#one day I wanna understand nostalgia

[adamprrishcycle]

Something about sleeping in your childhood bedroom after you’ve been moved out for years that is both comforting and devastating

[seancamerons]

So here is a genuine question so, if denim vests, dresses, pleated denim skirts, and even shoes, pretty much all denim everything, flares too, crops, shrunken blazers, and even gauchos are making a comeback...

How long will it be before sequined shrugs or regular shrugs and layering make a return from a roughly 18 year hibernation?

Like you ask yourself in a store off racks or see on teens and the early twenties and generally younger humans walking down the street, is it like 2006 again?

Even Timberlake is supposedly collabbing with Timbaland and Nelly Furtado. NSYNC, in full as a five piece, who mind you, has been split up for well over almost 20ish years, may even might reunite. It feels crazy. 2006 was what? A whole adult has been born lived their entire toddler and adloscnet eras and is now currently in 2023, an adult since then. That is crazy.

I can’t believe im saying this, but I am lowkey here for it, and dare I say interested and entertained. In the same breath boom, I feel dreadfully old. Even the members of my generation peers and the 40ish members of NSYNC. I joke about it often to myself, but ugh, it's not really a good feeling despite physically being fine as to be expected. The thirties suck.

The gods of fashion say fashion comes in cycles. I suppose this is what it means. Thanks for reading if you made it this far.

I refuse to be old or become old. I make an effort though I lowkey wish I had a cocktail like Meryl Streep had in Death Becomes Her where I remain ageless and can wear all the beautiful clothes with a yoga toned body and looks to match. Life ain't like the movies, and you see all or most of the clothes you donned in middle school or high school on teen children or on the youth of today. I didn't sign up for this.

Yikes, this is how my mom probably when flares came back in the late 1990's or when I was obsessed with watching Nick at Nite or TV Land with the shows of her time like it was brand new. Let's also not forget the VH1 and 80s obsessions. It's a boomerang, it's a cycle and it's driving me crazy.

[honeipie]

plsplsplspls make the toast a series 😭

NATURALLY

izuku midoryia x reader

synopsis: going somewhere old to start something new

authors note: your wish is my command! i’ll probably make one more part beacause of one line i specifically wanna use LOLL

one | two | three | four

"izuku" inko's voice was light, but stern as she carried two mugs over to the small coffee table in her apartment. the same apartment that he had grown up in. of course, he had tried to buy her a house as soon as he received his first paycheck, but she refused. insisted that she didn't need much room for just herself. plus, she loved the little bursts of nostalgia she would get every so often from doing simple things. like making izuku's favorite cookies in the kitchen, or even walking by his old room which she kept perfectly intact. if someone walked in there they might've thought that he was still a teenage boy, but he wasn't.

there in her living room sat her son in his early adulthood. he almost took up half of the loveseat due to the growing muscle on his body. though even due to his increase in size, he shrunk down hearing his mother say his name.

she sat down next to him placing the mugs right on the coasters he had set out "you haven't answered my question"

izuku brought his two fingers up to rub the bridge of his nose "no, we're not together anymore" he mumbled in embarrassment and shame. it never felt good to tell anyone a relationship they invested time and money into didn't end up working out.

she frowned placing a hand on his back to rub slow circles "you got divorced after one week? izuku that can't be right.."

"no, no we didn't get divorced. we were actually, um" he was trying to figure out how to word this correctly to where he didn't sound insane "we were never officially married"

she stopped rubbing giving him a skeptical look "izuku what do you mean you were never married?"

he sighed leaning his elbows against his knees "we were supposed to sign the official marriage papers during the reception in front of everyone then send them in the next day. after that fight though? we just decided to not do it anymore"

"how did the press take it? i haven't seen anything"

"the press didn't know about the engagement or the wedding thankfully. we wanted a peaceful time to plan the wedding. they’re posting a breakup message for the both of us later today though. better to nip it in the bud now”

she nodded her head going to resume in rubbing his back "so when did you officially decide to call it off"

"yesterday"

"any specific reason? or a buildup of many?"

he paused for a moment, mulling over the answer "she would say one specific reason. i would say it built up over time" he shook his head in disbelief "couldn't even agree on that"

"what would she say the one reason was"

a lump caught in his throat at the question. such a simple fucking question that he didn't want to answer. but he knew if he didn't she would be a pain about it.

"y/n"

inko hummed at the very familiar name. you had been over mulitple times in the past years with and without her son. the two of you had grown close and she was like a mother to you. honestly, she had wished that izuku had gotten with you in the first place. would've saved a lot of time and trouble.

"well.. was she a strain to your relationship"

izuku scoffed, almost offended she even asked.

"she was never a problem for me-"

"well of course she wasn't a problem for you. that was your best friend"

"exactly! if uraraka couldn't understand that then it couldn't have worked between us. y/n was one of the first people to believe in me. i owe her a lot and i can't just let her go like that"

inko moved her hand from izuku's back and went to hold his hands instead "face me honey" izuku shifted his body so he was now facing his mother. growing older everyday, but still the strong woman he remembers when he was younger "i just wanted to apologize. for not bring able to give you a normal childhood with two parents in the home"

izuku's eyebrows scrunched together in confusion at her sudden apology "where is this coming from? mom it's fine. you did the best you could and i appreciate that more than anything else you could've done"

she patted on of his hands with a smile "i know you do sweetheart. but i'm mostly apologizing because you couldn't see what a real marriage consists of. the person you marry is one of the most important decisions you will ever make, but the easiest at the same time. love isn't enough to hold a marriage together, you need to be best friends before that. when you love someone on a surface level all you want to do is make sure they're happy. they won't tell you if something is bothering them. they'll follow you blindly into anything. when you marry your best friend you hold them accountable because you want to see them succeed in all that they do. it might make you fight sometimes, but at the end of the day it's worth it. because you have someone by your side you know that will stick it out with you for the rest of your years to come. that's what a marriage should be like"

".. so you're saying i should marry y/n?"

"i'm saying give it time. you don't need to jump back into another relationship immediately after this. what you should be doing is taking time to reflect on what you want, and when you're ready, how y/n makes you feel. and if you do feel something? let it flow. what happens will happen naturally”

---

the smell of hot glue filled your senses as you picked up a seashell from your pile. currently, you were at inko's house doing your monthly crafting sessions. who cares if you hadn't talked to izuku in four months? at least you had his mom.

last month the two of you had went to the beach to crochet, and ended up walking along the beach picking up seashells as you talked. that's when she let you know about the unspoken details of the breakup. you tried to hide your feelings with a stoic face and a simple 'wow'. though inko wasn't buying any of it.

she was currently letting you in on all the work drama she was currently having "i don't know why they want to get in my face like i'm the problem. ma'am, you have an STD, i'm a pediatric nurse. please let me do my job"

you threw your head back in laughter which drowned out the sound of keys jingling in the door.

"hey mom? i got those vegetables you were talking about. don't these tomatoes look fake?" he stopped mid-sentence seeing you sitting there on the floor with the same expression.

"oh no, i must've double booked you two" inko got up taking the bag from izuku's hands "you see every month y/n and i do crafty stuff together and it happened to land on the same day i told you i would make the stir fry"

you gave izuku a quick smile before turning from his lingering gaze "it's okay okaasan. i'll come back another day so we can finish it" you started to gather your things, but inko shook her head "you are staying for dinner. this recipe cooks for four and i am not eating all these leftovers"

you wanted to argue, but knew it would fall onto deaf ears "okay then"

“izuku honey. finish mines while i start on dinner”

“alright” he went to sit on the couch, knee almost brushing onto your shoulder. izuku watched as you placed one of the shells onto your frame carefully. getting the idea he started to do the same exact thing.

you could cut the tension with a knife. silence wasn’t something you were particularly used to with izuku.

“heard you and ochako broke up”

and at this moment he could start listing the things he loved about you.

1. you weren’t afraid to be blunt with him

both of his eyebrows raised and he blew out a puff of air “you don’t hold anything back”

“never did, never will”

he chuckled at your words glancing over at you. there was a slight smile on your face he could tell you were trying to hide. there was a slight slump to your shoulders though as time went on.

he continued with the project figuring he would wait until you spoke again.

like clockwork you turned looking directly into his eyes “can we talk?”

2. you made room for open and honest communication

he nodded placing the picture frame down carefully “yeah, unplug the hot glue and we can go in my room” you nodded unplugging the glue guns and heading over to his old room. he followed after you but not before turning back to his mom “we’re gonna talk”

she gave him a nod, but then quickly turned around when it finally registered “talk? like the talk? the talk so that you two can get together so i can finally have grandbabies talk?-“

“if i say yes will you stop it with that?”

“yes”

“then yes that talk”

she shooed him off into the room as if it was him holding them up. he rubbed the back of his neck while walking inside. with the other hand he closed the door with a soft click.

“how much of that did you hear?”

you shrugged going to sit on the bed “i didn’t hear any of it if it makes you feel better”

“it does actually” he sat himself down next to you with a huff. kirishima would probably kick him right now for how unmanly he’s being. forcing you to step up and take charge of the situation. he just wanted to test the waters out and see how you felt first.

“i guess i just wanted to catch up. really see how you’re feeling. cause i know you posted on the media you ended everything on good terms, but is everything really okay? i mean you broke up with the woman you thought you’d be spending the rest of your life with. it’s okay to be upset”

3. you genuinely cared for him no matter what

“i-“ he cleared his throat from the unexpected voice crack that had arose “sorry, i’m pretty fine now actually. i just feel guilty for making ochako feel embarrassed about the whole situation. other than that.. i really don’t think we were meant to be anyways”

“what do you mean you didn’t think you were meant to be anyways? why’d you propose in the first place then?”

he shrugged taking off a loose strand on the all might themed duvet “i don’t think i knew what marriage was about. but i was informed very recently on what it is about and my vision changed” he watched as you turned to look at him with eyebrows raised.

“oh yeah? changed to what?”

“you”

your playful demeanor dropped immediately. his words truly sinking into the both of you. he attempted to scoot closer to you, but you backed away hesitantly.

“izuku we can’t do this. where you break up with ochako and come running to me? i’m not a second choice you know that right?” this is what you had always wanted, but at this moment it didn’t feel that way. with the current circumstances how else were you supposed to feel?

izuku’s eyes widened when he heard that and redness quickly creeped up his neck. he held both hands up shaking his head “that’s not it i swear! you were never my second choice. in fact, you were always my first. i could just never admit it to myself that maybe, maybe we could make it work romantically. i- i am attracted to you and everything like that! maybe i was with uraraka for so long that i didn’t notice what was right in front of me”

your throat had gone dry. was this really happening? the boy you’d been crushing on for eternity is finally asking you out after leaving his longtime girlfriend. totally normal, and totally not a chance you were willing to give up.

you wasted no time grabbing both of his cheeks and pulling him down for a kiss. startled was an understatement as he felt his lips connecting to yours. though as he realized what was truly happening, he wasn’t complaining. he shut his eyes moving one hand to your cheek and the other on your waist.

despite the quick start, the kiss was soft and slow. tongues gently brushing together in steady movements. when you pulled away, there was a goofy smile on your face. izuku trailed more kisses from your cheek, to your jaw, right down your neck.

4. you were a damned good kisser

“you’ve got a lot of work to do. i hope you know that”

izuku hummed nodding his head “i’m willing to work for it”

“hm.. izu?”

“yeah” he mumbled clearly not wanting to your time be interrupted.

“i’m not saying this doesn’t feel nice, because it does, but can we save it? for one your mom is on the other room. and two? all might is staring dead into my soul”

he pulled away face bright red turning to the poster you were talking about. there he was in all his glory. all might standing there in his signature hero suit, beady blue eyes staring directly at the viewer. izuku turned back to you not being able to contain his laughter. you were right behind him leaning your head on his shoulder in a fit of giggles.

5. you were his best friend

taglist! @sagejin @crybabyl0l @yoihoshi-maki @reads-stuff-quietly @aejabba @valenspuppy @v3n7s 🫶🏾

let me know if you want to be added!

[lonelydiary]

5. Alone

"Jeju, mommy is home!" Lena had only a couple of seconds, before she was greeted by the small hurricane of blonde curls and green eyes.

"Careful, inah, we have to be gentle and control our strength, remember? Give your mommy a few moments to catch her breath, alright bug?" Kara appeared after their daughter and gently hugged and kissed her wife, giving her a playful wink.

"It's ok, sweetie, I missed you too very much. Both of you." She hugged and kissed both of Lori's cheeks, giving her also an eskimo kiss. "How was your day, mo stór?"

"I've met so many people today, mom!" their four years old can barely contain her excitement "and I've made lots of friends! And there were ponies, which you can ride, and balloons, and toys! Jeju even won me one!"

Lori presented her mom a little bear with a red bow on its neck. "His name is Winnie! Like Winnie the Pooh!" The toddler exclaimed excitedly.

"Wow! Did you pick his name by yourself?" Lori just nodded with a vigor "Well, I guess we have to pick a special place for him in your room, have we?"

"We've already did, right inah?" Kara said, giving her daughter a bright smile "Why don't you go brush your teeth and then we'll read a story with your new friend, alright?"

Lori just nodded, gave her mommy a kiss a was gone in a blurr.

"Sometimes I wish she was growing slower, so we could cherish these moments with her a little longer" Lena sighed wistfully.

"I don't think that's entirely possible, sweetheart, but I understand the sentiment" Kara've said smiling at her wife. "How was your day?"

"Hectic, like always. Lots of arrogant egotistical men and not enough coffee and sugary goodness for me to deal with them all" Lena complained.

"I'm sure you were amazing as always, my love" Kara has started to give a gentle massage to Lena's back, knowing she really needs it. Especially now.

"And how was our angel today?" She asked her wife, putting her hand gently on the rounded belly.

"She was very active today, impatient like her jeju" Lena smiles and poked Kara's nose playfully, when Kara pouted. "I'm very sorry though, I couldn't be with you two on the carnival today, darling"

"It's okay, zhao, I know you had an important meeting today. Besides we had a great time with Alex and Esme, and I may or not may have cheated, when we were competing for the stuffed toys" Her wife was so adorable, when she blushed!

"Oh I'm sure, it was a tough competition" Lena joked "Does Alex remember about Friday?"

"Yes, she does. She had bought too many gifts for Lori for my liking, but she just said 'I wanna spoil my niece and her birthday is a great opportunity'. Eliza and Alura have confirmed, they will be here too. Also Sam and Ruby"

"Can't wait to see them all, I missed them honestly" Lena had said with a joy, and a little bit of nostalgia. Which Kara understood.

"Jeju! Mom! Where are you? We are already waiting!" They heard their daughter's calling and smiled.

"We are coming, bug!" Kara said and they went to tell her a story and kiss her goodnight.

Yes, growing up, Lena had always felt, that she was alone. But now, surrounded by her friends and family, she knew - that was only a distant memory.

[iamyourdailydoseofbi]

WHY ARE PEOPLE LEAVING FANDOM'S? WHAT I HAVE FOUND OUT.

So, I have noticed that a lot of my mutual's for many fandom's ( TUA, TWD, Z-NATION, WWDITS, Derry Girls, HOTD, etc. ) have been dropping like flies.

[ I love you my beautiful friends, and I hope one day you will feel comfortable and safe to come back 😘 ]

It got me thinking, why? Why? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?! But, after talking to a few of my mutual's on other apps, it came down to mainly three common things with these mutual's. ( note, this is not for every fandom / fan, this was just the mutual's that I talked to, okay? )

1. The TV show ended, so there isn't much reason to stick around anymore. ( Umbrella Academy, The Walking Dead, Derry Girls, Z-Nation, What We Do in the Shadows, etc. )

Which is valid. If there are no more ( Ex. Sunday episodes for HOTD or Sunday episodes for TWD ) not many fans wanna stick around.

Then, after so many fans leave. It kind of becomes a 'dead fandom'. Where people sometimes goes back to time to time and be like, "Oh, I remember that show.." for nostalgia.

2. Their interests have changed.

Like any common trend, some people just say, "Nah, I don't like *insert show* anymore. I liked the 5th season and 2nd. But, I'm just not that into *insert genre* tv shows anymore." Again, valid.

Everyone had gone through one kind of phase before. It could have been books ( PJO, HP, etc. ) or fashion ( Skinny jeans, graphic t-shirts, etc. ) or music ( MCR, Blood on the Dance Floor, etc. )

It's fine to grow and change.

3. The fandom doesn't feel like a fandom anymore. This is a BIG one that many have told me.

People are clashing together, book vs tv show fights, character x character ships are constantly hating on each other, death threats are being sent to actors / fans / fanfic writers, you can't share your opinion without someone sending hate, etc.

The best example is HOTD. A fandom that I am in / write for.

Now, now, here me out! I have been very open about the hate in the fandom. You can check. I've gotten hate for writing about highly requested character's ( Aegon, Aemond, etc. ) and I have called out how fans are acting towards each other / actors.

What I don't get is this. We are all in the same fandom.

How did we go from, "Oh, Tom Glynn-Carney is really cute in Aegon's wig. It suits him.", "I have a fan theory that maybe in the next episode they'll do this part from the book because the teaser at the end of the episode it shows..", and, "I hope they put this scene in the show!"

To "Oh, you think Tom Glynn-Carney is cute as Aegon? Well you support r@pe and deserve death threats!", "Oh, you wrote a fanfic / oneshot / etc. for this character? Oh, it has a trope that it being used by a lot of other writers? Here's hate for that!", and, "Tom Glynn-Carney says that Aegon is a complex character...so clearly he supports..."

The main point is that this is why soooooo many of people are dropping out of fandom's. And when people call it out, they either get run out of the fandom as well or blasted for it with death threats.

Fandom's used to be places where people could go to geek out with others. A safe place. It's why there is comic con, etc. People want to know other fans, the want a safe place to go to.

Now, it's become a place where you have to mostly keep your head down low and not say a thing to avoid being run out because you share a different opinion.

In conclusion? I hope that fandom's can be kind to each once again so that people feel safe / comfortable to come back.

To all my beautiful fans who were run out / felt like they had to leave a fandom, I love you and understand why you left. I hope one day you will come back and find joy in the fandom that you once did.

To those of you running out fans / sending death threats. It's you that ruins the fandom. Fandom's were safe places for people, now you've ruined it for those people.

If you don't like a fandom / other fan, you have other options :

1. IGNORE THEM AND LEAVE THEM ALONE!

2. BLOCK A TAG / ACCOUNT YOU DON'T LIKE!

3. DON'T SEND DEATH THREATS!

4. FIND A PART OF THE FANDOM THAT MATCHES YOU AND STICK TO IT!

5. Block their account / tag, ignore them, not send death threats, leave them alone and enjoy the parts of the fandom that matches you.

It's that simple!

----

hopefully i can get this out there. so i am tagging some of the bigger people i know / follow..

@lovelykhaleesiii

@danytar

@lady-ashfade

@targaryen-dynasty

@cayenne1

@perfinn

@two-white-butterflies

@youraverageaemondsimp

[silent-sanctum]

AHH i love your work!! ignore this if you don’t wanna write this but could i request a part 4 jotaro with a surgeon reader? like how they work around eachothers work schedule?

thqnk you!! have a good day/night!! <3

AHH thank you anon! 🥹💖 Lucky for you your request wasn't ignored because I have a cute lil short fic for you! Have a good day to you as well and hope you enjoy! ♡

Professional Love - Jotaro x Reader

word count: 1.8k

He always sort of knew that even if someone was able to succeed greatly in life, earn loads, and establish a famous reputation, there were always downsides to the many rewards hard work offered.

Such as not having enough time to spend with loved ones.

Ironically enough, as someone who likes the solitude of their alone times, Jotaro began to miss being around you. Whether it was because of him hitting adulthood that nostalgia decided to kick in, or some instinctual necessity ingrained deep in him, he’d do anything within plausibility just to talk to you like the old days.

Both you and he were married to each other and were successful doctors in their own fields- You as a literal licensed physician and skilled neurosurgeon, and Jotaro a well-known marine biologist and professor of an Ivy League university with a doctorate.

It was established early on from high school that the two of you had no problems being their own persons. Both of you were independent and had the tendency to keep themselves occupied with work, but never drowning in them too much that it stifled any romantic chemistry between you.

Well… at least that’s the case when they were still teenagers.

Now that they were professionals, work was always mandatory and couldn’t be excused like how a high school student would to homework. Both careers demanded their focus.

On average, you were off either doing rounds or surgery during the day sometimes even at night, while he had the morning and afternoon booked doing field study or teaching college students. At times, there were also the meetings held in other cities or countries that you had to attend to.

By some miracle despite with their hectic schedules, you still held onto the love you had for your husband even if you weren’t around him most of the time. In the hours Jotaro was able to sync up with yours, both of you swore to cherish that short amount of time.

A carefree conversation unrelated to work. Shared time for drinks and snacks. Napping in each others arms.

Anything. He just wanted to see you, hear you, feel you just so he’d have that one moment of intimacy where he’s able to relax and be Jotaro Kujo and not that rigid and stoic Head of Research image he’d put on in public.

This shouldn’t be a big deal for him.

And yet-

As he unlocked the front door to their home, Jotaro sighed as he shrugged off his coat and left it to hang on the nearby rack. He flicked the light switch on and the interior lit up to reveal an empty living room, devoid of anyone living here for hours. No sounds of dishes and utensils, no TV airing a favored show, not even the faintest steps of somebody roaming about.

Jotaro ignored this newfound feeling he’d recognize as “loneliness” and went about the rest of the night.

You were out of country to meet with a group of surgeons in Germany, discussing matters that were too technical and specific to the medical field that he couldn’t understand. You told him that the meeting would take at least a week to finish. Jotaro was in the 4th day and he’d begun to feel… pathetic? Was that the right word?

Getting glimpses of you or engaging with you for a minute to get through the busy day was one thing. Being left alone without receiving at least a single update was another.

He did what always does after a day’s work- Take a shower, prepare dinner, grade papers or review documents, and go to bed. But in the middle of his evening routine, his mind couldn’t help but wander off how tonight would’ve played out if you were here.

Would you greet him late in the dark and chat about your day about someone’s lobotomy? Would you help out in the kitchen and add in another meal for the both of them? Would you lie in bed with him and just sleep to their hearts’ content, hoping an emergency call wouldn't disrupt your slumber at dawn?

Jotaro shook his head and took a sip of his tea. “What are you thinking? You’re acting as if this trip lasts a year.” He scoffed at no one as he took his now empty plate and set it down in the sink for him to clean. “Honestly, why are you like this nowadays?”

As an answer to that, a younger version of himself would’ve denied it with lies and brush it off like as if it’s an intrusive thought, because being anything remotely sentimental would ruin his whole image. 28-year-old Jotaro knew better that the answer was simple- he just missed you. Even if it was just meeting one another at home before leaving for work again.

He sighed for the nth time and walked into his office, where stacks of folders and papers waited for him to go-over and process.

Nothing extraordinary happened the following hours. Just one man with his glasses and pen buried in piles of documents as usual. To spare him the monotony of his evening plus the strain in his eyes from overworking, on his table were 2 picture frames situated just beneath the monitor where he could drift his gaze to from time to time.

One was of him as a child with his mother carrying him with a big loving smile. The other was of the both of you taken during your wedding day- you in your pure white dress, your veil pulled back to show your blooming smile, and him in a crisp black tuxedo with a chrysanthemum brooch pinned to his left chest, a smile of his own clear on his face.

By the time Jotaro finished the last of the load, the only thing left for him to do was to sleep and let the next day arrive.

So he did just that- switched off the lights in his study, went to his room, and got into bed. A king-sized bed that’s supposed to be shared with you. His side of the bed was on the left where the bedside table was with the small lamp on top. Convenient for when he still needed to read a few more books before sleeping.

But in the darkness, he turned over to the empty side beside him. Your side.

Sure you sometimes came home late into the early morning and he had to sleep all by himself, but Jotaro liked waking up to find you next to him, snuggling close to him, tired from all those hours of surgery.

It’s the 4th night without you and he continued to sleep regardless.

Come next morning and the first thing he was able to perceive was the smell of bacon, eggs, and coffee in the air and the faint sizzling that came with it. Jotaro didn’t know how he wasn’t able to notice but maybe through his sleep-addled mind, he woke up as he would and trudged his way down the stairs to make breakfast.

Only by the time he stepped one foot down, he was met with a dining table already set with the morning meal and 2 cups of steaming coffee.

“What… is this?”

“Oh yeobo! You’re up!”

Jotaro paused upon hearing that voice coming in from the kitchen. Wait that couldn’t be right. You said the meeting lasted a week and it’s only the 5th day. How was this- He scoffed again, at himself for letting himself think too much of you that he started to hear hallucinations of your voice as early as 7 AM.

He ran his hand through his curly bed hair. “This can’t be happening. I can’t believe this is happening to me of all people.”

“Can’t believe what is happening of all people?”

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around Jotaro’s waist and he stilled. Is it really? He looked over his shoulder and in the warmly lit daylight, you were there behind him, smiling up at him with so much love in the world. Jotaro couldn’t believe it. “Good morning, love~”

“I thought you were supposed to be out for a week?”

“Oh about that,” you said. “The meeting didn’t take too long to finish as they had hoped. All we needed were 3 days and got everything settled.”

You pulled away and lead him to his spot by the head of the table with you sitting adjacent to him. “They suggested I take a look around the place for the meantime, you know enjoy the scenery and whatnot. But then I thought to myself,” you looked away momentarily. “I have a couple days free. Everyone in the hospitals I work at, know I’m booked during those weeks. So, unless it's really urgent, I'll just be here.”

“And I… missed being around my husband these couple days,” you said. “And I know you might be thinking I’m making a big deal of this whole “missing each other” schpill, but at the same time, it’s visceral and nagging to the point it’s bothering me even during work.”

“You’re not making anything a big deal when the feeling is mutual,” Jotaro replied without looking at you, feigning nonchalance. Though his cheeks heated and eyes squinting just a bit at the casual confession. That’s to say he’s still not used to being this open to expression. “It’s driving me nuts too.”

You chuckled. “I’m glad I’m not the only going crazy, but Jotaro-ssi?” He paused just as he was about to bite down onto a piece of bacon and you waved at him to you. “I have something to tell you.”

With no hesitation, Jotaro leaned over to you until he was inches away from your face. And in that moment, you cupped his cheek and pressed a soft kiss on his lips.

His heart skipped a beat or two and the warmth present in his cheeks flared up once more. You were always the teasing type that he got accustomed to.

You withdrew shortly after with a mischievous smirk on your face. “I missed doing these surprise kisses.”

He huffed. “Never failed to catch me off guard.”

“And since I’m free for the next 3 days, how about we do some stuff together?” You said. “Unless you still have work to accomplish-”

“My students are on their field trip this week with another professor and I’ve already made the necessary changes to the research team’s proposals so they can work on it.” Jotaro smiled. “Safe to say I’m free this week as well.”

Knowing that caused you to bloom on the spot- eyes beaming with joy and a blossoming grin showing itself for him to adore. “I can’t wait. Movie night?”

“Sure.”

“Genre? Snacks? Say the word so I can prepare. I want to make our first mini vacation perfect and-” He cut you off with a chaste kiss on your temple.

“Anything will do jagi.”

[yuyinesque]

WINDBLUME BARD | “𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗇 𝖺𝗋𝖼𝗁𝗈𝗇𝗌 𝗇𝖾𝖾𝖽 𝗍𝗈 𝖿𝖾𝖾𝗅 𝗌𝗈𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗁𝗂𝗇𝗀…”

⚘ précis. = you’ve noticed changes in your lover’s temperament the closer the two of you have grown. they’re not negative changes, per se, but you’re having trouble comprehending how exactly a guileless face could inure such terrors.

⚘ disclaimers. = blind!gn reader x venti/barbatos, poetic writing (he’s a bard, hadda switch up my groove), the baby gust of air goes by they/them, major character death mention (the nameless bard), not proofread.

⚘ category. = sfw fluff/angst headcanons/drabble.

⚘ wc. = 708.

𖦥 m.list. oc.list.

𖤥 Venti is the ballet dancer to your boxer. While all bards possess the ethereality to poetically enact stories that pertain to universal crises, this surrealist in question is the one that stuck out to you the most. You like to imagine that when you're in their vicinity, listening to them charm the ecstatic crowds with their intangible anecdotes, ivory cecilias scampered to flourish each time the mysterious individual would ramble, their trusted diaphanous lyre rejoiced in their memorable tunes to influence the tear-inducing plots, and their guileless giggles mistaking songbirds for melodic flirts from their mates. You naturally developed the obsessive need to protect them, casually and uncharacteristically threaten the ones who would dare disrupt his silly stories, earning a mischievous titter from Venti. Especially since they've been assisting you and your cecity ever since you've moved to Monstadt.

𖤥 You didn't need it, but you didn't say anything, for you believed that they'd leave you alone since there was no reason for them to linger around you anymore. Meanwhile, you're their anticipated fan, adoring the fact that you're the first one there when they're going to sing another song. The nostalgia was overwhelming for the both of you; they could never forget how concerned you were when they received minor backlash that didn't move them in the slightest. It left quite the reputation. How fast you almost ditched your walking stick to follow the voice of their awkward replies to the said outsiders who dared treat them in such a way; it was truly an adorable sight to keep embedded within their memory for eons.

"Well, aren't you as sweet as an ambrosia apple? Ehehe, thank you! Buuut, if you really wanna ensure my peace, I accept libations in decanters, if you know what I mean~... Huh!? What do you mean I "seem" too young to drink!? I'm as old as the Anemo Archen themself!"

𖤥 Meanwhile, Barbatos is the boxer to your baller dancer. As the two of you've grown closer, you've learned a thing or two about the bard who derived from an Archon. Or perhaps is an Archon; your expression was utterly priceless when they confided in you! They would seem to carry more of an aura of an Archon the more you ponder about it; was it because they seemed rather... serene with you now? Previously, they were the personification of bustling billows of suffocating winds, but now the winds practiced tranquility, converting into whispering zephyrs who implored to tell you all the truths needed to understand their character. Their implores were merely in vain, resulting in the bard to continuously quaff down bounties of alcohol to subdue the helpless sentiments they wish not to sing about. To think that he was a retired boxer all this time, subtly swaying you away from the evil of Teyvat to avoid another important loss. The idea of losing you was overwhelming; the thought of being incapable of burying themself in those achromic eyes of yours as they serenaded you under the moonlight was heartbreaking.

𖤥 You could tell that something was bothering them that specific day with the way the tunes were drearier than usual, slower than before, and even some notes were uncharacteristically misplayed.

𖤥 These were one of the rare times they adored the fact that you couldn't see, but loathed the fact that they could. The more they doted at your concerned expression, the more their face suffused with crimson, the more their under eyes surged, reddened, and swelled with disruptive tears, and the more their throat seethed with fears they failed to subdue. Although it's been a while since they last cried to someone, they refused to ruin such an amazing time with you. Because of such, they wiped out their doe, viridian eyes with a feigned giggle, scooting closer to you in order to cuff your hand, which only proceeded to worry you even more.

"Very intuitive. Hehe, as expected from my flawless lover. There's something that's been pestering me a bit, but don't you go worrying about it. Even Archons need to feel something every once in a while. Come on, come on! Let's indulge more in each other, I promise that your presence will wash every dread I have stored in my heart."

yuyinesque | translate with permission & peruse without theft.

[creamedh0ney]

☀️Hey Sunshine ☀️

I thought I'd introduce myself! I wasn't sure how to make a nice looking introduction but I figure I'll just go for it and add if I need to!

First of all, you can call me Andy. My name changes sometimes in real life but Andy is a pretty safe, gender neutral one to use for me.

🌻Basics About Me🌻

Big Age: 17, but 18 in November!

Little Age: 1-6

Gender Identity: Genderfluid

Pronouns I use: she/he/they/it/xe (depends on the time, but use what you'd like)

Sexuality: Pansexual

Other Stuff: I am autistic, I have c-ptsd and chronic pain - Please be patient with me!

🪁Hobbies🪁

Drawing (with sidewalk chalk, chalk pastels, pencil, marker, crayon, anything really!)

Gardening (though I'm not good at it yet)

Biking

Volleyball (just for fun though, I'd rather not do anything competitively)

Baking

Writing (poetry, fantasy or romance stories, essays)

Reading (fantasy, romance, classics, poetry, fanfiction, science nonfiction)

Watching anime/animated TV shows

Shopping

Listening to music

🧸Interests/Things I Like🧸

Shows(some of these are not agere or sfw necessarily!): Hazbin Hotel, Helluva Boss, Banana Fish, Avatar: The Last Airbender, Sesame Street, Owl House, Ouran High-school Host Club, Gravity Falls, Haikyu, Strawberry Shortcake, Wild Kratts, X-Men, Amazing Spiderman

Movies/Studios: Disney (specifically Tangled and other princess movies), Studio Ghibli, Tim Burton movies (specifically Coraline and Edward Scissorhands)

Toys/Toy Type Things: Dolls (porcelain or rag- not creepy ones or anything, just normal), Stuffed Animals, Calico Critters, Barbies, Littlest Pet Shops, Animal Figures (specifically schleich), Play Food, Play Dough, Lego

Games: Stardew Valley, Slime Rancher, Minecraft, Genshin Impact, Sims, Roblox (I like Fashion Famous and Royale High specifically), Animal Jam, Fall Guys, Star Stable, Pokémon (though I've only played it on other people's consoles)

Other:

Animals (of all kinds!! I adore any and all, but if you reallyyy wanna know specifics, I can yap for AGES!)

Clowns! I have been for a very long time, I adore them!

Anything pink or yellow! Those are my favorite colors ever!

Nostalgia is a very big theme in my interests, there's something so very special about it!

🎀BYF/Things You Should Know🎀

- I'm gonna be posting randomly, there's not really a set time. I may post a TON in a day, or I may not post for weeks. Please be patient and respectful of my time!

- I prefer cursing to a veryy very small amount. The occasional d-word or s-word is okay. I curse a lot outside of regression - which I'm working on - so I don't kind, but this is a safe space for me and many others. Please be respectful of that in your language choices.

- If I post something which is triggering to you and don't post a trigger warning, it is completely okay to let me know! Tell me to post a warning! Please! It doesn't harm me at all to edit and add a tw.

- Adding onto the one above, I may post something and come across as too blunt or may not word things correctly. Let. Me. Know. I want to know if I come across as rude or if my intention isn't clear. That's important to me.

🧼DNI🧼

Basic DNI (homophobes, racists, misogynists, etc.)

NSFW/K!nk

Accounts featuring g0re, S/H, e/d, and the like

Anti agere (obviously)/ Anti Furry / Anti Neopronouns (idk if there are terms for that, please let me know if there are, but you know what I mean for now!)

Basically, don't be a jerk! I want to be as friendly and welcoming as possible, but that means keeping this space safe, respectful and kind. This is my blog and that means upholding my rules. Thank you so much for understanding!!

( @kodaswrld made my dividers and icon!! Love it sm!!)

[withlovewriting]

All I Ever Knew, Only You 16: Silent Night

Chapter Sixteen.

Footsteps without a sound, I'm coming home to you, Snowfall blankets the ground, It covers the ugly truth, Things that we hide from view, I get tired around this time, But I will try to make things right, Bring your arms around me fast, Warm my bones and fill my glass, God, I hope this year's better than the last

Summary: Hawkins was your typical quaint, mid-western town where nothing ever happened. People were born here, lived their entire lives within the town limits, and eventually died here, peacefully in their sleep. But one cold November evening in 1983 would change everything.

Despite a child with psychokinetic abilities and ravenous monsters that lacked faces, stranger things had definitely happened in the small town in Indiana. One of them being your reluctant and slightly imposed friendship with Hawkins High’s own King Bee, Steve Harrington.

Characters: Steve Harrington x Non-descriptive F!Reader (eventual)

Words: 6,867

Chapter Warnings: Explicit language, mentions of past childhood trauma, underage drinking, wintertime fluff. I think that's it. Also barely proofread because I really just wanna get this chapter out so apologies in advance for any mistakes, feel free to let me know.

Series Warnings: Strong language, mentions of underage drinking, mentions of drug use, canon-typical violence, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions of possible mental health disorders, child abuse, slow burn, kinda enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, I like to call it ‘two idiots who begrudgingly befriend each other only to realize… ‘wait a damn minute…’, eventual sexual content, canon-typical time-period bullshit. 18+. Minors DNI.

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Taglist: @kezibear

Chapter Sixteen: Silent Night

Winters in the Midwest could be dire. Freezing winds rattled your bones and burrowed deep inside them, leaving you to feel their effects for days on end, and cold, wet snow that you often believed you'd sink right through, ending up in the middle of the Earth.

Yet despite the frosty weather, Hawkins in the winter was often referred to as picturesque with all the charm of the Walton's Christmas movie. But you were yet to see it. To feel it.

After the accident that viciously stole your sister from your life, followed shortly by your father's sudden exit, your mother had never really bothered with the holidays again, and maybe a bare Christmas tree in the living room would've been a more painful reminder than no tree at all. Either way, you couldn't remember much about the holidays when your sister was alive, but you were more than aware that there was a version of your family before, and a version after.

But you did come close to feeling it, just one time.

When you were around 9, you had been invited to spend the day at the Holland's home, where Barbara's mother watched you both through the window as you made slightly crooked snow angels, a poor excuse of a snowman that even had a carrot for a nose and a hat and scarf lent to you by Mr. Holland, who was warming up some hot cocoa as his wife whizzed around the kitchen, warm chocolate chip cookies cooling on the side as she hummed along to her Andy William's Christmas record.

It had been a peaceful few hours, and you knew deep in your soul that this was what Christmas was supposed to be about. In the company of loved ones; singing and dancing, and enjoying the time off work and school. Freezing your bones off during a snowball fight, only to warm back up with hot drinks, and a warm bath before bed.

But it didn't last long. Despite the promise of a warm, filling meal, your mother had turned up, tugging at your arm and half dragging you back through the snow as Mrs. Holland rushed after you both with your coat in hand. Your mother would then drive back home, half-cut and full with a mixture of annoyance and nostalgia. You knew what it was now, of course, but back then, your brain couldn't begin to understand how awful a thing grief was, and what it could make people do, make them say.

Hopper had tried once, not long after he'd called an end to the relationship with your mother. But you had been sure that the man wanted nothing to do with you, despite his turning up with a poorly wrapped gift on Christmas Eve. You'd stared at him for just a moment before shutting the door in his face and leaving him to the wrath of your mother should he insist on knocking again, silently pleading that he would. That no matter how many times you slammed the door in his face, or glared at him across the wobbly kitchen table, he would fight for you.

But he didn't, and you couldn't blame him for that, just as you couldn't be blamed for your fierce loyalty toward your mother.

Eventually, however, you would always find yourself awaiting her inevitable drunken slumber, covering her with a blanket before sneaking out into the dark winter night.

The coffee in the police station tasted like dirt, but it was hot, on tap, and most importantly, free. So you'd make your way there, too worried to drive the car in case the engine managed to wake her, and like clockwork, Flo would hand you a bitter cup of coffee in a slightly chipped white mug and send you through to Hopper, who would already be boring you with some spiel about how it wasn't safe for you to be out walking in bad weather conditions.

You'd watch the snow fall from his office window as he huffed and puffed through the night, claiming he couldn't tell you about any of the 'cases' going on in town, due to their confidentiality. That barely lasted an hour, however, and soon the man would be offloading his annoyance about how Mr. Gillespie had threatened to sue Mr. Caulfield because he'd cut down some overhanging branches from his tree, the latter claiming he would have to rake his garden twice a week because of his neighbor's overgrown tree. Hopper grumbled that they would be lucky if he didn't chop the damn thing down himself.

He had moved to New York to get away from these damn small-town problems and make a difference in the world. Yet, here he was, filing paperwork about how Mrs. Gillespie — he was beginning to think their family was the bane of all his problems — wanted to sue the park for an owl that had mistaken her hair for a nest and began to attack her, which with the amount of hairspray she used, he couldn't blame the damn animal. You wondered if now Hopper missed the quiet, tedious days before Hell opened up and spat out a couple of monsters.

But the Christmas of 1984 was different.

Your mother's meal remained plated up — but by this point, stone cold — on the side and you figured if she awoke and suddenly developed some respect for herself and her taste buds, she could help herself to your still-boxed meal that you just didn't have the stomach for.

You'd returned to your bedroom, a headache gnawing at the edges of your scalp as you considered whether or not you'd be able to get away with turning down the volume of the TV as your mother slept, spread out on the lumpy couch — you did pay the electrical bill that month, after all — when a loud knock echoed through the house, causing you to leap up from your bed and rush to the front door before the perpetrator had the chance to do it again, most likely waking your mother.

Almost ripping the door off its hinges, your glare dwindled to nothing more than a cocked brow as you came face-to-face with Eleven. A thick, heavy jacket hung from her small body and you could tell from how new it looked that she had received it that morning as a gift from Hopper.

“El? What are you doing here?”

Her smile was sweet, full of childlike excitement, and you wondered if this was her first real Christmas with gifts, visitors, and carolers. Even after escaping the lab, her first Christmas in Hawkins was in hiding with Jim. Same bird, different cage. But now… She had been officially adopted by Hopper — forged adoption papers be damned — and was able to experience a real family Christmas for the first time. You couldn’t help but wonder if Hopper's gift-wrapping skills had improved, and how burned was the turkey?

El's eyes darted toward the parked vehicle out front, “Hopper and I came to collect you.”

“For what?” You questioned, dumbfounded.

“It's Christmas,” Eleven grinned, wide and winsome, as if you were a total idiot.

Your rehearsed excuse was already sitting on the edge of your tongue, and you were fully prepared to turn the girl down no matter how shiny her puppy-dog eyes were, but the words that came out of her mouth next shut you down quickly, “We're going to have a real Christmas dinner together. Hopper said that's what real families do.”

Gnawing at the inside of your cheek, you willed your eyes to not well up as a lump crawled its way up your throat, threatening to expose you for the sad, lonely, and unloved girl you really were. The same six-year-old girl who wept for her mother to wake up as she was starving on Christmas day. The same 9-year-old girl who had felt a glimpse of being wanted before her mother cruelly dragged her backward through the snow in her friend's front yard. The same 15-year-old who wandered through a town much more dangerous than she'd ever know, heading toward the yellow, dingy lights of the police station, toward the only person in her life who had shown her that she meant something to someone. To anyone.

Peering toward the man of the hour, you found Jim watching the scene before him with his window rolled down as he leaned out into the cold, winter air, “C'mon, Kid. Turkey ain't gonna baste itself.”

You didn't mean to slam the door in the poor girl's face, a small gasp falling from her lips that could be heard through the wooden door as you stared at it for a moment. Spinning around, you grabbed your jacket and hat from the wonky coat peg, haphazardly throwing it on before rushing toward your room, knees aching as the floorboards creaked under them as you blindly searched for the wrapped box you'd hidden under your bed a few weeks ago.

Returning to the hall, you took a few cautious steps inside the living room. Your mother remained steadfast in her drunken slumber, snoring almost drowning out the TV, and you took a moment to decide if you really could leave her, but a timid knock on the front door made your decision for you.

El's hand was raised high, but her attention was focused on a concerned-looking Hopper as you pulled the door back open. Moving past her frozen body and closing the door quietly behind you, you eventually settled on her, present under one arm as you held out your other hand to her, “The driveway gets a little slippery in the snow.”

You passed by the snow-covered trees slowly, Hopper's cautious driving surprising you for a moment as he hummed along to the radio. El had seemingly not taken a breath since the moment you'd entered the car, telling you all about her day so far, and how Hopper had bought her gifts but wouldn't let her open them until after he'd drank at least two cups of coffee. You hated to interrupt her, but you couldn't help slamming your hand on top of Hopper's seat, the man jumping as you pulled him from his bubble.

“Can we stop somewhere first? There's something I need to do.”

Hopper's tires barely kicked up any snow left on the long driveway, and you assumed it had already been shoveled for the party the family no doubt held the evening before.

The boy's room faced the pool at the back of the house, so you had no option but to knock on the large red door, trying to blink away the memories of the last time you'd done this, Barb and Nancy beside you, before everything had turned to shit. Well, shittier, you supposed.

You wondered how the Hollands were fairing this year, another year without their only daughter, who was now laid to rest in the cemetery in town. You'd have to visit them, you decided. No matter how awkward and uncomfortable it was for you, Barb's family had been there for you in times when no one else had.

For a moment, you wondered if anyone was even home. It was a large enough house that maybe they couldn't hear a simple knock from a few rooms away, but eventually, the door opened wide, another familiar memory of Steve Harrington appearing in the doorway, his eyes roaming over you with the same perplexity that it had just over a year ago. Only this time they softened much sooner, despite the confusion that still clouded them.

“Uh, hey.”

“Hi,” You swallowed, face pinching in embarrassment as you stood on the boy's doorstep awkwardly.

“Is everything okay?” His brow pinched, eyes roaming over you once more and only settling back into place when he realized you were uninjured, nodding like a damn bobbing-head doll in a car.

“Yeah, no. Everything's… It's fine. I just…” taking a deep breath, you couldn't fathom why your heart was beating so loudly in your ears. Maybe it was because of your audience, the piercing stare of both Hopper and Eleven making your face feel much too warm in the cold weather, or maybe it was the fear that Steve very well could reject your offer.

You were friends, you both knew that by this point. And friends hung out, as you often did. But Christmas was a time for family, as El had told you, and here you were, about to ask him to ditch his parents to hang out. It felt silly to be so worried about something so trivial, but you couldn't stop the pounding in your chest.

“I know you're probably busy, but, uh… I was just wondering if you had any plans tonight.”

Steve watched you for a moment as if waiting for the punch line of a joke that he would inevitably be the butt of, but as the silent seconds passed and you visibly became more self-conscious, he finally realized you were not joking.

“Oh, uh… I'm not doing anything, actually. My parents are still pretty hung over from their party last night, but… Yeah, I can do, you know… Whatever.”

A loud honk of the Chevvy caused you to startle, turning quickly to send a glare toward its owner, who continued to watch the scene in front of him, unbothered by the lack of privacy he was giving you both.

“You wanna join us at Hopper's? He's threatening everyone with food poisoning if we don't, so…”

Steve had already eaten, his parents serving Christmas dinner closer to lunchtime, but he couldn't find it in himself to refuse the invitation. Last year, he had spent his Christmas Eve at the Wheeler's residence and although he was coming to terms with the fact Nancy and Jonathan were now definitely an item, he couldn't quite shift the loneliness that he felt, a year later, laying on his bed and throwing an old baseball up toward the ceiling repeatedly in silence as his mother rested in her room, his father locking himself away in his office, claiming he had unfinished work that just couldn't wait one more day.

“I could eat,” Steve nodded, a small smile creeping onto his mouth as he watched yours do the same.

You felt as stuffed as the turkey that was sat atop the small dining table. It was a squeeze to fit you all around it, you pretty much had El sat on your lap for the majority of the meal, but as you collected the plates, you felt a warm, full sensation in your chest that you hadn't felt before, and couldn't blame on your second helping of mashed potato.

“Leave it, Kid. I'll do it before bed.”

Ignoring Hopper's protests, knowing that he damn well would not do the dishes before bed, you continued toward the small kitchen, pilling the plates on the small draining board as El joined you to scrape the leftovers into the trash can.

Hopper was already sprawled back against the armchair, legs wide and pants unbuttoned as he turned his attention to the TV in front of him, despite the volume being too low to hear much.

“Uh, thanks for letting me join tonight,” Steve cleared his throat, his back a little too straight to be at ease as he sat on the small couch.

“Wasn't my idea,” Hopper took a sip from his bottle of Coca-Cola before resting it back onto his jean-clad knee, “Kid wanted to stop by.”

Steve nodded, his eyes flitting toward where you stood scrubbing the stubborn gravy stain from the pot as El blew some remaining bubbles at you from a plate. Flicking some of the water in her direction, Hopper's attention turned toward you both when he heard the younger girl gasp lightly, her eyes wide as a smile stretched across her face.

“Hey, girls, don't start-”

Hopper's words were futile as El dipped her own hand into the sink before flicking the dirty water back at you, reveling in your hearty laugh that he wasn’t sure he’d ever really heard before.

“Not with your parents tonight?” Hopper questioned, his eyes finally settling on the boy who sat to his right.

“Uh, we hung out this morning. Dad had some work to finish up though…”

Hopper watched as the boy ran his hand through his hair, his eyes on the TV, but he could tell Steve wasn't really paying attention to the movie. He hadn't had much of an opinion on the Harrington boy before, originally passing him off as another old money, trust fund kid who rebelled against his parents until he'd eventually end up with a life just like his father's.

The irony wasn't lost on Jim as his own father — the old Chief of Police — flashed in front of his eyes, brows stern before letting out a dejected sigh so loud he was sure the whole town could hear it.

“Well, she's glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too…” Steve nodded, an awkward, tight-lipped smile sent the Chief's way before his eyes slowly trailed back towards where you stood next to the younger girl.

“So, since someone didn't have any ingredients to make a pie,” you began, a side eye sent Hopper's way, “El came up with the brilliant idea to make our own dessert.”

“Eggos?” Hopper sighed, rubbing his stomach. Only moments ago he was certain his stomach would burst at the mention of food, but now… Well, a sweet treat didn't sound so bad.

“Eggos,” El confirmed, perching on the sofa and taking a large bite from her first waffle.

Bringing a plate over to Hopper, he took it with a grateful smile as you returned to the small kitchen. Steve mustered the energy to push himself up, joining you only a few feet away from his previous seat, “I'll, uh… I'll help.”

“You're the guest,” you began, “and I think I can toast a couple of Eggos without burning the place down.”

Steve huffed, an amused smirk pulling at his mouth as he cocked a brow and all but snatched the box from your hands, “Just accept the help, for my sake. I think if Hopper glares at me any harder I'll be the one being set on fire.”

Leaning against the small counter, you watched as he went about heating the waffles before eventually plating them up. Standing side by side, you chewed in silence, eyes darting from the small TV to Steve every so often.

“I'm sorry for dragging you out on Christmas day just to sit and eat Eggos in a cabin in the middle of the woods, but I'm glad you're here.”

Steve stopped mid-chew, quickly swallowing the bite of waffle he'd only just shoved into his mouth, “No, no, it's uh… It's been nice, you know? I was only gonna watch some lame movie on my own anyway.”

The moment of silence that passed between you was briefly interrupted as childlike giggles from El filled the room, watching as Uncle Scrooge McDuck made amends with the Cratchit family. Your eyes softened slightly as you watched the young girl who could barely peel her eyes away from the TV set.

“Are you, uh, going to Lewensky's New Year's party?” Steve asked, his head tilting toward you slightly as he lowered his voice, all too aware of Hopper's not-too-distant presence.

The scoff fell from your lips before you'd even realized, “I'm sure my invite got lost in the mail. Plus, after last Halloween… high school parties really are not my forte.”

Steve's eyes dropped to his feet at the mention of Tina's last party, the memory of Nancy's drunken, harsh words was still a wound that was slowly scabbing over, “Yeah, yeah I get that.”

Taking a deep breath, you placed your plate into the sink and focused back on the boy who had since last year, had his life completely turned around. He'd lost more than you'd originally presumed, but because Steve had money, you had felt that no matter how bad Steve's life got, he would never have to steal for food, bundle up in every warm outfit he had just because he couldn't afford to warm the house or pick up extra jobs to keep a roof over his head. He would always have a sense of security that couldn’t be taken from him.

But Steve had lost parts of himself along the way. Some good, some bad. But looking at the sinewy boy standing next to you, you knew it was for the best. From his asshole friends who kicked him down as soon as he slipped from the top rung of the school hierarchy ladder to Nancy, the girl who had somehow stopped his straying eye and made him believe in love, despite breaking his heart along the way because she fell in love with a boy who wasn't him.

But now, Steve had gained friendships that didn't depend on what he could do for them, or how popular he was. They were no longer transactional and instead relied on how much they cared about him, and how far they were willing to go to keep each other safe. And even if you assumed it would feel like a consolation prize to the boy, Steve now had you and your unwavering loyalty, even if your friendship had originally felt like a slow-building, forced-together situation. He had saved your life multiple times now, and eventually, one day, you would both come to the realization that you had both in fact, saved each other.

“You never told me what happened at that party. Why everything seemed to go to shit after it.”

Steve's plate joined yours in the sink, and he was grateful that he'd already finished his waffles, as his stomach sank and he lost any type of appetite he'd had left, “I should, uh… I should probably get going.”

Biting the inside of your cheek, you couldn't help but feel like an asshole. It had been less than two months since whatever went down with him and Nancy at Tina's party, and here you were, pick, pick, picking at his wounds because of your own curiosity. Nosiness. Inability to just let things lie. You sent the boy a strained smile which he returned before pushing himself away from the counter and toward the small living room,

“Uh, we're gonna head out. Thanks for dinner though, Chief. I had a great evening.”

Hopper's brow raised as he turned his attention toward you, then back to the boy, “It's late, I should drive you home.”

Before you left, you handed El the small gift-wrapped present, watching as her eyes lit up like the Christmas tree in downtown Hawkins. With a quick nod of reassurance from you, she began to tear off the paper, a large smile covering her face when she pulled out the cassette tapes from the old, wrapped shoe box, eyes scanning over the black and white picture of Bryan Adams. Only a handful were new, most being your old tapes, mixed tapes you'd made or been gifted by Jonathan throughout the years, hours worth of music she could discover,

“Now you don't have to listen to the old man's music.”

“Hey,” Hopper warned, despite his voice holding no real offense, “Nothing wrong with a bit of Jim Croce.”

“I'm not saying there is, unless, you know… you're a thirteen-year-old girl.”

“Right, that's enough out of you. Go get my keys.”

Once school had broken up, December always seemed to move slowly. The days blended together, and if not for work, you wouldn’t know what day it was. The arcade opened back up on the 27th and your manager was all too aware that with the children off for the holidays, at some point, the parents would get sick of them and send them out for the day, and most of them would make their way to the warm arcade. You’d managed to pick up an extra shift or two, thankful to be working with Keith and not Andy, the latter all but begging you to pick up his New Year's Eve shift. So you’d made your way to work, finishing just after 10. Keith could be an absolute pain in your ass when he wanted to be, but you couldn’t deny that he did a better job closing the arcade than Andy did, and actually did his fair share of cleaning, meaning you were able to get home quicker, especially with the boy dropping you off as the snow had started to fall once more.

Now you’d been back home for a while, you’d settled on your bed intending to read before bed, yet here you were sat staring out of your bedroom window, a book opened, but otherwise untouched as it remained perched on your lap. The snow finally settled, peaceful and undisturbed and you wished you could drown out the noise of your mother’s television show, — Happy New Year, America — the volume turned up so loud that it managed to drown out her incessant snores. You wondered if it was something she did in an attempt to drown out whatever turmoil she’d dream about, but with the amount she drank, did she even dream anymore? Or was her mind as dark and lonely at night as it was in the day?

The red lights from your alarm clock flickered, 11.32pm, and soon the town of Hawkins would ring in the New Year, the rest of America following behind shortly. People make resolutions to work harder, eat healthier, attend more aerobic classes, and only cheat on their wives with their secretaries on Tuesdays and Thursdays evenings. Promises to themselves that would be broken by the first week of February.

All you wanted was a quiet year. You didn’t need a pity party, but your life up to this point, had been difficult, to say the least. Since 1977 your resolutions have mirrored wishes. Hopes and dreams for the next year, akin to what you might’ve wished for when blowing out your birthday candles if you’d ever had a cake. A peaceful 1985, with no interdimensional monsters lurking around the corner, or curly-haired mullet-wearing Californian boys who wanted nothing but trouble. Or whatever the hell had possessed Will.

Blinking a few times, you tried to focus on the book and lifted it from your lap as if that would help, but the words were simply blurring into one big, inky mess on the page. Closing your eyes tightly, you pushed your face into the open pages of the book and let out an exasperated groan. Of course, you could’ve just gone to bed, woke up on January 1st, and continued your life as usual, but something forced you to remain awake. You needed to see this year through, right until the end, even if just to prove to yourself that you had survived it.

You couldn’t wait to see the back of 1984 and hoped the door did, in fact, hit its ass on the way out.

Releasing a long sigh, a cold shiver ran over your skin, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, and the unnerving feeling that you were being watched caused a thick, tense air to settle around you, leaving you almost too scared to remove the book from your face, frightened to catch a glimpse of whatever was waiting out there waiting, observing you.

At best, it would be a peeping tom, but at worst? Well, wouldn’t it just be your luck to enter the new year with the same monsters you were hoping to permanently leave behind, chasing you into 1985? If there was no rest for the wicked, you’d hate to think of what you did in a previous life, something so heinous that karma had crossed over into this one, haunting you still.

A sharp knock against the glass forced your body into movement, the book flying from your hands and into the direction of said sound as if the old, worn copy of ‘A Room of One’s Own’ that you had yet to return to the library would suffice against any kind of intruder.

But before the book could clatter to the floor, dislodging some of the pages that were already clinging on for dear life, your eyes met those honey-colored familiar ones, the boy jumping at the collision of the book, only inches from his face despite being protected by the glass that separated them.

Releasing an annoyed huff of breath from your mouth, you pushed yourself from your bed and all but stomped toward the window, cringing as it scraped and squeaked against the windowsill.

Swallowing down your embarrassment and finally feeling your heart slow down, you sent a glare to the boy, one he happily returned.

“What the hell are you doing here, Harrington?”

Scoffing, the boy’s frown deepened, “You’ve got a hell of an arm, you know that?”

“Oh please, the window was closed. I probably did more damage to my book than I would’ve to your face.”

The crease between his eyebrows smoothed out as he took you in. He’d asked Nancy about the flashlight incident of 1983 after overhearing part of your conversation whilst you comforted his ex-girlfriend in the Holland’s bathroom, being told all about your ability to throw inanimate objects into the face of your enemies. Turns out, it was a habit — or rather, a reflex — you’d be taking into the new year with you.

“What are you doing here?”

Rolling his eyes, Steve placed an arm through the window frame, trying in vain to move you aside, “I was at Mark Lewensky’s party, and it totally sucked. Can I come in? It’s freezing-”

“My mom’s home,” you told him simply, as if she wasn’t out cold, sprawled across the couch. But your mother had been very clear about boys being in her home without her knowledge. It was just a shame she didn’t care as much regarding the men she brought home.

With a cocked brow, Steve watched you for a moment before bending over to grab something on the snow under your window, eventually holding up the bottle of cheap alcohol he’d swiped from the party before taking his leave, “I brought a gift."

You considered the boy for a moment, eyes glancing toward your alarm clock, still sitting pretty on your nightstand, the red numbers almost taunting you in a way you couldn’t describe.

11.46

If you really wanted to, you could easily send the boy off, tell him to go home, or even just go sit in his car and drive around town, and he’d do it. You could crawl into bed, pull the covers up over your head, and pretend that this whole year didn’t happen. Or, you could ring in the new year with some shitty vodka warming your belly, and a friend by your side. A friend who looked just as finished with 1984 as you were.

“Just… give me a second, alright?”

Furtively, you grabbed your denim jacket, hat, and blanket from your bed before shoving on a pair of sneakers and clambering out of your window, causing Steve to fumble backward to avoid getting headbutted. Recovering quickly, Steve helped you down onto the soft snow, now sullied with the prints from his shoes.

“C’mon,” you mumbled, closing your window a little more in an attempt to keep your bedroom at least mildly warm before grabbing the sleeve of his jacket and wandering toward the back of your house where the slightly splintered trellis sat against a wall, reaching up far enough that you were able to climb onto the slight slope of your roof.

Steve, however, looked much less certain, worry evident in his quizzical eyes as they moved from you, to the trellis, and back to you,

“It’s fine, Steve. I’ve been climbing this thing since I can remember.”

Grumbling under his breath, Steve not-so-nimbly started his own ascent, arm high in the air for you to grab the bottle until he eventually settled in next to you on the blanket. It wouldn’t stop the cold snow that you’d half-scraped off the roof eventually leaking through, but it was at least a little more comfortable.

After opening the bottle and taking a long sip, Steve handed it toward you, watching as you gulped down a mouthful of the drink, face screwing up just as his own did moments ago.

“So, why’d the party suck?”

Steve accepted the bottle when you held it out to him, taking another large gulp, “It’s just not my scene anymore, you know?”

“Wow,” you huffed out a fake laugh, “never thought the day would come when the Keg King of Hawkins doesn’t want to party.”

Steve rested the bottle in his lap, fingers picking at the peeling label, “Yeah, well, you’re the one spending New Year’s alone with your face in a book. Literally.”

“And somehow, I was still having a better time than you were.” You shrugged, sending the boy an impish smile.

You both remained quiet for a moment, but you could feel the awkward tension that had settled over you back at Hopper’s before you’d left. You and your big mouth had ruined a good evening, and you couldn’t help the heavy feeling of guilt that had settled on your chest since.

“I’m sorry about Christmas, you know? Bringing up the whole Nancy thing. It’s not my business and I shouldn’t pry. And I’m sorry for bringing it up now, too. I just… I felt bad.”

Steve sighed and took another sip of the drink before handing it back to you, his eyes remaining focused on you as he took a deep breath, all too aware that you were looking anywhere but at him now. He hadn’t been avoiding you since the awkward end to Hopper’s Christmas meal. You’d been busy with work and he… Well, he had been sulking in his room alone for the most part. But he’d come to the realization at the New Year’s party that he really didn’t have that many friends, even back when he was swanning around the school like he owned the place.

And maybe, being open and honest to someone would help him move past the shit he’d dealt with this year. Maybe it could help… Maybe you could help.

“Nancy was uh… She was really suffering after losing Barb. And I knew that a part of her blamed us for what happened. Whilst she was being dragged off to… whatever that place is, we were, well, you know…”

Steve ran a hand through his hair, not bothered that he was slightly messing it up, “I just didn’t realize how much she blamed us. Blamed me. She uh, she said everything was bullshit. That our relationship was bullshit. And when I asked if she loved me…”

“She was drunk, Steve. She didn’t know what she was saying-”

“No, I uh… I asked her at school the next day. She was pissed because I didn’t pick her up that morning, and I asked her. I begged her to tell me she loved me. And she couldn’t, because she didn’t. She didn’t love me, and I don’t know if she always knew that, or just realized it then. And then I… Jesus, I went around there like a total jackass, with roses and I was gonna apologize, you know? Because, she can’t help it if she doesn’t feel that way, and I shouldn’t push her into saying it, but… She’d disappeared with Jonathan. And I don’t know what happened between them, but… I mean, they started dating right after, so, I kind of guessed then that we were over, for good this time.”

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

Steve huffed a small laugh, but there was no humor to it, “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“I know, but… I was an asshole to you. And even after all that… You still made sure I was okay that night. Still protected us all at the Junkyard. I just… I didn’t know you were dealing with that.”

“Well, some things are a bit more important than my shitty love life, I guess. Being torn apart by a bunch of Demo Dogs being one of them.”

You placed the bottle back in his lap, placing a hand over his once he took it, “I can’t begrudge Nance for finding happiness with Jonathan, you know? It was kind of obvious from the outside that there was something between them. But you didn’t deserve that, Steve, and I’m sure Nancy knows that, too. She deserves to be happy, but so do you. And hell, it’s not like you’ll have any trouble finding someone else to warm your bed until then. You’ll be just fine, Harrington. I’m sure of it.”

“That night… With Billy-”

Shaking your head, you stopped him before he could finish his sentence, “We don’t need to go there, really. I’d prefer it if we put it down to being drunk and stupid, or lonely and desperate… whatever. It didn’t mean anything, and I knew the kind of guy he was, I really shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“He was an asshole, and I’m sorry about the rumors about us, well... you know.”

Finally, you met his dark, honey-colored eyes, “That’s not on you to apologize for. But I am sorry if that didn’t help shit with Nancy. And for what I said to you after… About, not wanting to hang out or be your friend. You looked out for me when I really needed it, and I threw that back in your face. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s cool,” Steve smiled, the warmth of your hand still lingering on his skin even after you pulled your hand back, “I mean, there is a way you could make it up to me.”

Your brows drew together almost comically fast, dropping slightly as you sent him a suspicious glare, but when you remained quiet, Steve took it as his chance to continue,

“You could help me study for my exams. I mean, I’m not expecting to do well, or anything, but… I still wanna graduate.”

“You know I usually charge for tutoring-”

“Yeah, that’s not how apologizing works though, is it?” Steve smirked, a playfulness in his eyes that you hadn’t seen in a while.

A silence passed between the both of you as you took turns passing the bottle around, small sighs and scrunched-up faces as the drink burned your throats on its way down.

“Do you think this year's gonna be better? I mean, as in no more monsters crawling out of the Hell’s asshole that is Hawkins?”

Steve’s eyes returned to you — despite keeping yours front and center — and you could feel their laser-like focus roam over your side profile as if he would find an answer that would pacify the both of you etched on your skin.

“I think,” Steve seemed to choose his words wisely, “we’ve all been through enough shit to last us a lifetime. We’re owed at least one good year, right?”

A small bubble of laughter erupted from your chest as you finally turned toward the boy, “I think that’d be the bare fucking minimum, Steve. And those kids, you know? They deserve to just be… kids. Instead, they’re fighting against interdimensional monsters and god knows what else El and Will have been through.”

“Maybe this town’s cursed, you know?” Steve shrugged, taking another sip from the bottle.

“Do you think you’ll ever leave?” You questioned, specifying once Steve raised his brow, “Hawkins, I mean. Do you think you’ll ever get out of here?”

“Well, I don’t think I’m gonna get into any out-of-state colleges.”

“No, I mean like… forever. Do you ever just want to pack up a bag and let this shitty town swallow itself whole?”

Steve’s eyes softened as you peeked back at him, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket, “I guess. I don’t really have anything keeping me here. But… I don’t know. It pains me to say it but... I think I’d miss the little jerks too much. God knows Dustin wouldn’t survive five minutes unsupervised- Oh, hey, look-”

A fountain of light filled the sky, quickly followed by a loud crack as the fireworks spread across the sky, followed by another explosion of color.

You watched the lights as they forced colors into the night, breaking apart the dark sky before fizzling out and falling back down to Earth.

Steve called your name softly, watching as you turned your attention toward him, “Happy New Year."

“Happy New Year, Steve.” You replied, taking the bottle from his grasp with a small smile before returning your attention back to the sky, hoping the cheap vodka would wash down the nauseating panic that crawled up your throat as the sky split open once more, bright reds against the dark navy sky, looking as though it was ripped apart at the seams, and you half expected a monster to fall out of it.

[nekoannie-chan]

The life he always wanted

Pairing: Steve Rogers X Reader.

Word count: 565 words.

Rating: Teen.

Summary: Steve has always wanted to have a life in a certain way.

Major Tags: Fluff, nostalgia.

Additional tags: This is my entry to @fluffystevefest Fluffy Steve Fest:

“Day 7 Steve’s: Childhood, Habits, First times, Happy ending.”

@saiyanprincessswanie

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistakes, please let me know and I will correct them.

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After all that had happened, Steve sat back, feeling nostalgic and out of place again, just...

He couldn't stop remembering his childhood and the times he spent with you and Bucky. He would give anything to return to those times and make what he always dreamed of come true.

He sighed, took the keys, and went out. Unfortunately, it had become a habit to visit your grave at least once a week.

Steve regretted very few things, and one of those was not proposing to you; he was going to do it once the war was over. He had the perfect picture in his mind: coming back from the war like a hero, knocking on your door, and just as you opened it, he would get down on one knee and ask you to marry him. The ring was the same one his mother had worn since he was a child; he had thought it was stunning.

He cleaned up your grave a bit, put the flowers on it, and said he would give anything to be with you again to clear up the lie he discovered at the Smithsonian.

I'm sorry for the lies you surely heard. I would like to see you again to explain everything that really happened. I have never stopped loving you.

1928

"When we grow up, Y/N is going to marry me," Bucky assured.

You frowned.

"No, I'm going to marry Stevie," you assured.

1937

You looked out again to make sure you had lost Bucky. You didn't want him to interrupt your first date; you hadn't told him you were dating either, and luckily he didn't get to interrupt you.

first kiss.

"I don't think he'll find us," you commented.

"Then we should go to the movies; I think you'll like the movie they're showing."

2023

Steve knew it was the only chance he would have; he would take care of making things right, and he hoped the rest would understand, but the truth was that he also deserved to have his happy ending and to fulfill all his dreams.

The first thing I would do would be to go to your house, clear everything up, then look for and release Bucky.

1945

He had missed the neighborhood; he remembered it perfectly. He stopped a few meters from your house, took a breath, and hoped you weren't angry or that you didn't want to see him.

"Who...? " You couldn't complete the sentence when you saw Steve in front of you, kneeling. You recognized the ring; it was the one his mother used to wear. What are you doing here, Steve? A few weeks ago, a woman came and told me that you were engaged and then that you had died."

"Do you remember the woman's name?"

"I remember her last name was Carter."

"It's not true what she said; I have always loved you; I came to keep my promise; I have a lot of things to tell you; let's go in; it's complicated and it will take a long time; but first, will you marry me?"

You smiled; you knew that Steve had never betrayed you; you stretched your hand so he would put the ring on your finger; you wanted him to tell you everything because you didn't understand many things, but you knew you were going to be very happy.

[maccreadysbaby]

A Hundred Ways to Become a Wayne

batfamily + oc insert

tw: death and gore

wanna read more? here’s the table of contents!

want to read the first fic in the hundred days series so you understand what’s going on here? here it is!

here’s bentley and his friends going through it™︎

part thirty-one

❝ HOMEBOUND ❞

MONDAY — AUGUST 17 — 10:42PM

BENTLEY, ASTEN, NICO, AND DAVIS DIDN’T MOVE AN INCH. Instead, they all stared at the bodies of the guards that had just choked to death on nothing.

Nico’s glowing white eyes faded back to their normal blue, rolled back into his head, and he fell over without a warning. Thankfully, Asten was quick and close enough to keep his head from hitting the white tile of Dr. Keene’s screwed-up child experimenting facility.

Bentley blinked, taking several moments to look back and forth between the pile of dead guards in the doorway of the sterile white room, and Nico. Had he just… killed them all? With superpowers?

He turned back to Nico and Asten — the latter now had the former’s head on his lap, and he was staring at him, stunned. So many people were… dying. Bentley had to have seen at least twenty people die right before his eyes in the past, what? Thirty minutes? And each one at the hands of people he knew as friends. The thought made him kind of dizzy. He’d seen so many people die.

He flinched when Davis’s metal glove landed on his left shoulder, and when he met his eyes, the green orbs were dancing worriedly across his face and bloody frame. Bentley looked away and sniffled quietly. “You think you can walk so I can carry your friend?”

Honestly, Bentley was running on nothing more than fumes and fear, and had been for at least a solid few days. The added pain and terror from the gunshot was almost inconceivable, blending into one big blur of full-body agony that he couldn’t stop crying over. Even though Davis said the shot wasn’t that bad (he knew it would be a very different situation if he had been shot in the chest or head), keeping himself from falling over seemed to be the most laborious task he’d carried out in a long time. 

But… Nico was passed out, and Bentley wasn’t yet. He wasn’t sure how many steps he’d get in — but if worse came to worse, he was probably small enough that Asten could get by with dragging him or something. So, as much as he wanted Davis to keep carrying him around, to hide his face from the world and pretend he was in Bruce’s arms, he wiped at his furiously leaking eyes and nodded for him to carry Nico instead.

With that, Davis moved across the room to pick him up, which he did while enduring the longest death glare Bentley had ever seen Asten throw in someone’s direction. He didn’t argue, though — much to their surprise. He just stood up once Nico was securely in Davis’s arms, eyes flicking over to Bentley, around the sterile white room. He also sent a glare to the Synchronizer that surely would’ve made it wither had it been anything but metal and machinery.

“We have to get to Titus. He’s on the other end of the facility,” Davis said, shifting Nico around until his head was securely against his shoulder. He was holding him bridal style like he’d been carrying Bentley, and Nico looked really small in his arms.

Asten breathed in, brushing a hand over his blue and black hair. He was still standing ahead of the Synchronizer where Nico had hugged the life out of him. “Titus. The one who can teleport?”

“Yeah. He can get you guys out of here, if we can get to him. If. I’m not sure how far we’ll make it with no self defense. I would offer up my hands, but they’re kinda full,” Davis glanced down at Nico momentarily, something like the vaguest hint of nostalgia or deja vu swirling in his green irises. “We-“

“I can help with that,”

Bentley, Asten, and Davis all flinched in tandem when a fourth voice came — a disembodied female voice that had no obvious user. The voice had come from near the back wall, across from the door, but… there wasn’t anybody there.

Bentley wasn’t, like, losing his mind, was he? The thought made more silent tears slide down his face. He’d lost so much blood he was losing his mind.

“Who’s there?” Davis questioned, taking a few steps past Bentley in the direction of the mysterious voice. Asten moved toward them, ever so slowly inching away from the Synchronizer and ending up at Bentley’s left side.

Suddenly, eliciting a flinch from Asten and a gasp from both Bentley and Davis, the redhead girl that they’d ejected from a Synchronizer on their search for Asten and Nico appeared out of thin air. She was standing against the back wall of the room in a hospital gown that mirrored theirs, picking at her nails. Her light blue eyes seemed to be an odd mixture of color that made them look silver, and her red hair was long and wavy down her back. Her face had much more color than it had earlier.

Davis glowered dangerously at her, tugging Nico closer to himself. “Who are you?”

She stepped forward, a ghost of a smile growing on her petite face. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna hurt your little sheep. I’ve been following you since you let me out of the machine, which I’m here to repay you for. That is, if you can get your teleporty friend to get me out of here, too.”

“How are you going to help us?” Davis questioned, his voice layered thick with uncertainty and doubt. The girl smirked — smirked.

“I might be straight out of the mad scientist’s oven, but I have a pretty good handle on this whole superpower thing,” She explained, glancing down at her own blank nails, strangely nonchalant now — way calmer than she was earlier. “The names Lydia. Lydia Venice. And with me at your disposal, you’ll be able to walk your happy selves straight to the other side of the compound without a hitch.”

Her freakishly calm demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Bentley. Either she was adapting extremely well to being kidnapped and experimented on, or…

“And how am I supposed to know if you’re being mind controlled?” Davis questioned, mirroring exactly what Bentley had been thinking. The thought sent a shiver down his spine. What if she was just going to take them back to Dr. Keene? Put them back in the machines to finish the process?

“I guess you don’t… but I feel like myself right now. Making my own choices and all that,”

Bentley would’ve been intrigued in the conversation, had the blood loss been taking less of a toll on him than it actually was. The floating feeling was now putting a fog over everything in his mind, and he was really cold. He could hear his heart beating in his ears, and it seemed to be going way too fast even though he was literally just standing there.

That’s about when his legs decided to give out beneath him.

Thankfully, a pair of arms looped around his middle in a rather un-graceful way, catching him in a position that made his shoulder momentarily set itself ablaze with agony. He let out a cry. Why? The pain? The trauma that was being burned into his head for the rest of his life? He wasn’t sure. But he was pretty sure it was enough to cry about. 

“Whoa, whoa. I’ve got you, red,” Whispered probably the most comforting voice in the room.

Voices were running in the background, Davis and Lydia, but the Bentley was too focused on the fact that Asten had wasted no time pulling him gently back onto his feet. He slung Bentley’s arm around his shoulders, looping his own arm around his torso so he could hold him up. Nearly all of his (minimal) weight was leaning into Asten’s right side, which might’ve felt bad about if his mind wasn’t floating like he was fresh off of anesthesia. He noted the fact that he kind of felt like he wanted to hurl. He also noted the fact that everyone was suddenly looking at him.

Davis stared at him for a solid ten seconds, before he huffed and looked back at Lydia with a tense: “Fine. How are you going to help us?”

She smiled. “Observe.”

She walked over to the Synchronizer in the room, and with the cock of an eyebrow, put her hand on it. She disappeared. The entire Synchronizer disappeared with her. 

“Whatever I touch turns invisible, too. If you hold onto me, no one will see us,” Her voice came from the nothingness in front of them.

“Alright…” Davis sighed to himself, blinking a few times to right his mind. “But if you try anything-“

“You’ll kill me?” The girl reappeared and cracked a strangely genuine looking grin, cocking a hip to the side. “I’ve seen quite the spread of bodies you’ve left in your wake, Reaper. This time and last.”

Davis scowled, a far-off look growing in his eyes momentarily. Bentley remembered hearing about the last time Davis had killed a bunch of people — if his brain wasn’t so foggy he might’ve even remembered what Dr. Keene said the reason was. But he couldn’t. He felt like he was drifting away into darkness. Like the agony was fading and so was he. Even the crying he’d assumed would be endless was tapering away due to the haze he couldn’t get out of.

“Asten,” He whispered, breathing deep despite being relatively still. The Brazilian immediately whipped his head around, his hold on him tightening the slightest.

“What is it?”

Bentley sniffled, batting away the wetness in his eyes to no avail. “I don’t feel good,” He muttered, but he couldn’t bring his gaze up to look his friend in the eyes. How was Asten so warm and everything else was so cold? Bentley was freezing.

The blue haired boy grimaced, glancing back up at Davis and Lydia. “As much as I love spitting empty threats at people, you seem to have forgotten that ginger over here is literally bleeding out. Let’s get this trainwreck on the road, yeah?”

Davis and Lydia’s eyes flicked between each other, Bentley, and Asten, before the former nodded. “It’s now or never.”

Lydia walked toward the door, grabbing onto Davis and Asten’s hospital gowns as she went, tugging them along. Bentley and Nico didn’t have much of a choice but to join them. “You’ll still see yourselves and each other, but no one else will. They can hear and feel us, though, so don’t be idiots.”

Bentley walked along, and he was thankful for Asten baring most of his weight — the strangely dull agony of the gunshot was sending waves of pain pulsing through his muscles, and it made his legs not want to work. It made nothing want to work, really — not even his brain, which was still getting fuzzier.

They left the Synchronizing room and moved into the long, sterile, white hallways, Lydia’s hand staying on the others’ gowns all the way. For now, the corridors were empty, but they branched off into other halls and areas not too far ahead of them, and Bentley wasn’t sure those would be so vacant. Red alarm lights were flashing in the halls, but there were no alarms.

“Titus is in the medical sector,” Davis nodded to the left, down the long hall. Thankfully, they weren’t facing all the dead people left in Davis’s wake. Bentley wasn’t sure he could stomach staring at them all again, black growing and writhing under their skin like a parasite. 

Lydia nodded. “Don’t pull away from me, and keep your mouths shut,” She ordered.

Bentley had no problem with that. The rag-tag group of five, one shot, one unconscious, all supposedly invisible, wearing matching hospital gowns made down the white hallways with Lydia at the lead. Bentley was hardly able to focus on anything except keeping his own two feet under him as Asten walked. Why was it so hard to move his feet the right way?

At one point, a group of guards with guns walked right past them without batting an eye, which meant they really were invisible. And Bentley had never been more grateful in his life.

For a long time, all Bentley saw was bright white and flashing red moving around him. The occasional guard or few passed every now and then, paying them no mind at all. Lydia’s plan was going, dare he say, good. Maybe he would actually make it home.

They were just about to pass a group of six, solid white, armored and gunned guards when Nico decided to wake up.

Screaming.

“No! No, I didn’t mean to! I didn’t mean to!”

Bentley was shocked back into reality at the noise, and everyone began to move. The guards whipped out their weapons, Nico flailed in Davis’s arms, Lydia whipped around to see what was going on and Asten flinched so violently he nearly dropped Bentley on his face. 

“Hey, hey, shh, shh, shh,” Davis tried to hush Nico. He was squirming to the point where Davis had to set him down in favor of not dropping him, his eyes wide and brimming with tears, and the guards were aiming their guns around the hallway in a blind panic. Lydia hadn’t let go of them, and the men in white looked confused, which was a good thing, Bentley thought.

…Until it wasn’t.

Until they began to pull the trigger of their guns blindly, one shot after another, each one aiming in the group’s general direction. There were probably ten or twelve gunshots that erupted from the group, at least two of which were aimed pretty darn close to Bentley and Asten. Lydia let go of everyone in a panic, making them visible to the world.

Bentley was overtake by dread at the realization that he was really dead now. And so was everybody else.

There was a flash of yellow lightning. 

Everyone stood, frozen, unmoving, unblinking. The guards didn’t move. None of Bentley’s group moved. Not a single one of the five captives hit the floor, screamed, or started bleeding like he’d anticipated. Bentley looked down at himself and Asten, examining for blood or gunshots hidden by adrenaline, but there was nothing. At least a couple of those guns had been aimed freakishly close to them.

Nico was now standing directly in front of Bentley and Asten, his chest heaving and eyes sparking with an ever present yellow electricity. His right hand was balled into a fist.

When opened it, all of the bullets that had just been shot fell through his fingers and dinged on the tile.

Suddenly, it all seemed to make sense in Bentley’s only half-working mind. Nico’s hands moving so fast he couldn’t see them, the yellow lightning, the letter from his real parents talking about the Speed Force — Nico had super-speed. Super-speed that was so fast he’d just caught a dozen bulletsthat had been shot not ten feet away from them.

The guards were stunned, and Davis used the moment of confusion to his advantage, flicking a glove off with one resounding click. 

Bentley jumped when more gunshots rang out — directed right at Davis. There was another flash of yellow lightning and Nico was in front of the men with the guns. He dropped another handful of bullets on the floor.

Bentley made sure to look away when Davis used his hands to kill the guards — just like he’d told him — but Asten watched in some mixture of horror and intrigue. Bentley saw Davis move in his peripheral, heard the dull thuds of the guards against the tile.

Nico stumbled back away from Davis, knocking into Asten, who almost dropped Bentley again. 

“Dude, that was awesome! You’re like the freaking flash!” He heard Asten mutter, like he wasn’t literally shot at twenty seconds ago.

Suddenly and silently, Lydia hit the floor in front of the three of them.

They all flinched and peered down at her — she had small streams of blood dripping from her nose, her eyes, her ears. She was staring at them… but wasn’t really looking. 

Bentley inhaled sharply when he realized that she wasn’t looking at all. That her chest wasn’t rising or falling, that she was laying eerily still. In his peripheral, he could see someone standing a ways off in the hallway. Someone with platinum hair and glowing yellow eyes, a twisted stitched smile that would forever be engraved in his mind.

Nico let out a strangled whine at the sight of Lydia’s body, and then promptly threw up in the floor. Asten had a grip on his shoulder with the arm that wasn’t around Bentley.

Davis was suddenly in front of them, obstructing their view of the Secret Keeper. He thrusted the keycard he’d been carrying around toward Asten. “You’re almost there! You just go to the next hall and turn left — you’ll be looking right inside his cell. That should open it. Go!”

Bentley’s heart was hammering in his ears, threatening to split his ribs clean open. Nico looked so pale he might pass out, he was crying again, arms wrapped around himself and looking really tiny. Asten took the hand off of his shoulder to grab the keycard.

Davis un-latched his other glove, but didn’t let it hit the floor yet. He pointed down the hallway when not one of them responded, glancing behind them. “Go!”

“What about you?” Bentley croaked, the sting of tears behind his eyes starting up again. He didn’t have much of a response when Asten rubbed his back. He wasn’t sure he could take any of the self sacrificial bullcrap — he wanted to survive and he wanted Asten to survive and Nico to survive and Davis to survive. Davis had to survive. He’d saved Bentley so many times and death was how he’d repay him?

“What’re you gonna do?” Bentley choked.

Davis turned, moving just enough so Bentley could see the silhouette of the Secret Keeper standing eerily still at the other end of the hall. Then the waiter smiled fondly, green eyes sparkling a little even despite the circumstances. “I’m going to try and have a conversation with my girlfriend.”

Bentley blinked. They all blinked, and he looked at Asten, who look at him, and then at Nico, who looked at them. 

“Charlie?” Asten muttered, eyes falling to the tile. “My God, you must’ve thought she was… for two years…“

“You guys need to get out of here. Get to safety,” Davis replied, agilely avoiding Asten’s statement. “Remember, the first hall that branches left, Titus will be straight ahead.”

Bentley pulled himself out of Asten’s hold and managed to stumble forward just far enough to wrap his arms around Davis’s torso with a poorly stifled round of crying. “Please don’t die.”

Davis patted the top of his head with his still-gloved hand. “You heard it yourself, kid — I am death. Now go.”

Bentley was gently pulled away by Asten’s hand, and despite everything that was screaming for him to stop, they ran. (Well, as much as Bentley could. He was more or less being dragged around by Asten, who had resumed their previous position.) They booked it down the sterile halls and turned down the first one to the left. This one was different — lined with large viewing windows that were accompanied by metal doors. At the end of the hall was a window and door, larger than the others. There weren’t any guards or scientists around. Not that they could see, anyway.

The three of them slowed to a walk, peering into the windows as they passed. Most of the rooms were empty, filled with cabinets of medical supplies and gurneys, but every now and then the gurney would have a human shaped bag that Bentley refused to look at any longer than he had to. Each room had a little plaque on the front, but none of them had any words on them. 

Not that he would be able to read them anyways. His crying had ramped back up to a ten at the very prospect of Davis going head-to-head with the Secret Keeper. He wasn’t… he couldn’t… Davis… he had to touch to kill. As far as Bentley knew, the Secret Keeper — Charlie — didn’t even have to seeher victim to kill them. It was a battle that was already lost, and Bentley already knew the winner.

He could barely breathe.

Asten dragged the heap of crying disaster until they made it to the dead-end, to the largest room. Bentley managed to see that, through his tears, the plaque on that door read: Titus Lancaster.

But the room was empty.

Asten stepped right up to the widow, so close that it fogged up the glass under his breath. “Merda.”

Any shred of hope Bentley had dissipated at the sight of the empty cell. Dr. Keene said on video that had to make it especially so Titus couldn’t teleport out — why would they take him somewhere else? It wasn’t time for his mind control surgery yet, unless Bentley had been in the Synchronizer for a longtime.

They were all going to die.

Nico anxiously ran his hands over his hair, a few quiet sobs wracking his whole body. “This is hopeless!”

Bentley hiccuped, trying his best to choke back the endless crying, trudging through the fog in his brain to try and remember anything else that might help them. Nico plunked himself down against the wall and cried unabashedly, just like he had at the bus stop. Asten stared into the room like, if he looked hard enough, Titus would materialize there.

Even through the crying and agony looming over his head, Bentley managed to remember Dr. Keene talking about when Titus got sick. He remembered seeing him in the hospital bed on the video, and he remembered the second video, where he made him perform his abilities so Bentley’s father could see. And at the end of the video, he said…

Bless him; he prefers to stay in the rafters of his enclosure like some kind of bird at the zoo.

Bentley suddenly leaned forward, peering through the glass up at the ceiling. There were metal beams that spanned the length of the room, and there was a dark blob resting on one. “Titus,” Bentley said, pointing toward the ceiling.

Asten followed his finger with his gaze, and Nico threw himself off of the floor, both peering through the glass. They seemed to visibly relax when their eyes landed on the blob. 

“Good eye, red,”

If Bentley were more lucid, he might’ve replied.

Just like all the other doors, there was a blue light next to the entrance to Titus’s cell — the one Davis had always tapped the keycard on. Below that light was a little screen, no bigger than Bentley’s hand, that read: EM Field Activated.

He and Asten shuffled toward the door, and the latter tapped the keycard on the light just like Davis had. After a moment, it turned green, and the words displayed on the screen changed — EM Field Deactivated.

The door slid open.

None of them moved for a moment, peering around, checking if there was a chance anyone had seen that. Through his own tears and now-slightly-blurry vision, Bentley couldn’t see much of anything except white. 

Asten cleared his throat. “Titus?”

Quickly, the blob in the rafters shifted around, presumably to get a good look at them. 

“A guy named Davis sent us. He… said you can teleport us out of here,”

In a whoosh of wind and color, Titus appeared in front of them. He looked worse than he had in the video — he was twelve, Bentley remembered, but looked like he didn’t even weigh sixty pounds soaking wet. The hospital gown swallowed him. He was only a little taller than Bentley, Nico’s height, but really frail looking. His skin was pale as a sheet of paper, and his deep gray eyes were sunken into his face, his nearly-black hair frizzed up in all directions.

Bentley wasn’t sure which of them was worse off.

Titus’s eyes flicked around warily, from Asten’s calculating stare, to Nico’s sobbing form, to Bentley’s half-red hospital gown. Then he looked at the door behind them, taking a few steps to comprehend if it was actually open or not. He seemed almost… afraid of it. Like he’d been tricked before, or something.

“Yeah, hey, we kinda need a fast exit here,” Asten said, glancing between Nico and Bentley, then looking back at Titus. “Will you help us? You’ll be able to escape, too.”

Titus’s deep gray eyes flicked between the three of them. “Don’t lie.”

“Wha- I’m not lying! We were kidnapped and put in a freaking oven and my friend got shot and we need to go!” Asten replied. Titus flinched backwards at the smallest raise of Asten’s voice, which Bentley didn’t much like.

Asten noticed and took a breath. “Please, Titus. We won’t hurt you. We need your help.”

“You’re just another test,” Titus muttered, backing up until he came in contact with the wall, sliding down until he could curl up on the floor and lacing his hands in his hair. “I’m not gonna try and escape, you can stop making me see things now.”

It made Bentley kind of sad how absolutely… broken Titus seemed. Like a kid that had been stripped of his entire personality and left with nothing but dread. What did he mean by seeing things? Had Dr. Keene been training him into submission like some kind of dog?

“Titus, hey,” Asten tried, looking to Nico for help. “We aren’t a test, we aren’t. You see the alarm lights in the hallway? We need your help getting out of here before guards come.”

Titus looked back up at them warily, his gray eyes watering. “Please go away.”

Gunshots came, making all four boys jump violently in their spots. There were no guards in their hallway yet, but Bentley could only assume the worst — that those had been aimed at Davis.

“Please!” Asten begged, looking out the window into the halls. “Please, please, please. Nothing bads going to happen, I promise. Just… please. We need out of here. Bentley needs a hospital.”

Panic shot through him like an arrow at those words, and he exclaimed: “No! Not a hospital — Wayne Manor.”

Asten didn’t seem to find it in him to correct him. 

“Please, you’re the only one here who can save us. Our friend Davis — you know Davis? — he’s fighting the Secret Keeper right now and-“ Asten breathed in, glancing into the hall anxiously. Bentley was getting so floaty it got kind of hard to tell what he was saying. “-take Bentley to the Manor, and you can take me to Crime Alley. Nico-“

“I’m going to your house,” Nico replied firmly, hazy gaze fixed on Asten. “I can’t… I can’t let my parents see me like this. All screwed up and played with. I can’t.”

Titus stared at them, and Asten huffed. “Okay. Bentley to the Manor, us to Crime Alley. Then you can go wherever you want. Please. Please.”

That was the moment Bentley promptly remembered that Titus’s parents were dead.

“Please?” Nico added, a desperate attempt at getting Titus to oblige.

“I… can… only go where I’ve seen before,” Titus said softly, carefully unraveling himself from the ball. “I can do… Wayne Manor. Not Crime Alley.”

Asten huffed. “That’s fine, that’s fine. We can figure that out after we get Bentley home.”

Titus let out a puff of air, then stepped forward slowly. He reached out, hesitantly, like they would bite him, and then he grabbed onto Asten and Nico’s wrists. “Don’t let go of him,” He ordered softly, gesturing to Bentley. “It’s gonna feel weird. Might hurt. Ready?”

Bentley wasn’t sure if he could survive any more hurt in one day.

Right then, a group of guards — probably ten — turned the corner into the hall. Bullets clinged wildly against the window of the room, not even making a dent in the glass.

“Go now! Go now!” Asten ordered. Titus closed his eyes, squeezed Bentley’s friend’s hands tighter, and then the world swam.

Bentley squeezed his eyes shut. It felt like he was falling, like he was spinning and whipping around in the air with zero control of where he was going. It felt like he had pins and needles across his entire body — the burn of his atoms being ripped apart and put back together in another location.

It only lasted for a split second, before there was a loud whooshing sound, and the ground seemed to rush into Bentley’s feet so hard he stumbled. It was cold, and Asten wasn’t holding onto him anymore, and he was laying on wet grass. He winced when the impact sent waves of pain pulsing through his whole body.

The only things that kept him conscious were the muted groans came from around him, so he looked up. The first thing he saw was the nights sky — big and black and cloudy. He, Asten, and Nico were sprawled on the dewy grass of Wayne Manor’s front courtyard, and Titus was in the middle of them, just standing there like nothing happened. He was spinning around, though, looking at the sky like he had never seen it before.

The Manor was there, glowing against the darkness of night. He didn’t know what day it was, what time it was, but he was home. Bentley had never wanted to bawl his eyes out more.

He used all of his remaining strength to haul himself out of the grass, his friends doing the same with grumbles of discomfort. His entire body seemed to be throbbing and screaming and he pretty much felt like a balloon with the amount of floating his head was doing.

“Want me to come with you?” Asten questioned, brushing dirt off of his hospital down. Bentley shook his head. 

“No,” He replied, bringing his hand up to rest against his injured arm. God, he looked like a disaster. He felt like a disaster.

And Davis might’ve been dead.

“You guys go. I don’t want you to get in trouble,” He forced the words out of his mouth, looking back at them, probably some of the hardest things he’d done. He wanted to pass out so bad. So bad.

“You’re planning on telling them?” Asten questioned, his voice laced with a little tinge of venom.

Bentley blinked, glancing between Nico, who looked terrified, and Asten, who looked suspicious. Even Titus, who was crying now (Bentley guessed it was because he was free?) turned to look at him.

“I… uh…” He did not have the capacity to make a case right then. He just wanted to go inside.

“You can’t tell them, Bentley. You’ll never be allowed out of the house again, and you’ll probably be banned from seeing us for the rest of your life,” Asten stated, throwing a hand to the side. “Plus, you’ll never see the Secret Keeper destroyed.”

“Are you kidding me?” Nico questioned, crossing his arms and peering over at Asten with a dull glare mixed with tears. “We just got kidnapped. Bentley got shot. I got turned into some kind of monster… how can you still care about that?! We could’ve died.”

“Because the Secret Keeper killed my parents! I’m not resting until she’s underground.” Asten shot back, and the lot of them went still. Bentley wasn’t sure if he should pretend he didn’t know that or not, so to play it cool, he just stood there. 

“You can’t tell Bruce, Bentley,” Asten directed his attention back to the redhead. “Lie to him; tell him you just got kidnapped and never saw us. We’ll be hiding out at my house, and no one will find us there, so we’ll still technically be missing. It won’t be so suspicious if we don’t show back up at the same time.”

A pit formed in Bentley’s stomach when he thought about lying to Bruce again, after all of that. It made him want to cry. All he wanted was to let them handle it.

He breathed in, stumbling faintly to the side. “I… I don’t…”

“You can’t tell him not to tell his dad, Asten. He got shot,” Nico spoke up, crossing his arms lightly. “That was freaking traumatizing and you’re asking him not to tell his family about it?”

“You’re hiding out at my house to avoid yours!” Asten argued, flicking a hand toward Nico.

“Because they’re not my real family!” Nico exclaimed, and Bentley blinked. Apparently they’d entered into truth-telling hour. “I’m adopted, and I can’t freaking look at them, okay?”

There was a brief moment of silence where Asten sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I know you’re into the whole can’t-tell-anybody-how-upset-I-am-so-I-bottle-it-up-and-act-broody thing, but not everybody is you, Asten. Some people will destroy themselves doing that,”

Asten huffed, looking back at Bentley and tossing his hands to the side. “Fine. Tell them whatever you want, Whittaker. I’m going to beat her with or without you. Let’s go. Gotham Heights.”

On command, Titus put a hand on both Nico and Asten’s shoulders, and without another word, they whooshed away in a mixture of color and wind. Bentley was left alone.

He breathed in the cold outside air, turning back to look at the Manor. He really had intended on telling Bruce everything, but now, he wasn’t sure what to do. 

For now, he settled on dragging himself to the front door.

What was he going to say? How was he going to explain? He was pulling himself shot and half dead up to the door of Wayne Manor after hours, maybe days of being missing. He’d run away, broken into a cabin, gotten kidnapped, experimented on, watched one of his friends get turned into a metahuman, and got teleported home by a boy with superpowers. How was he supposed to tell them that?

Plus, he was pretty sure as soon as he saw somebody’s face, he’d start crying.

He made it onto the front entrance, facing those massive wooden doors just like he had the night Nightwing brought him to the Manor for the first time. Why were those doors scarier now than they had been then?

Bentley glanced down at himself. At his half-red hospital gown, his botched shoulder, his bare feet and bloodied skin. He looked like a disaster. He felt like a disaster. He was a disaster.

What was he going to say?

With not much more motivating him than the fact that he felt like death, he lifted a hand and tried the doorknob. Locked.

With a puff of air, he knocked.

A few terrible moments passed where he stood alone on the front step, waiting to see if salvation would come.

And then it did.

The door to Wayne Manor swung open.

“Bentley?”

Like that was the exact moment his body had been waiting for, the darkness he’d been fighting all night finally swept him away. And he let it.

—

dedicated to @sassenashsworld 💚

—

tag list! (If you want me to remove or add you, ask in comments!)

@fleur-alise @sarcopterygiian @flyrobinflyy @skylathescholar @gayboss-too-close-to-the-sun @xiaonothere

[monst]

Da rules

     I go by Monst and I guess I’m writing again: I do read faster than I write so enjoy all the reblogs lol

I like the color orange it's not relevant, just thought I'd put it out there

Uh the bnha master list is definitely not up to date and needs a revamp (I will probably get to that eventually, someday...soon...) Speaking of it Here's the DC one

Here's the BHNA one.

Here's the Kinktober2024 one

Anyways if you're interested below is basically the what's what. Stick around if you want.

 Okay cool! Let’s get to it:

All characters for nsfw stuff are aged up 18+ (If you’re one of those (Can't separate reality from fiction/fantasy) then the unfollow/block buttons haven’t moved from their location and you are free to use them at your discretion )  

If you're a minor while I can't stop you from reading I will block you if I catch you interacting with any of my 18+ content posts. As a matter of fact for my peace of mind and your safety I would prefer you didn't reblog/comment on my sfw stuff too, they're are dangerous people on the internet so please understand and don't take it personally-Thanks💕

Moving on-

     I’m cool with: 

Requests- Hcs, Scenarios, thirst posts, Ya sending ideas and recommendations👀

For requests I might not get to all of them in a timely manner and I might not do some I’m not feeling. I write for F. Reader, GN. reader and M. Reader. Ships are cool too so you can request Character x character or poly reader- character x character x reader.-Genre: all of them tbh

I’m okay with dark content- (Dubcon, noncon, yandere, somno, etc.) and everything should be labeled appropriately. You can always ask that I tag something if it is missing. I do like a challenge/learning so even if I'm not personally into something I'll definitely give it a whirl (Kinks and or tropes)

Sfw- Fluff, angst basically anything that tickles my fancy and isn't risque or full on smut.

* In regards to requests the things I do fuck w might be prioritized 👉👈

    I’m not cool with: 

Scat

Underage/PDF

I'm generally cool w being uncomfortable, especially in regards to what I read or write whether it be by being grossed out or scared. I've always been ridiculously curious mostly to my determent but fiction is a safe way to explore shit so I'll give most things a fair shake in other words the sky's the limit but use your discernment⁉️

Extra:

Random shit- You telling me about your day, thoughts, opinions on whatever ig. ask for advice (trust me bro I got you✌️) or info dump👀 I love to chat. 

Music! Tell me what your listening too! (Yes I'm one of those 'I listen to everything' I need new stuff to listen to)

Also! I miss the whole deviant art/Quizzilla shit so I might do a whole seven minutes in heaven thing lmao (This doesn’t belong here but scream at me about it cause I need it to happen for nostalgia’s sake) 

Also, I'm kinda using this space as a chill/fun mostly nsfw diary? lmao so it's just mostly gonna be vibes :p That being said keep your fandom discourse and weirdo hate bs to yourself cause I will clown/ignore you if you come at me w some sideways ass energy. I'm just as nice as I am mean so don't try me ☯️❤️

So here’s the fandoms&Characters if you wanna request: 

Mha- 

Shocker, but I do have some old asks that are too good to just let’em go ya know?  

Shinsou (I started this blog cause of him so.. yeah) 

Villain/Yandere Deku sorry

Bakugou

Endeavour 

Dabi

Hawks

Tokoyami 

Shoto

Dc- 

Please, please, please send me shit about Tim Drake. (Need him biblically) Literally hopped back on for him. 

Jason Todd

Dick Grayson

Bruce Wayne

Selina Kyle 

Poison Ivy 

Joker (Nothing good is coming out of anyone requesting this I just know it) 

Constantine 

Diana (Wonder woman my beloved) 

Amanda Waller 

Cheetah 

Slade Wilson… 

JJK-

Nanamin 

Gojo  (He's like crack to me istg)

Inumaki 

Invincible- 

Mark Grayson 

…Nolan...

Debbie

Alan! 

Naruto-

Kakashi ‘blow my back out’ Hatake

Itachi 

Shisui (My love)

Madara

Tobirama’s messy ass

Ask for more but these are my faves 

D- gray man-

Yuu Kanda!

Tyki Mikk

Kingdom Hearts-

Riku

Vanitas 

Most of the organization tbh

FF7-

All of them. 

But especially Sephiroth 

Any type of monster lmao 

Kenji Sato lmao

You can ask for others not listed in different fandoms I just think this has gotten a bit too long  

And Yeah, Let’s have fun! ^^

New Tags: 

         This bitch is yapping - Any asks answered or just general shit

         Thirsty bitch juice - Small scenarios, thirst,

         Pretty things- Art 

         Oh la la that’s some good shit right there- Fic recs & reblogs

         On my monster fucking bs - Monster fucking lol 

         Lock that shit up in the basement pls- cursed asks and stuff 

Uh random bullshit go! - My newer writing

And if you made it this far down here's a cookie 🍪

[bgbrry]

On My Chemical Romance, dictatorships and comfort.

So my very initial reaction to the Black Parade tour announcement was, while not entirely negative, definitely frustrated. For the past several hours I have also been trying to understand why. I knew they were doing something based off TBP, but something about that made me inherently uncomfortable in an odd way.

Rationalising it to myself, it made perfect sense. This tour is almost a bigger scale version of one of my favourite stunts they ever pulled - WWWY2022. We have a parody of their old self, performing as a rotted corpse of the band they used to be for an audience that will cheer regardless, as long as they hear the songs they recognise, that dont put them outside their comfort zone. And then we have the very idea of MCR parodied as a dictator the very next day. It served not only as incredible satire of cash grab tours and nostalgia festival, but a critique of the way the band is perceived by the fans.

So if its not discomfort with the theme, what could it be? Maybe it is the subversion of the "secretary" character, who I have analysed in a completely different manner since the day i first saw that leg of the tour? Perhaps, in a way, it is odd to feel as though a concept you have been enthralled in for so long is snatched away from you and turned on its head. But isnt that what always made me like this band? The unconventional storytelling, the twists and turns they pulled?

In my initial post complaining about a hypothetical TBP continuation I proclaimed that any material that isnt entirely original would be a disappointment and underwhelming considering the themes of Return tour. But why do I think that? Isnt it hypocritical, for someone who values Return as a masterpiece to put this baseless boundary in place without knowing what I am talking about just yet? At what point does the idea of "Reimagining your own legacy through a corrupting force that forever alters it" become worse because it is more explicit? How am I not at that point complacent in being the very force that puts My Chem in a box of expectations i built up for them.

And that is pretty much what I came to for now. It is one am and I cannot get it out of my head. My own expectations for what "The New MCR project" were going to be, are held up by my own unconscious desires and understandings of what "good art" is, based on the very world that oppresses people like me and those with their head under the boot of this system. The idea that a new album has more inherent value than performance art, the idea that a tour is motivated by monetary reasons exclusively, the idea that the concepts and characters that bring people comfort and nostalgia are too precious to be tarnished by something new. The tour has not even begun and I already got caught in its trap of complicity to the system that can bring me comfort.

When I was recording a voice message about this announcement, I had to go past two cops, and I couldn't say the word "dictator" as I did not want to get in trouble with them.

I do not want to be this complicit. I wanna hear them out. Especially if it makes me uncomfortable

[pygmi-says-hi]

Hi! I wanted to ask some pointers on humour writing, as well as *ahem* angst/injury writing. I'm writing a story where the very beginning will have some descriptions of a serious injury. After that, it will turn to humour. I KNOW you already did one about blood loss so if there's nothing more to add, you can ignore the injury part of this lol. (Still would love angst pointers)

Anyways, thanks so much! You're amazing for giving these tips!

OH! additionally, advice for emotional writing? I'm currently writing a story where a couple end up breaking up, later becoming friends. I am struggling writing the emotional phone calls and things.

Again, thanks so much!

hello!

SO this is long so there'll be a divider in the middle. I'll do the humor/injury part and then the second bit.

humor

so you think ur a comedian, eh? Humor is really hard to write and I'm gonna be honest, it's something you just gotta roll with. Not everybody has the same sense of humor. Not everybody is gonna pick up on the humor you are trying to write. It's just a fact. That being said, when you consider the intelligibility of your writing, you don't wanna think about that too much.

Like most of my posts, for example. I'm pretty sardonic and affectionately aggressive, which is kind of a theme on tumblr, so most people understand it. If you read the comment section however, you can also pick out the people who just have no fucking clue what's going on.

that's gonna happen! it's fine.

When you are thinking about the kind of humor you want to put in your story, think about the role you want it to play. Are you writing an honest to God, Jim Carrey slapstick or is the comedy a vessel for something more poignant? either is a good choice, but each has its own pointers.

when you are writing in the humor, the biggest guiding point I can say is 'does it make sense?' the audience might not share the sense of humor, but as long as they can clue into the subtext and still follow the story, that's what matters. Otherwise nobody will be able to follow it.

The humor also needs to make sense for the kind of story. Unless you are intentionally playing with social stereotypes, frat boy jokes don't make sense in a dramatic romance. Just like sarcastic 'tumblr' humor won't make sense in a victorian era, even if your main character is quirky.

At the end of the day, it's your story. Whatever makes sense, still pulls off the funny bits, and tells the story is a-okay.

major injury

yes i already did a post but it's okay! I've actually muted the notifications on that one because oh my god.

I digress.

angsty injuries are great because it's a good time for some poetry. I like describing open wounds like moldy fruit because they both smell bad, squish if you step on them, and the bloody pulpy stuff kinda looks like raspberry jam. Or pomegranates! describing it like a pomegranate is actually symbolic because of the association with death.

wow that was graphic.

well anyway, describing injuries that are angsty is best with prose and a lot of really sentimental moments. I also did a post on my other acct @pygmi-cygni that I unfortunately haven't transferred over yet about sentence structure? or maybe it was linked into my grammar post? I don't remember but one of my most recent asks also brought it up; playing with sentence structure to convey emotion.

hope that helps?? i confused myself so maybe not.

emotional writing

lovely stuff.

dig deep into the character mindsets. Do a lot of yes/no up/down. Like character one has one opinion/emotional feeling and the other one directly parallels it. it adds tension and makes the readers pine after the relationship.

the characters are confused too. like, this person they used to share a house and sleep together and eat together and now. don't?

It feels like a gaping wound. They'll feel maybe lost, a bit disoriented. Probably a lotttt of awkward calls. maybe slip in an accidental pet name? Just, really highlight the sad nostalgia. As if you think of something and understand fundamentally that it's gone forever. that kind of acheyness in your chest.

dual POV works great here too to get both sides of the story.

FLASHBACKS. to the relationship, and then to the exact same situation but they're not talking/not like they were. like 'oh I'm making pancakes, we used to make pancakes on saturdays and then cut to the other character eating pancakes alone also.

or something.

oof i want to cry now.

thanks I hope I helped??? it's 6 am I might revisit this lmao

[spacequokka]

For Me | Day 5

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader Genre: Fluff Rating: G Summary: Baekhyun invites you over for a Christmas movie marathon. Word Count: 1.3k Warnings: established relationship

Here's a fluffy drabble set sometime after part two.

Baekhyun was the kind of guy who got hyped up for holidays. He always went all out for Christmas. Competing with his neighbors for the highest light bill generated by the decorative mass of lights and lawn decorations was his newest hobby. His apartment was no exception. The interior would make Martha Stewart proud with the copious amounts of garland, candy canes, and holly adorning every surface. The man was a menace, right down to his meticulously wrapped presents and perfectly hung mistletoe.

You knocked on the door, and it swung open instantly. Baekhyun greeted you with a bright smile on his face. He was wearing a red and green flannel, a Santa hat perched on his head, and had even drawn a fake white beard on with eyeliner. "_____! You made it!" he exclaimed and pulled you into a warm hug.

“If I missed this, you'd come find me and drag me back here," you replied, engulfed with the mixed scent of cinnamon and pine as it wafted through the door.

"Of course, it wouldn't be a Christmas movie marathon without you," Baekhyun chuckled, his voice filled with genuine warmth.

"Not true. You could snatch Taemin and never notice the difference."

"Please. He doesn't get why I watch the same movies every year." He stepped back and gestured for you to come inside, revealing his apartment transformed into a cozy haven of holiday delights.

"True, but I wouldn't say I entirely understand it, either." You shrugged. "I just like seeing that little giddy smile you get. It's cute as hell." Baekhyun blushed at your compliment, the warmth of the room seeming to intensify as his gaze met yours. "Besides, they're not bad movies, and I like free food."

"Well," He took your coat and traded your shoes for fuzzy slippers that matched his, "there's no shortage of food this year. I managed to get that chicken place we like to give me a catering discount."

"Catering? For just two people?" You looked at him then over his shoulder towards the kitchen. The buffet he'd set up looked like it could feed a football team. "You're gonna get sick from eating too much, watch."

"Nooo," he whined, throwing his arms around you again. "You're here to help too! Whatever's leftover will feed me for the rest of the week."

"As long as you're not trying to overfeed me." You led the way to the couch and plopped down. "So, what are we starting off with? Comedy? Horror? Hallmark?"

He settled down beside you with two mugs of hot chocolate. "I was thinking classics. How about Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer? I saw the DVD in store and got hit with nostalgia."

"Ooh! I love those. They have an old-school charm to them, like Charlie Brown era stuff."

"See? You get me! That's why you're my baby." He pulled you close and kissed all over your cheek. "Okay, okay. So I made the cocoa when I got your text, so it should be safe to drink. If you get hungry before this one's over, we can pause and load up."

You nodded. "Gotcha. Until then," you put your legs over his and cuddled into him, "I just wanna get warm."

"Oh, I'm great at that." He pressed his face into your neck, lips tickling your skin. "Just some touches and kisses and you'll be on fire."

"Oh my gawd, you goober. Stawp!" You giggled, weakly pushing at his head and hands until he pulled away. The loud fanfare of the movie drew his attention away, allowing you both to settle down. Moments like these were the best. Just being held in his arms, being the most important part of his cute little tradition, were the moments you lived for.

Neither of you spoke much during the movie until his stomach growled loudly. His face scrunched up, and he paused the movie, looking at you with puppy eyes. "Babe—"

"Time to hit up your buffet?" You suggested with a teasing smile. He nipped at your neck again, then nodded.

"Please?" His voice was muffled, making you laugh out at his silliness.

"Come on. Let's see what you got."

As he unwrapped and unboxed the feast he'd ordered, you regretted eating anything at all that day. The spread was enough to give Thanksgiving a run for its money. "Stop looking at me like that! It's not that much food."

"My love, not that much for who? Are you inviting more people over?"

He shook his head. "Nope. This is all for you—well, us—but I didn't want you to need to leave or order anything. I have a case of wine, desserts, even that honey bun you said you liked from the donut shop."

You mulled his words over. "Wait, how long am I staying?"

His eyes sparkled. "As long as you want to. You said you had a few days off and we've both been caught up with work…"

You put a hand over your chest, then pulled him in for another quick hug. "Jesus Christ. Every time I think I've seen you at peak cuteness, you raise the bar. My heart can't take this if you keep maxing out the adorable boyfriend on me."

He bit his lip, and for a second, you could tell he was lost in thought. "…Boyfriend."

You side-eyed him. "Yes." A Byun in deep thought could be a troublemaker if left to his own devices. "A boyfriend I love and adore very much."

He nodded and luckily left it at that, pulling out plates and forks for you while you picked up the pretty festive wine glasses he'd put out for the occasion. Soon enough, you both were back on the couch with your food and drinks, continuing the movie. When that one went off, he let you pick the next movie, so you opted for your favorite, The Nightmare Before Christmas.

"You know," you said in between bites of the crispy, fried chicken he went "to the ends of the world" to get, "their relationship reminds me of how ours started out. I'm really thankful we had the chance to change things."

He watched you for a bit, then nodded. "Me too. More than words can express." He picked up his cup for a swig of wine. "But I'd like to change things again."

You looked at him, eyes wide. "In what way?"

He put down his plate and wiped his fingers on a napkin, prompting you to do the same. Whatever he was about to say had to be serious. "Well," he rubbed his hands together, the movie quickly forgotten as it continued playing, "I bought this townhouse with the intention of you moving in with me at some point."

You nodded. "Yeah, that's why you insisted I tag along for the viewing."

He turned toward you. "We never really set a date for that, y'know? And with Christmas coming up, it feels like there's no better time than the present."

You couldn't help but smile. "Is this your way of asking me to move in?"

"I mean, I think I could do better, but--" You cut him off with a kiss before throwing your arms around him.

"Nah, I like this. It's all cute and flustered and you." You kissed his cheek before sighing. "You're lucky I've been thinking about it too, with me missing you so much. I realized I wouldn't have to miss you if I could wake up and go to bed with you. So, I may have been packing already."

"You're serious?" He pulled back to look at you. "Please, don't joke about this. I don't think my heart could take it."

You shook your head, smile growing wider. "I pretty much just need to hire a moving service and figure out what to do with the furniture I don't need to keep."

"I love you so much," he bear-hugged you, peppering your face with kisses. "Just hearing that makes me feel better. This will be the best Christmas I’ve ever had."

[streetkid-named-desire]

The thing that gets to me is like...I haven't done any of the shit the actual awful toxic people in this fandom have done. I'm annoying on my blog and people don't tell me when I do or say something that upsets them. So I can get removed from spaces while other people are buddy buddy with the actual toxic bullies and abusers in fandom. Make it make sense. Like I'm trying very very hard to stop judging people based on guilt by association but it's hard in this fandom! Especially because of how small and insular and prone to cliques and power vacuums it is.

I mean the only sense making is just that people are cowards who won't talk their shit out with others and that I'm just a dummy that approaches every social interaction with the intent of making friends and not like surface level networking or whatever. God forbid I'm a real person that wants to make real friends in fandom and shit.

I'm 34 years old and getting socially ostracized because other people are too cowardly to actually talk to me about any behavior and give me a chance to correct it like why am I feeling like I'm 13 again seriously.

All I need to really cap off the nostalgia is to be crying in my mom's lap talking about "my friends banned me from their discord because I was making people uncomfortable just by being myself" so she goes "well, they're not your friend then if they never told you before it got to that point"

But here's the thing like it's just gonna happen again and again over and over and over because that's like just the nature of trying to make friends when you're autistic *especially* online. I don't mask as much online because I'm doing it for 40 hours every week, it's exhausting. I just wanna be myself and myself is boisterous and open and passionate and loud. I'm just everything little girls and mature adult women aren't supposed to be and that makes people just short circuit. I'm an anomaly. I'm an abrasive, insane anomaly.

I'm just annoyed now because the remaining fandom spaces I'm in, besides the one I actually admin, has people I don't like and that I know don't like me and so it's just actually more anxiety inducing trying to talk in those.

I guess I just have to become a prolific modder like all the people that don't like me so I can have some power in this public modder cult of personality power struggle I guess. I promise I'll try not to let all the clout go to my head <3

I think it's just putting my childhood experiences into perspective. I didn't know I was autistic and so I internalized heavily that all of those qualities were bad and I should feel bad about them. When really there's nothing fuckin wrong with me. There's nothing wrong with my personality. Like other people get annoyed but if you don't tell me what's annoying you then I'm not able to do anything about it. I won't turn my personality off but I'll know how to be more mindful, how to calibrate myself to be palatable for a space while still not masking.

The whole point is I don't want to mask and I have the ability to calibrate my personality to be acceptable and appealing for a space or to certain people without making it feel like masking. I have a good handle on a lot of that already just as a baseline. But I can always improve.

If you don't like the kinds of tags I'm leaving on your post then say something, my asks and messages are open! If you need me to be more mindful in conversations because I'm talking too much then tell me! Just tell me what you need me to change and I can do it! I want to do it! I want to be better!

I don't know if non-autistic people understand this. We are aliens by default because we don't exist in even the same social universe as you. It's all an effort. Every day. Every time. Because social skills are something we have to actively remember and work on. I am quite literal when I say if you don't tell me then I likely won't know. It doesn't cross my mind because it's not something I, as an autistic person, ever considered as a factor. And I need to be reminded of that! I don't share your experiences as non-autistic people in social situations and you have to tell me what you need from me, what you need me to do, how I'm supposed to be acting.

You have GOT to talk to people about shit. You cannot let it just wait and wait and wait until it blows up and you end up hurting other people because you can't deal with the mild confrontation of "hey when you say this it sometimes makes people uncomfortable" "oh! Okay I won't say that anymore, thank you for telling me!"

"you make some really super close friends in fandom like closer than you've ever made before" and that's true but also jesus fucking christ you meet some lousy as fuck people too apparently. It's just a like idk sickness in your own social and moral character. Have some backbone and just hash shit out one on one. I promise you the anxiety and shit will go away and it's worth the peace of mind.