call Buck who immediately rushes home to be by your side and it's all cute and fluffy in the end? :) Thank you very much <3

Trapped Air

Pairing | Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary | whilst on a mission, you suffer with your breathing problems, leaving all to panic as you have air trapped in your lungs.

Warnings | breathing problems, angst, mentions of death, swearing, mentions of torture

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There had been no call back from Bucky; he was on a mission far away, and deep undercover, and the fact that you had no response did not surprise you, however, it was impossible not to feel overcome with worry.

From what you knew, he was somewhere in Austria with Steve, and most likely irritated by the company of Sam. The thought of them together, waiting for further intel made you smile, and so you sat up on the sofa; the place where you had fallen into a rural slumber late the previous evening. That thought also made you lightly snicker to yourself, and had you grasping your chest in agony at the action.

You adjusted your seat on the sofa, kicking the blanket under your legs as you tried to relax your entire body. To subdue the worry for your love that you had and were experiencing, you and Nat had watched a movie, your head running with thoughts of the danger that your boyfriend was possibly under.

It was no doubt that James Buchanan Barnes, the White Wolf and former Winter Soldier was a fine fighter; he had endured and survived wars, achieving victory in the vast majority of his battles. But still, he was nothing more than a man, with a veil of serum coursing through his veins, and whilst it made him much stronger, he was still sustainable to injury, and worse.

Countless times had you seen him braised in bruises, and kissed along the seam of his scars, and though he had lived through decades, and still appeared unscathed considering the circumstances, he was a mortal man, able to die and it was far too clear for your scared eyes that he wouldn’t be able to survive every fall.

An emptiness peeled away inside of you as you placed the phone down, resting your head upon the arm of the sofa of where you had done so priorly. Taking a deep breath, you wheezed, feeling nothing more than internal pain, and it was not just for your longing to see Bucky again. It was indeed something else, a condition that you had grown used to over the years.

It had taken everything from you; the job that you had so well partook in was diminished to being unsuitable for your health. Being an avenger had once been your only purpose, but it had been the one thing that had broken you. From all the rubble and other pesticides that you had breathed in, it had tampered with your lungs, and made you to be nothing more than a victim, a fallen hero.

The worse thing about being fallen in such a way was that you had not died on the job, instead, you were being tormented every time you watched your friends leave the compound, carrying a duffel bag that had all the necessities that they could possibly need for the gruelling months ahead on the missions that they had been sent on.

Knowing that if you weren’t so inwardly broken and that if that were the case, you could have easily accompanied Bucky and the others on their uncover op made you feel worthless, and disposable. As your chest raked the air that surpassed its roots, it waded a feeling through every limb that was attached to you.

Large gulps from the air machine that was beside you usually helped, but as your brought the medically introverted oxygen mask to surround the lower half of your face, the torturous sensation failed to fade. It remained, stuck in the collapse of your airways, refusing to allow air into your defined bloodstream.

The factor alone had you panicking, and as you went to stand, there was a pounding fire coursing through your head. Your eyes got dreary, fluttering as you reached out to grasp for the side of the seating area to stabilise your steps. But it wasn’t enough, all of your weight leant to one side, and a loud and colossal smash echoed through the room.

You helplessly laid there, having no ability to get up, as the shards of the glass table that had tried to break your fall, and had ended up breaking instead, stabbed mercilessly into the canvas of your back. It made you feel like a dartboard, free to the attempts of anything that put a bet on to try. This was your final fall from greatness, and if you weren’t to survive this, that would be o-

“Y/n.” A voice rushed out, as footsteps scrambled to come to your side. The silouhette of a blurry man knelt beside you, sickened with their own scheme of panic. “Nat!” He called out towards the kitchen, you hearing the pitter patter of her assumed footsteps that were toed in competent heels.

“Clint, what happened?” She asked, but giving him a break to compose his answer as she called warily out for FRIDAY, relieved when the AI answered her order. “Get one of Stark’s cars ready to go to the hospital, inform who needs to know. Y/n’s just had a nasty fall, and I assume more.”

“She was like this when I got in here.” Was the archer’s delirious response. His hands raised your head out of the cracked pieces, gently picking the sharp crystals out of your hair. He was sick with worry, he knew that you were touring a difficult road, one that no one else on the team could fathom to understand, but despite all that, he was still there for you, as were the numerous others.

Wearing his priceless suit, Tony rushed into the room, his brown eyes blown wide as he scoped the scene. “She’s losing consciousness.” Nat informed the pair, focusing on how your eyes barely had the strength to stay open. Your breathing was laboured, and the choke emitting from it was audible, making all witnesses wince from the threatening sound.

“My car is ready, on our way to the ER, give Barnes a call.” He held the keys to his vehicle, swinging them around his finger, as he watched Clint and Natasha hoist you up, and support you through the journey to the front of the compound. Nat stroked your hair as she bit back her own tears, combing tenderly through the slightly bloody tresses to soothe her own present anxiety.

The mission was turning out to be a bust, they were tracking Zemo after his great escape; hence why their departure was classified. It was unknown why the once Baron of Sokovia had fled to the country, but all prior intel had supported the idea that he was searching for a partner to help finish his work, if he were to ever get caught by the American government again.

Bucky hated being away from the place that had slowly become his home. It made him feel lost, but if he wanted to remain within said area to continue his life, he had to follow Fury’s orders, or else the panel that had granted him freedom for all his past actions, may happen to change his mind.

The gig of being an avenger was more of Steve’s expertise, he was loved by the country, and had never tried to break its order down piece by piece. Before he was cleared to join the team, and the debate that lead to Steve and Tony siding against one another, he was nothing more than a tense ghost story.

All knew he was real, but most were too scared to admit that the Winter Solider was an assassinating figure in existence. To everyone’s dismay now, following rule number two, he was no longer HYDRA’s pet weapon. He, for the first time in his life, had some kind of clarity on who he was.

His identity, was James Bucky Barnes, the White Wolf, the protector of the world and a renounced ally of Wakanda. And he was happy to be known as such, in a way, the new him cleared his red ledger, and that faded away with that damned red book.

No one had the power to control his mind again, all of his actions were now completely up to him. At first, with the reign over himself, he had been unsure on how to start with this new and invented soldier that he had become. He was no longer taking refuge behind the facade of T’Challa’s country anymore, for he was no a wanted man of the state.

But Sam enjoyed prodding at his ‘cyborg brain’, driving him to certain frustration. Though, it did not matter as much, for he found the peace he had been searching for after that little bit of calm that he had experienced on his hideaway.

You. A retired avenger, that had kicked his ass, and continued to brag about it to this day, when he was under Pierce’s demeaning orders. Though, it saddened him, to have the knowledge that you no longer had the ability to pin him down on a training mat, or throw his best friend’s shield in his silent face.

There was no longer an ignition of strength to fight left within you, you were weak from the condition that had and was holding you hostage in its devastating grasp. The debts of your god deeds had wormed their way through your body, destroying it bit by bit.

Whenever he was away, missing the presence that you had once accompanied him with, he was unable but to do anything but worry about your struggling health. He feared that one day, he would get a call claiming that you had experienced a traumatic accident, and as he sat in the small and cluttered motel room, the vibrancy and life that his phone was off putting had him nervously on edge.

“It’s Fury.” He claimed to his rugged partners, putting the man that had regained control of his empire on loud speaker, awaiting for the patch wearing associate to respond to his acceptance of the call. A moment of silence had him standing, the next, caused him to pace. Steve frowned, well aware that Fury only went silent, and did not barking affirmative orders when something had happened.

That man was an absolute whore for the dramatics, he had even faked his own death on multiple accounts. There was nothing the man could fathom not to do, and this sure as hell, in the name of Goose, was not the first instance he had informed his recruits of shocking factors. Steve remembered when the dark clothed man informed him that he was in the 21st century, and to this day, it remained to be the greatest shock that he had experienced.

The second had got to be the reveal of Bucky’s survival, that heart stopping moment had gone in slow motion, as the soldat whipped his unmasked face around to face his opponents, and he was quickly recognised. You had been there to ease the confusion and the humongous shock that wired his brain. And not to mention, to soothe the wave of emotions, you had prompted at jokes at about kicking his best friend’s fine ass.

That had only been the start to a long road ahead, it had all seemed like your quad of rebelling would go on forever. Sam Wilson was your best friend, and the first to be told of your failure to continue your raids on missions, and to say that he was holding back fountains in his eyes, was a casual understatement. The Falcon had felt angry at himself for not realising the increase in coughs that fled from your sassy mouth, or how quickly you would get tired.

He put some of that blame upon himself, claiming that he should have been the first to notice the signs. It was his idea, before your struggles were revealed to anyone else, to refuse your aid on missions, which lead to conspiracies from the team. For a couple of weeks, the members that you had fought alongside for so long had speculated that you were pregnant,and even Bucky had even began to fall for that idea.

In the end, they had all wished for that to be true, a child would be a gift, whereas instead, you were bestowed with a curse. Sam had offered for you to stay with Sarah and the kids, but upon your insistence, you remained in the compound, organising files and watching cinematic classics for the thousandth time.

But anyone could see, that every time they discussed the missions, of left to endure them, your face fell, appeased by the thought that you’d never share that experience again. They all tried to distract you, Thor had even taken you on a vacation to New Asgard so that you could relax and play video games with Korg, yelling frustratedly at Noobmaster69 as the kid tried to spite your friend and his gaming skills.

That though, had not ended well, and instead, the noise had brought you insufferable pain, and you had to be taken home. But what was home anymore? You hardly felt as though you belonged upon the army of your friends, or the guardians that they were aligned with.

And so, it was very understandable why Bucky was inclined to worry. All his dragged our life, he had watched people die, or awakened from cryo to find them gone, and the split moments that he were required on missions, was another moment that he had lost with you.

He gulped as he waited for Fury to say something, anything! And when he did, he wished that he could go back in time, and stop you from ever having been an avenger. “It’s agent Y/L/N, something has happened...”

It had been hours of no news, and Stark tapped his well dressed foot. He had requested, - no, insisted the best doctors to tend to your internal and external injury, claiming that if your condition was made any worse, he would personally make sure that they never tended to another patient again.

He was not usually one to be so aggressive, but he feared loss, it was a great flaw and attribute of his. Possibly, in some people’s judgemental eyes, he cared too much, but he never thought so. To him, the billionaire was human, no matter what the citizens over the world thought of him.

Sure, he wore an iron suit to protect the world, but beneath all the metal, he had a heart. And he’d be damned sure that he used it, and that it beat for a purpose. Natasha and Clint were either side of him, the assassins on her phone as she read the captain’s well written message.

“They’ve entered the country.” She spoke, referring to Sam, Bucky and Steve. It was a relief that they were going to be here soon, then they’d all look sane in comparison to Barnes. It was doubtful that he was holding himself together well, these hours had been torture to all of them, but he had actually been tortured in multiple gruelling occasions, but it was nothing in comparison to this.

One of the country’s best and devoted doctors opened the door to the room that you were being stabilised in, leading to all eyes waiting outside to stare hopefully at him. It was an intimidating thing, to have three avengers leaving him with one of their owns lives in his hands, he was not a hero. But to them, he was to be, they trusted him and the various recommendations that had suggested that he would be best suited to the deed.

The fact that he was the man in charge in this situation was to be great steak in his career, though, he would never be able to anyone, not even family, that he had saved the life of an avenger. Due to doctor patient confidentially, he was bribed into silence by the philanthropist himself, who was certain that he was fine for paying for the entire service himself.

Money had no importance to Tony, not as his friend was the patient that could have died. The man removed his sunglasses, sternly looking up at the kind doctor with pleading and urgent eyes, wanting to scoop every detail that he could from the eccentric medic. “How is she?”

The doctor gulped, well aware that there was a weight apparent on his shoulders, even when delivering any news. But this, was a whole new experience, he knew that you, the woman hoisted up in the hospital bed, had saved his coursing during the battle of New York. He was grateful, for everything that you had done, but simultaneously, felt the need to be careful with any tactic that he used to save your life.

“Well,” he licked his dry lips, watching as the Black Widow herself stared into his soul, “she’s stable, for now. And it would be okay if one of you went in, she’s currently in the midst of waking up. However, she is going to be unable to give much in the verse of a conversation, the oxygen mask that she’s wearing has to stay on, and it will not be a good if she tries to waste the breath she’s being given to talk.”

He was interrupted by the sound of competent running down the hall, it was as though the men dressed in their gear ignored the no running rule. But it was understandable, seeing as Bucky’s eyes were wild and wide, as he came to a stop and asked what was going on. Clint stood, bracing a hand upon his shoulder, before informing him the details they had just been given. “I think you should be the first to see her.”

Bucky didn’t argue with Clint, and instead, walked into the room, ensuring that he shut the door behind himself. He smiled painfully at the sight; there were so many tubes, and all the surrounding machines were lit up with statistics that he did not understand. Nevertheless, he looked towards the vacant seat beside your bed, and claimed it for his ass that you had once kicked.

Your eyes watched as he looked down upon you, your hands reaching to remove the mask, but he placed his hand upon your own, and replaced them to be upon your chest. “Shush darling, no talking, doctor’s orders.” He spoke, rubbing your cheek with his right hand, feeling the corner of the mask against the inside of his palm.

“Had me so worried doll, thought I was gonna lose you.” At the thought, a grimace presented itself of his woeful face, and to comfort him, you placed your fingers around his own, absentmindedly playing with them as you listened to his sincere voice. “On the way here, I spoke to Shuri, we are going to see if she can help you in anyway, as long as you’re okay with that. Does that sound good baby?”

Fluttering your eyelashes as you looked through their webbed curtain to stare lovingly at him, you nodded your head, ignoring the spiteful pains that emitted from where the glass had shallowly penetrated your scalp. “Alright, I’ll let her know. And I was thinking...” he waited for a moment to continue, being encouraged by the crease between his brow line.

“What if we stay in Wakanda, and we leave all this behind? We can still see people when they visit, and we can just, have some calm to ourselves. No missions, no aliens to fight, and no Zemo to chase. Or I was thinking, we go and live by Sarah, you love those kids, they’re basically your nephews, and we could take boat rides during the middle of the night, and help the people who live there, and...”

At his rambling, you smiled beneath the plastic system that was around your mouth, listening to him talk and talk about your future together. Yes, you missed missions, but you would give all that up for a normal and easy life, with Bucky Barnes.

[thefanficmonster]

Bouquet

Corpse Husband x Reader (Female)

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: Having come clean about being single for a very long time now and considering herself completely out of the dating scene, Y/N’s confession is taken and responded to with a ton of kindness, especially from a special someone...

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your lovely request, it was such a joy to write! I’m so sorry for the long wait you had to go through but the fic is finally here and I hope you enjoy reading it! Love, Vy ❤

I roll out of bed with little to no desire to start my day. We haven’t got a scheduled stream for today and the clouds glooming in the sky seem to be promising rain so really what do I have to get up for except that it’s a rule society installed?

Just kidding, I’m basically stalling and that’s all.

So what happened was the streamer gang and I were playing Among Us last night and our conversation during the pause between rounds somehow swerved into relationship territory. I stayed quiet the majority of if not all the time because I had no valid input to offer. 

If you know me you know I’m not one of the performers on the dating scene. I have never really confirmed it with my fans - well, until last night, that is - but I bet they have picked up on that fact considering I’ve been on YouTube for around a decade and have never had a partner. That being said, I’d have to also mention that I have in fact dated but someone but it was before my YouTube era started. Me choosing this career path, which back then was just a hobby, had nothing to do with the relationship ending but it still motivated me to not to actively look for a relationship while I’m still focused on my career. It’s too much work, too much stress and requires a lot of balance I most certainly either don’t have or I don’t have the energy to put in balancing my romantic and professional lives. Luckily, no one’s ever pressured me into finding a significant other, not yet at least, so no societal pressure for me!

But I gotta admit I felt real awkward admitting all this last night.

“Hey Y/N what do you think? You’ve been awfully quiet?“ Rae asks, causing me to jolt in my seat from where I’ve been reading my chat for the past five minutes, my mic muted.

I quickly unmute to reply, blushing ever so slightly, “Um, sorry I was reading my chat. What do I think about what?”

“The gesture of giving flowers to your significant other, is it romantic or a waste of money and plant murder?“ Rae explains, still managing to catch me off-guard with her question.

I ponder what my response should be for a little bit before deciding to level it to a neutral level where I almost sound indifferent, “It is in fact plant murder basically and artificial flowers would definitely be a better gift - plus they’ll last longer.”

“Mhmm yeah that’s true.“ Poki agrees with me, “But there’s still the question of whether it’s a romantic gesture or not. I personally don’t think it’s overrated or cheesy, I actually quite like it. What about you, Y/N?“

And now she’s got me in a real trap that I can’t wiggle out of without speaking my truth. I don’t know where this sudden anxiety around the subject came from but it now resides within me rent free and makes me feel self-conscious and embarrassed of the confession I’m inevitably make.

“Um, I wouldn’t know for certain, I’ve never received flowers myself...“ I say sheepishly, cringing at the sound of my own voice, “It’s not like I’ve dated plenty of people and the one guy I did date wasn’t really romantic or anything, I mean - we were teenagers, after all. But when I think about it in theory I think I’d like the gesture: it’s thoughtful, plus you get a temporary but beautiful piece of décor out of it.“

I’m gonna hope I didn’t sound too pitiful or desperate. Of course I’m not gonna check afterward on the stream cause I’d rather live in the illusion of having sounded humorous rather than be given the confirmation that I didn’t.

“Wait, wait, wait, did you date your last boyfriend like a decade ago?“ Corpse is now the one talking and that makes me feel even more anxious. This is not the impression one would want to give to their crush, is it? Oh well, no turning back now.

“Correct.“ I reply with a laugh that I hope didn’t sound as nervous as it was.

“And you’ve never, like in your whole life, received flowers from someone?“ He sounds astonished which sort of makes me want to shrink up in my shell like a turtle. Too bad I don’t have a shell though. I’m genuinely thinking of the option to rip the router out of the outlet right now to save me the troubles but I’m not that immature. I’m surprised I’m even reacting this way - this topic doesn’t usually bother me at all but now for some reason I’m red as a tomato and shrinking in my chair. 

I know what the obvious answer is but I’d rather die than admit to it.

“Yeah, yeah, I know it sounds bad but I really don’t care.“ I make an attempt at changing the subject, swerving it back to the main topic rather than my lack of a love life, “I do, in fact, find the gesture sweet - it adds vibrancy to the relationship just like the flowers would add vibrancy and color to the space they’re put in.“

“Oh my gosh, that’s such a cool analogy!“ Rae gushes, “You’re totally right, it might be an old trick, but it’s aged like fine wine.“

Phew, God bless you Rae.

“Exactly, exactly.“ Corpse agrees as well but I don’t think he’s fully heard what Rae said since he sounds to have fallen in deep thought.

At least I got away with it with only making a SLIGHT nervous wreck of myself.

Yikes, was that horrible, though I don’t people will remember it for long. Sure, my fans have sent me thousands of lovely messages and pictures of bouquets and will maybe continue sending them for another day or two - which I highly appreciate, don’t get me wrong. I’m severely touched by this gesture of theirs and it almost makes me glad I finally ‘came clean’ about my romance-less life - however, it’ll fade overtime. I mean, who the heck cares if I’m single or not?

As I pour the milk over my cheerios which I’ve been snacking on dry for the past half hour as I rifled through the many notifications clogging up my lock screen, I hear the doorbell ring. I’m understandably puzzled by this, seeing as how I never get visitors so that doorbell rings only when I’ve ordered something, be it takeout or a random item off Amazon. However, I can’t remember ordering anything, at least not anything that should be arriving at the moment or even anytime soon - that glow-in-the dark curtain isn’t supposed to arrive until next week.  I make my way to the door, unbothered by the fact I’m still in my pajamas, and take a look through the peephole.

It’s a delivery guy...and he happens to be holding a huge-ass bouquet.

“What the...“ I mutter to myself as I unlock and swing open the door in the blink of an eye, “Hi?“

“Hi there, are you Y/N L/N?“ The delivery guy, who I’ve seen many times before and who I’m on pretty friendly terms with, asks me jokingly, sending a wink my way.

“I sure am.“ I reply, my gaze fixated on the breathtaking flowers he’s holding, “But those can’t be for me, that’s for sure.“

He fishes looks at his clipboard one more time, nodding before he looks back at me, “I double and triple checked, Y/N, they’re for you. Here, have a look if you don’t believe me.” He turns the clipboard  for me to see and he is actually telling the truth. I mean, I doubt he’d have any reason to lie to me but mix-ups happen all the time.

“Um, ok thanks. Sorry for the halt, it’s just...I’d hate to be the recipient of the flowers meant for another girl.” I apologize as I take the bouquet for him, still in awe of the fact I’m the one it was made and meant for and sent to.

I say a quick ‘bye’ to the delivery guy before practically running inside to inspect this bouquet for a card from the sender. I have my guesses: it has to be someone who was present during the stream last night and someone who knows my address. Hopefully it’s someone from my friend group and not a fan who watched the stream and just happens to know my address. I’d still appreciate the gesture, but I’d also install security cameras if that was the case.

Something about the color scheme of the flowers - pink and black - gives me Rae vibes since she constantly teases me about my aesthetics contradicting each other. But then again, Poki does it too so it could be her as well....

Oh...OH GOD IT’S NEITHER OF THEM

                                                               ~ ~ ~

I’ve been sitting here, keeping myself a safe distance from my phone so I’m not the first one to send her a text. So I don’t ask if she got what I sent her. So I don’t ask what she thought of it, how the bouquet looks in her living room, how it smells, how it makes her feel. I have so many questions so that phone is best off at a major distance from me. I’m the one who’s better off with such a huge distance between me and the device, to be perfectly honest.

Was it a bad idea? Should I have slept on it - or just thought about it longer cause sleep and I don’t get along? Should I have at least waited a day or two? Should I-

My phone vibrates with a notification and I practically fly to it from across the room, grabbing it and unlocking it asap. My heart sinks and takes off like a rocket simultaneously when I see I’ve been tagged in Y/N’s Instagram story. I nervously tap the notification that sends me to the picture of the bouquet I sent her with some text written over it.

“Thank you, Romeo ;)“

Somehow that one sentence answers all those aforementioned questions.

Is this what people refer to as butterflies in one’s stomach? Cause it feels significantly more like a crush...oh wait.

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[96thdayofrage]

Drury's aunt, Valerie Wilcox, told the The Buffalo News that she fondly recalled the day her sister legally adopted the "sweet, sweet girl" with a capacity for joy that could echo off the walls. On family vacations to Wildwood, New Jersey, Amanda remembers that her sister was the one pulling everyone else into the water.

"Jubilant" was the word her brother, Christopher Moyer, used to describe her. She was a fan of food and life and seemingly every song on the radio he didn't know, he said.

Drury's swings in energy could make it difficult to hold a job, Moyer said. But after he was diagnosed with leukemia, eventually requiring a bone marrow transplant, she rushed to Buffalo eight years ago to be by his side. She babysat his two small children, made grocery trips to help out, and accompanied him on wing runs for his restaurant, The Dalmatia Hotel.

“No matter what she went through. She was full of life," said her friend and neighbor in Buffalo, Krystle Pino, to radio station WGRZ. "Caring, happy, she cared about everyone,”

At the beginning of each day, Pino told the Syracuse Post-Standard, Drury liked to pop her head out the window to yell across the street.

“Good morning, Boo,” Drury would yell. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” Pino responded in kind.

Drury lived just 10 minutes on foot from the Tops Friendly Markets location on Jefferson Avenue — and on Saturday afternoon, May 14, she walked down the street the same way she always did, Moyer said.

But this time, she didn’t return.

"I knew about the shooting immediately," Moyer said. "All my friends had called me saying, 'Oh my god, I can't believe what happened down the street.'"

Moyer knew a gunman was at their local supermarket. He knew multiple people had been shot. He refused to even imagine that his sister could be involved.

But she wasn't answering the phone. She wasn't at home. His sister's friends began to knock on his door, saying they were worried.

"Little by little," he said, "it began to seep in."

Even before the police called, he began preparing his family for the worst.

She had been among the first victims, they learned. She'd been shot down in the Tops parking lot by a man who’d scrawled a racial slur onto his rifle. 

The alleged killer had driven more than 200 miles from his home to Buffalo’s historical Black Main Street. According to police, he left behind a white supremacist manifesto describing his plan to terrorize anyone who didn’t look like him.

By the time police allowed the gunman to lay down his rifle, 13 people had been shot. And 10 lay dead.

Among them was his sister, just 32 years old, who would never again be able to shout her love from her front window, or serenade her sister with Whitney Houston songs over the phone.

"It's hard to know what to say," said Moyer, who said his family is trying to keep it together. He spoke from the hospital, after suffering yet another health setback.

For sister Amanda, Roberta was the one who made sure family gatherings were all about spending boisterous quality time together. "Her vibrancy set a tone," she said.

Moyer’s restaurant, The Dalmatia Hotel, declared itself heartbroken in a Facebook message, calling her a “bright light in the world.”

“To learn that a member of our NorthStar family fell victim to an extremist act of hate, is unfathomable,” wrote Daniel Bowles, superintendent of the North Syracuse Central School District where Drury had attended high school.

As for Drury's neighbor, Pino, she was left to tell her young children that they would never again see their neighbor, she told the Post-Standard.

“I had to explain … she is with God now,” Pino said.

[reidecorating]

Venus & the Sun

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

A/N: I felt compelled to write this because the thought of Spence hating mornings keeps me up - which then causes me to also hate mornings because I’m tired, it truly is a tragic cycle. also! here’s my masterlist!

Word Count: 1.6k

Summary: Dragging a grumpy & sleepy Spencer out to a picnic on the water where the view was far more than he bargained for

Warnings: Early mornings A tiny bit suggestive, but predominantly just fluff galore <3

Whether Venus is named the Morning or Evening Star depends on what side of the sun it indwells. When the planet glistens and gleams from the eastern sky, it’s a telltale sign it’ll rise before the sun - namely becoming the Morning Star. If Spencer had it his way, he would not be awake before midday on a Saturday morning. If Spencer had it his way, he would continue to snore for some while longer, dreaming - visions of a maladaptive cottage in the Swiss Alps, a handful of mountain goats sprinkled about tufts of unmown alpine grass - certainly not giving a second thought towards planetary placements of a cosmos he never wished to be part of. But Spencer did not have it his way this morning. 

She always called Spencer her sun, but he believed that if this were to be true, she was his Venus; arising from the left side of his bed, sparkling and lighting up the world, most mornings, before he had even opened his eyes. The way in which she looked at him made him believe that the ancient Romans had been right about a deity of Venus, a goddess of love and beauty, his proof being the woman by his side. After wheedling him out of the comfort of rumpled sheets, with saccharine kisses and promises of more, at six o’clock, on the dot, she swept him away in a direction he recognised as towards the pier. It was the last place he would go in his free time, but because he was with her, he didn’t mind. As they journeyed on foot towards the sea, missing the growl of the car radiator, it became noticeable how winter lingered in the air, chasing joggers and haunting places where the daylight was yet to reach, as if it had unfinished business even Spring couldn’t prevent it from completing. 

Spencer felt no remorse towards anyone he hurt in the mornings. The time he spent existing, before half a litre of caffeine was sent down to his kidneys for filtration, angered him. She knew it, too. Always giving him space as he grumbled, with furrowed brows, at anything that moves, often resorting to giggling quietly and observing his shenanigans from a distance - usually involving a wrestle with a hot jug. As they walked, his fingers found the spaces between hers, grasping firmly to prevent the crisp air from streaming through to their bones. She chuckled at the tender action contrasting his expression. “What?” He scowled humorously. “Oh, nothing,” she suppressed a smile. The scowl turned confused. “You’re just very adorable, even when you despise me,” she teased. “I don’t despise you, I actually love you very much,” the sentence rolled off his tongue like a statistic, “I despise being awake.” At that, a grin broke across her face. “In fact, I think that being awake at this hour should be criminalised, I’ll pass the bill myself,”

“Good luck getting a representative to sponsor that bill, Doctor President,”

“I work for the government. I have connections,” 

“And they say this democracy isn’t corrupt,” she grimaced, only partly joking. She saw his laughter in a huff of foggy breath at her comment. “Anyway, when was the last time you had a proper breakfast?” She asked. Spencer thought about it for a moment. Yesterday, if espresso and inhaling air particles counts, he thought. “That… is a… trick question, pretty lady.” The corners of his mouth twitched from behind where his coat collar stood upturned, sufficing in the absence of a scarf, knowing that any answer he provided wouldn’t impress her. Without response, she just held his hand impossibly tighter, walking the tiniest bit quicker.

An unwieldily wicker basket dangled from his fingers, knuckles blue from the early air while they continued on their stroll along the promenade. “You can dismantle the patriarchy another day, Y/N. Please let me carry this for you,” Spencer had asked, insisting she carried the picnic blanket instead. Prevailing winds raced to hide within the drapes of his trench-coat, hiking it outwards behind him in the dramatic way it might if he were on a runway. Over the phone line, she would tell him, “Careful, you may be tempted to leave the BAU if you get scouted by Prada,” whenever she knew he was sat in a budget-meeting hotel room in Los Angeles or New York, wrestling with chopsticks and a container of cold noodles and undoubtedly working a case after hours. Never did he believe her, always taking her flattery with a grain of salt. “Absolutely not. For Givenchy though, I definitely might consider it.” She recalled his response. He acutely remembered the way she’d laughed on the other line, yearning to be the reason she did, forever. Admiring her lover, she struggled to comprehend how everyone in the world didn’t see the same things she saw. He had a beautiful soul. That’s what shone through every crack in his skin. 

Brine toothed sea mist had corroded bolts on the wharf over time, the slight stench of rusted metal taking their nostrils time to adjust to. She began laying down the thick flannel sheet over the dewy wood, careful as to not fall over the edge. “Now, I know you prefer sunsets, but trust me, after today you will change your mind,” she chirped, patting down the blanket. Spencer thought he preferred being alone, she changed his mind on that also, and so, he trusted her words unapologetically. “I’m sure of it,” he beamed at her, placing the basket down with a soft thud before cracking his, now, nearly transparent knuckles. “You look like you’re freezing!” She half whispered and half yelled, rushing to take his hands, cupping his much larger ones in hers and puffing out warm breaths of air in order to thaw his joints. After all, the jacket around her shoulders was one that belonged to him, it was the least she could do. Shaking his head at her actions, completely enamoured by the way she fiddled with his fingers to provide some friction, he turned to glance at the hills in the distance, the night falling and stars dissolving into day, like granules of sugar in hot tea. He looked back at her, catching her eyes, already gazing up at him. “I sense you’re about to tell me something I don’t know about sunrises,” she tilted her head. “Close,” he nodded, grin wider than the horizon before them, “I was going to tell you about Venus.” Pointing at the remaining speck of glitter in the sky, he wrapped an arm around her. “The ancient Greeks and Egyptians actually believed that Venus was two separate celestial bodies. A morning star, which the Greeks called Phosphoros, ‘the bringer of light’, and an evening star, Hesperos, ‘the star of the evening’. It wasn’t until a few hundred years later, that they realised that Venus was actually a single planet.” She nodded along, absorbing the new information before cupping his jaw in her palms to feel his lips between her own. “What was that for?” Spencer giggled after pulling away, not opposed to the action. “Just proving to the goddess of beauty and love that I do, very much, love a beautiful person.” The dawn breaking illuminated the rose flush on Spencer’s cheeks. “Fun fact, it’s actually the hottest planet in our solar system. Kind of…” he swallowed looking down at his shoes for a brief moment, “kind of reminds me of you,” he smirked, still an amateur to the skill they call flirting. Shaking her head at him, flustered, she sat down on the sheet motioning for him to take a seat beside her, before unpacking the basket. 

A small fishing boat coursed through the water, its hull parting the ocean from Atlantic to symmetrical fountain streams, which were immediately pinned back into place, the way a cobalt fabric cut by the scissors of a seamstress would fall to her worktable. Sitting cross legged above the water, Spencer, from a large flask, poured two much needed cups of coffee, the bright pink ’S’ decorating his one making him raise a brow. She handed him a spread bagel, topped with fluorescent streaks of smoked salmon and cracks of pepper, on a small wooden chopping board, heart fluttering at how his jaw dropped slightly in excitement. “It’s Philly Cream Cheese, by the way, I know you love dairy but I made sure this didn’t have any in it anyway.” A soft smile settled on his lips. “Thank you,” he expressed his gratitude, “for all of this,” he clarified, as he finished chopping up various stone fruit into a woven basket. “Don’t mention it. I just wanted to spend more hours of the day with you,”

“That’s very sweet, but I see exactly what you’re doing. I hope you don’t expect that this’ll get me up at this hour every weekend,” 

“Mhm,” a smug look made its way onto her face, “You already know I have other ways of getting you up early on Saturdays,”

“Oh? Okay, was that a-“ he had on an incredulous look, “I’m going to hold you to that,” he chewed down on his lip. She raised her eyebrows at his words. 

“Cheers,” she held up her cup for a toast. “Cheers,” Spencer repeated, the soft clink of metal sounding over the crows of gulls overhead. They huddled into each other, watching the vibrance of sunlight meld together like dyes on an artists’s unwashed watercolour palette. Needless to say, she was not at all disappointed when the star of the morning finally disappeared, because a sky full of them could be found in the eyes of the man she called hers, and as he turned to face her, before his hand settled in her hair and apricot flavoured tongue reached her lips, she saw it, for a moment.

[may-day-voice]

please do not repost, but you have permission to reblog :)

• Watch/ Listen on YouTube: https://youtu.be/zBq6DB8NS3I

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The Rook

Part of Villain AU Phase One | 122532019

Your heart fluttered in your chest, breathing slowly and silently in a cramped small space, tucking your legs close to your chest in an attempt to shrink into a ball.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," cooed the smooth voice, his boots slowly trekking through the commercial kitchen. You dared not peek from your hiding spot, eyeing the warped reflection of his body against the silver surfaces of the cabinetry. Not much has changed, except for those gnarled, tattered wings that draped along the floor behind him.

"Oh come on Pidge. This game is getting old," he purred, his wings fluttering violently against the tables, shuddering the cutlery with a brutish clang. Your shoulders hitched from the sound, clasping your hands around your mouth to keep your breath still. As long as you breathed quietly, he may not find you.

Your eyes peered towards the roof of the kitchen, visualizing yourself still in your hiding spot while the map of the kitchen laid before you in a shadowy reflection. There amongst the map, stood Hawks, his eyes still scanning the kitchen while you began to visualize all probabilities available to him and you. Many revealed failed escape attempts, a few highlighted failure staying where you were; with each probable outcome, the hope of escape was extremely slim.

His boots scuffed before you, still hiding in that tiny hole between the tables. He stopped where he stood, turning every once in a while to survey the empty commercial kitchen, twirling a bright rouge feather in his fingers. He stared at the tiny down, smirking at its colour and vibrancy.

"Smart of you to leave this behind Pidge. You've caught on real quick," he mused while the feather floated in his palm, still attached to its necklace. "But a promise is a promise, and I'm here to return it back to you."

You stared back at the ceiling, ignoring his legs to find that your chances were slipping away with each passing breath. Would he walk by? Or would he find you? You knew he knew better. It all came down to tactical strategy and advantage. He would play his Bishop, which left you with-

"Found you Pidge!"

You kicked into his face as hard as your legs could spring from your hiding spot, catching him off guard briefly before you leapt out and ran for the exit. Your Knight had to take the place of a pawn, leaving you some breathing space to escape. You slammed into the swinging double doors, running down the hall towards the lobby where you had three choices. Exit the building, find your way to the underground garage, or call for help from the reception. You had to keep yourself six steps ahead and find your pawns to halt his advance. The numbers ran through your head, the percentages of success depending on Hawks' recovery and his speed. Getting out would mean a great advantage to the Flying Hero, calling for help was an outlying choice dependent on who would receive your call and for how long. Out of all of your choices, the quickest to give you some time was the underground garage.

Your feet echoed in the dark and empty lobby, only lit by the moonlight through the large windows that revealed the illuminated street lights of the city. Your eyes darted between the elevator or the stairs. Which one would give you more time?

A slam of the doors echoed from behind, revealing Hawks soaring through the hall before he emerged into the lobby, floating above the expanse of the room with his eyes darting everywhere. His blind left eye was of no use, relying so much on his only functioning eye to spot the lights of the elevator illuminate, sending the box to the lobby floor. He floated towards the ground until a sliver of light caught his eye, catching the fire emergency door slowly and hauntingly close. A smirk crawled on his lips before his feet landed on the floor, fluttering his wings from the strain. He stared at the door, contemplating his own choices before he entered through it, taking the flight of stairs down.

The lobby fell silent again, except for the ding of the elevator's door opening absently on the floor. You slowly peeked your head from the reception desk, having hidden under it for the time Hawks had witnessed his available choices. He had an advantage on you in the long run if you had continued to run, exerting all your energy into escaping with the likelihood of Hawks catching up to you. Bluffing was your only option to give you some time.

With Hawks having taken the bait, you carefully collected the phone from the desk, taking the machine under with you. You didn't want to take any chances of Hawks realizing any movement from above now at this stage of the game.

Dialing a set of numbers, you were met with a familiar dial tone, shrinking yourself into a ball with the reception phone in your lap. Your breath was still again, inhaling slowly and exhaling quietly.

"If I show you, then I know you won't tell what I said," spoke a young voice on the line, the gruffness lining his irritation.

"Cause two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead," you answered in a low whisper, still with a quiet breath.

"Hey, where are you?" Asked the voice laced with worry and surprise despite that gruff undertone.

"The old Commission building," you whispered.

"This whole time?"

"Hawks is here too," you continued, eyeing the ceiling once more. "Look, I don't know how long I have left hiding here until he realizes my bluff. What's the status over there?"

"We're on standby. Things are out of control. We've lost our lead investigator for... Deku." The voice strained when it uttered the name, hearing the disdain and the hurt.

"I'm sorry Izumi," you spoke, eyeing your probable outcomes along the tall ceiling of the lobby, eyeing your chances of escape growing slimingly thin.

"Anyway, our insider is still on the case about Todoroki, and we've informed them to advise others out in the field," continued Kota.

"How is Eri?"

"Fine."

You still controlled your breathing, forcing your reaction to his abrupt reply down into the pit of your stomach. He had always been protective of Eri. Not at first, but when the world flipped on its head, it became his purpose. You smiled inwardly at the thought, lucky to find upcoming Heroes in the making in these darker times.

"We can get to you-"

"No," you interrupted. "This is Riot Territory. I don't want you to run in head first while Red Riot is roaming about."

"Then, what do you want us to do?"

Your eyes darted with every outcome that played out on the ceiling above, the shadowy reflection revealing all possibilities with varying levels of failure. In the end, your heart sank. You've reached the endgame phase with only two options left - both zugzwang.

"Hey, are you listening?" spoke Izumi, his voice anxious. "We can't let them have you!"

"I'm sorry Izumi," you whispered, halting the quiet breaths you forced yourself to breathe. "You need to look after Eri. She's going to have to make a big decision soon."

"No, no, no, don't you dare make that decision," he retorted. "It's not yours to make!"

"Make sure the Shimanos are present as well. Eri trusts Katsuma just as much she does with you," you suggested while you slowly stood to your feet from under the desk.

"Stop talking like we're going ahead with that decision. I hated the fact that dumbass even thought of the plan. We are not going ahead with that plan."

You smiled at his irate response, while you placed the phone on the reception desk, now out of hiding. The lobby was silent except for the echo of your voice filling the room, breathing freely from your practiced silent breaths earlier during the night.

"Izumi-"

"We need you back here! We've lost too much now, we can't lose anymore!" His voice echoed through the earpiece, adding an echo in the lobby while you smiled at his reply.

"Then win," you replied calmly. "Win the fight where we couldn't."

You immediately ended the call, slamming the phone into the desk before the rush of air slammed through the emergency doors. Feathers circled around you, grabbing hold of your clothes and carrying you inches from the floor. Hawks entered the lobby, his now featherless wings bearing the scarred tissue left behind from his injuries years ago. His eyes stared into yours, grabbing hold of your chin to force your gaze into his.

"Thought you could outsmart me Pidge?" He queried with a teasing grin. "You almost had me."

"Almost," you emphasized. "I still had you going."

"Yes, but you can't rely on your bluffs forever. Like I said, your games are getting old." His lips closed in on yours, feeling his breath wash over the skin. He was teasing now. You couldn't tell what your body felt - disgusted, revolted, or was that old flame being ignited again, even if it were a glimpse into what he used to be before his mind went mad.

"So, are you going to tell me who you were talking to?" He asked, catching you off guard. "I could be jealous if you gave me the reason why."

You swallowed, raking through your mind on your response. You didn't account for him eavesdropping the breath of your last words on the phone call. Thankfully, he wouldn't have been able to discern the words you spoke, but lying about the phone call wasn't an option.

Hawks was only met with a silent tongue.

"Aw Pidge, we shouldn't be keeping secrets from each other. Trust goes both ways, am I right?" He cooed with a grin. "How about this? You don't have to tell me anything, but I'm going to have to take you with me to a friend of ours for a while. Seems you're not fond of going down memory lane with me here."

His statement was laughable, but to an extent, he was reaching. After he had captured you yesterday, he had brought you to this decrepit building only to relive memories of what once was. It was a day of cat and mouse, one that went astray after your original game plan had shifted drastically. You opened with a King's Gambit by feeding into his plot, offering yourself for capture to make it seem that he had succeeded. However, throughout the day. He had thwarted most of your available moves and outcomes. You read him like a book, but so did he.

With a tug of his feathers, you were pulled towards the front doors, followed by Hawks who kept his steely gaze on you. Perhaps there was a way out from this, you thought, eyeing the outside street lights from your peripherals. You contemplated the notion of what very little options you had left, until you spotted Hawks pull a small bottle from his person, dowsing a cloth in what substance it contained.

Immediately, he shoved the cloth into your face, covering your nose and mouth that filled with a sweet and nutty scent. You struggled recognizing that smell, pulling at the small tugs of Hawks' feathers before your limbs felt limp.

"Now, relax Pidge," reassured Hawks through your drowsiness. "I'll make sure you're comfortable when you wake up."

That sweet scent was the last you recalled before your eyes fluttered shut, your head feeling light from the dizziness. Of course, it was chloroform.

Knocked out and comatose, you dangled from Hawks' feathers before they gently released you into his arms, each one returning to his back while he hissed in pain. His Quirk felt like a nuisance now, each use of it always a burden on his body. His painful cries echoed in the lobby, leaving his wings limp while they dragged along the floor.

"You'll be in safe-keeping Pidge," he remarked, straining his back to lift his wings, spreading them ready for take-off. With a push, his wings lifted himself from the ground with you in his arms, flying into the night sky while he made his way across Musatafu. He aimed towards the salty breeze, finding his way to Endor Docks for another well-deserved appointment.

[fantasticstoryteller]

New Amsterdam Chapter 5

Ignoring the desk in the lobby, ignoring the guard designed to filter the people walking into the building, Peter raced inside. He was late, he knew he was late, but there was a robbery on the way over he’d had to help with. He ignored the elevator and ran up the stairs, taking them two and three at a time. Scaling the walls would have been even faster—but he didn’t want anyone, especially not anyone here, to know about his powers.

He slammed through the doors at the right floor, burst into the room—and his heart squeezed to see Harry, his best friend, collapsed on the floor. “Harry!” he cried out as he ran in. Could he call 911? No, Norman would never let them in the building; they might learn, they might find out—

Norman leaned against his desk tapping on his phone. “You’re late Peter,” he said casually. He sends the code and Harry begins to breathe easier, color returning to his cheeks.

“The subway was held up!” snarled Peter as he kept a hand on Harry’s face. His breathing was better, and he was slowly coming back from—from wherever Norman had sent him to when he didn’t send the code on time.

“Punctuality is the trait of successful people,” said Norman as though he was genuinely trying to help Peter and hadn’t almost murdered his own son. The elder Osborn picked up a glass on his desk and took a long, leisurely sip from it—while his son gasped for breath and slowly regained the vibrancy needed for life.

Peter had never hated the man more in his life than he did at that moment, watching Norman calmly sip a drink right after almost murdering his child! If anyone could have convinced him to break his no killing rule, it would be Norman. But—the only think keeping Harry alive was the ten digit code that only Norman knew, so not only could Peter not kill him, Peter had to protect him.

“So,” drawled Harry as he got his breath back, “is being a dick and walking all over people. Apparently.”

Norman looked down on Harry, his only child, with  thinly veiled contempt. “And that,” Norman said, “is why you don’t have a future. Unlike Peter here. Peter, I heard about the job offer Stark made you.”

Of course he had.

“When will you take it?”

“When you’re not holding Harry’s life over me like a twisted carrot,” Peter snapped back. He expected Norman to order him to take the job, to remind him that talking back was a bad idea—

Norman did neither of those things. He simply nodded. “I see. I won’t lie; it would have been nice to have another spy in Stark’s company.” Norman set his drink down and walked towards the two young men on the floor before gently tousling Peter’s hair. “Remember,” he said affectionately, “when you’re pushing someone, don’t push them further than they can go.” Without looking back he left the office.

Harry slumped forward. “God,” he swore, “I hate my father.”

“I hate him too.”

“At least Mary Jane isn’t here for this,” grumbled Harry.

Come to think of it… “Where is she?” asked Peter with curiosity. Both of them knew how Norman felt about his son. Both of them knew how dangerous Norman was. They both liked to think that Norman was underestimating them—but the sad truth was that Norman knew almost everything about both of them.

Harry rubbed his face as Peter helped him stand up. “She has a show coming up,” he said absently.

Peter didn’t like how his eyes were still glazed, as though part of his brain was rebooting. “Come on,” he said helping Harry limp over to one of the office couches. Norman’s office was decorated less like an office and more like a VIP hotel suite. Searching for a neutral topic of discussion he asked, “Fashion or theatre?”

Harry’s lips twisted wryly as life slowly came back to his face. “There’s a difference?” he quipped.

Peter laughed weakly and dropped to the couch next to his friend. “Who knows?” he asked wearily.

“Peter.”

“Yeah?”

“Peter, my father is insane.”

Peter remembered the cold, calculating look in Norman’s eyes when he realized how useful Peter could be to him—and how much Peter cared about Harry. “I know.”

“This isn’t—this isn’t going to end well.”

“It will.” If nothing else, Peter could keep his hope alive.

“It won’t.” Harry was giving up.

Harry, poster child for let’s find another way, was giving up. “It will. The good guys always win.”

Harry laughed weakly. “Oh, God,” he groaned. “That sounds so corny.”

When Peter left the building, he went to one of the few places nearby that were a blind spot for Iron Man’s almost omniscient AI. After a confrontation like that, it was almost a relief to put on the mask and be someone else for a few hours. At least he could pretend he was helping people.