#she doesn't get nearly enough credit

[lastoneout]

Like I know we all love making ADHD seem cool but like, don't forget it's actually a disability? My ADHD is bad enough I've nearly been evicted for forgetting to mail the rent check to the property manager, I've forgotten to pay the utility bills and had my water or power get turned off or had to pay fines bcs I missed a credit card payment. Once I was supposed to cat sit for a friend and I lost the house key she gave me but didn't realize until she was already out of town, and she had to call the apartment office to get someone to give me the spare so her cats would have food for the week. When I'm unmedicated I can't even get myself to shower half the time, forget eating or cleaning. Before I started living with my fiance I'd just like, not eat for days because I didn't have anyone to remind me to eat or go buy me food. I've forgotten to turn the stove off so many times and ruined kettles and tbh been DAMN fucking lucky the house didn't burn down. I've done stupid, impulsive shit that's nearly gotten me KILLED. I can't remember to close the shower curtain reliably even through my fiance points out every single time I forget, and he's almost out of soap rn bcs for the last MONTH neither of us have been able to remember to order more once we get out of the shower.

I've had such bad memory my entire life that to this day someone suggesting I forgot something because I simply didn't care enough is a legitimate trigger that, in the worst cases, makes me have a breakdown.

I get that for some of you this is just something that makes studying hard or you forget to take a pee break when you're playing Minecraft or whatever, that's still a valid struggle and you do deserve help and understanding, but like, ADHD is a disability. It's disabling. It's not impossible to improve and learn coping skills, meds help a lot, there are great accommodations out there(LIKE CLEANING SERVICES), but not every case of ADHD is the same, and a lot of them are pretty ugly ngl, and just because you managed to do something doesn't mean someone else is gonna be able to manage it too, or that they're being lazy for struggling. And that obviously doesn't mean ADHD people have a free pass to never work on themselves and make everyone cater to their every need or whatever, but we do deserve some understanding when we explain that our disability is actually disabling in ways that aren't palatable to you. So like, idk, maybe don't immediately recoil in horror when you find out that someone with ADHD can't keep their house clean. And for fucks sake don't ridicule them for it.

[der-schweizer]

This is a little idea about the post of @proneterror204 make sure to hit them up for the og post.

Danny was somewhere between bored, tired (which he almost always was) and generally not okay. How his parents had managed to draw the attention of Wayne Enterprise and get invited to a Gala that Bruce Wayne himself was hosting, was beyond him.

Granted he hadn't even known about it until about three days ago. Honestly he should be used to getting utterly blindsided by his parents ‘Come on, Danny. We are going to drive for the next three days. It's going to be fun’-type of surprises.

They had just left him enough time to lock down the portal, something his dad should have done, grab his suit that Vlad had gifted him. (As much as he dislikes the Froot Loop, Danny wasn’t stupid enough to throw out a multi-thousand Dollar suit.) And then they were off.

He managed to sneak in a few texts to Sam and Tucker on the ride. So now he was here, halfway bored out of his head. He had already been talked to multiple times, and each time got mistaken for one of the Wayne kids.

Danny could see it honestly. Blue eyes, Black hair, decent build body and an air of exhaustion that hung around most of them like a cloak. It was probably the reason why they kept coming to him. Thankfully he managed to shake them off rather quickly.

He had finally found a quiet corner where he could lurk and eat some of the finger food that was laid out on the buffet. Going for thirds was tempting as everything was very tasty but sadly not very filling.

“Man, I could go for a burger.”

A snort came from next to him, which nearly startled him. The girl that had been in the corner before was putting a hand over her mouth in clear embarrassment.

“Uhm. Hi?” Danny gave an awkward wave, not knowing how he should talk to her. In turn she said a quiet “Hello” whilst also signing it. Danny of course immediately picked up on it.

“Sorry to ask but are you…” he gestured towards his ears, signing himself in case she was deaf. The girl looked at him with surprise before smiling softly. “No, I don't like talking.”

“Ah, perfectly understandable. I do know ASL, one of my friends is almost deaf but she got those fancy implants that let her hear everything.”

In lieu of the answer all he got was an “Mhh.” He went quiet after, having no fucking idea what to talk about. Danny quietly wondered what the fuck he could even talk about, the weather? Either rain or fog. The city? Rockbottom in every poll except for crime. Thinking about it gave him an idea.

“Say, who is your favorite Vigilante?”

The question got her attention, making her think for a moment before quietly saying. “Like Wing. Yours?” Danny mused for a second, humming loudly.

“Hmm, I think it's Orphan. I mean, have you seen her move? Just pure grace and elegance. I bet she is an immortal Vampire that simply got bored and decided to fight crime.”

He didn’t see how she blushed, “No.”

Danny just scoffed, “Are you kidding me? She moves with far too much elegance and grace to be mortal. Credit to the other bats but they move like mortals. She dances around both rogues and vigilantes!”

She turned away for a moment, trying to hide that she was blushing but it didn't really work. “Orphan. Is. good. What about others?”

“Oh, hmm.” Danny looked up whilst tapping a finger against his chin. “Well there’s Red Hood and Stabby Robin. Both are top tier, which should be a no brainer.”

She tilted her head in thought. “Why?”

“Well. Stabby robin practices the art of the sword, a forgotten art in modern times. And Red Hood shoots pedophiles! Who doesn't like that?” Danny set his empty plate aside, looking around for a waiter with drinks.

Her answer drew his full attention back to her. “Batman.”

Danny scoffed at the name. “Yeah, of course he doesn't like that. I mean have you looked at the costume of the very first Robin? Doesn't take much imagination why he dislikes Hood offing pedos.”

A crackle in her ear drew Cass’s attention away from him. “Red Robin here, Lantern and Superman are moving in to arrest his parents. Can you keep him distracted for a while longer?”

“Mmm. You still want burger?”

“Huh? Uh, yeah? Do you know a good place?” The question itself caught him absolutely off guard.

“Yes, take me out?” She tilted her head, giving him a cute look. Danny just shrugged, “Sure, my parents are going to take hours to explain everything anyway and they keep getting sidetracked whilst doing so. I fully expect to still be here tomorrow. Might as well spend the time with a cute girl.”

She blushed visibly, then stuck out her hand. “Cass, we date now.” He grabbed her hand, flushing a bit as well. “I’m Danny.”

“No, not Danny. You boyfriend.” She hooked her arm with his and pulled him along. Danny quickly went along with it, not saying no to it.

In Cass’s ear Red Robin spoke again. “Uh Cass? That wasn't the plan. You don't have to date him. Cass? Please don't make me explain this to B.” A click was heard as another com went to the same line. Batman growled out a simple. “Follow. Them.” before it went off.

Cassandra just put a bit more pep into her step as she pulled her new boyfriend towards her personal favorite Bat burger.

Nightwing clicked his comm on, “Found them. They are in the parking lot at main and fifth street.”

He spent a moment taking a picture of them. It showed them sitting on a concert divider, with Danny pointing up with his left whilst holding a half eaten burger in his right. Cass was sitting next to him,a bunch of fries sticking out of her mouth whilst she was grabbing a bunch more. She is also starring right at the camera. Her look perfectly said ‘if you ruin this date, i will end you’.

Batman's voice echoed in his ear, “Keep your eyes on Danny. He might have the same ideology as his parents. Oa and the lanterns are already moving in on the Ghostly Investigation Ward. We might have to take him into custody if things turn bad.”

Dick was just about to answer when Cass abruptly stood up, dranging Danny up and then away.

“Hold on, they just started moving again.” Nightwing got up from his perch and followed them quickly.

Tim worked on cutting through the strange rope, “Okay. Just to make sure I got everything right. Danny and Cass went to Batburger and had some takeout, then went for a walk in the park whilst you followed them, right?”

Dick who was trying not to wiggle, nodded. "Yeah."

“Then some weird ass shadow creature jumped you, tied you up and hung you from this tree, right?”

“You are forgetting the part where I described it as a lady from the eighteen sixties, and the part where she said to leave ‘the king of kings’ in peace. Other than that you got it spot on.”

“You know, I would make fun of you for that but considering that there is no knot in this rope and its tough as hell I will believe you.”

“Great. Do we know where they went after I lost them?”

Tim looked him right in the eyes. “Steph found them, and considering how red she was when she came back, it's best to wait until morning.”

Dick opened his mouth to ask why before it clicked in his head. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.”

Danny woke up groggy, his eyes were crusted over and his limbs felt heavy. For a moment he just laid there, then did a full body stretch, stretching from toes to fingertips.

After it he laid there for a moment listening to noises in the room. He could hear cars and their horns. Some shouting down the hall and the shower in the bathroom.

That prompted the memories of last night which caused the ‘i got laid’ grin. He let out a satisfied noise, before crossing his arms behind his head.

After a moment Danny wondered if Cass would be up to ‘share’ the shower only for him to freeze at the sight of the Batman in the room.

“Uuuhhh.”

“Daniel James Fenton.” Batman growled out. “You are hereby placed under investigation by the Justice League for potential violation of interdimensional rights. Your parents have already been arrested and are awaiting their trial. Do you have anything to say to that?”

[vigilante-3073]

Daddy's Credit Card

Edward Cullen x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

Cullen Family x Female Vampire Reader (Platonic)

Summary: Y/N is an entitled brat with the power of mental manipulation. She makes life for the Cullen family a bit more difficult.

TW: Entitlement, mention of death, threats and violence, lack of regard for the feelings/property of others.

Edward Cullen had the unfortunate honor of being considered Y/N's closest friend. This role came with a lot of responsibility as Y/N could be quite impulsive, unpredictable and short-tempered. His ability to read her mind came in particularly useful because it allowed him to stop an idea in its tracks before it could be carried out.

Y/N was the first Vampire that Carlisle was able to create and she fell in love with him during the years they spent together. It had been only the two of them since the early 1800s before he turned Edward in 1918 to be a potential mate for her. Y/N felt like Carlisle was pushing her to the wayside and trying to placate her by introducing Edward.

Y/N harbored quite a bit of disdain for Edward upon meeting him, but eventually came to accept him. She grew resentful towards Carlisle, especially after he introduced Esme into the family and married her soon after. Carlisle tried his best to mend his relationship with Y/N, but it was nothing like it had been all those years ago.

Edward and Y/N were virtually inseparable, but there were no romantic feelings involved. Y/N could be quite possessive of him, but he tried his best to reassure her that he wouldn't abandon her as a friend. As the Cullen family grew, Y/N started to rebel against Carlisle and push back against some of the rules he had set, especially about using her powers.

Carlisle tended to let her get away with almost everything, as long as no one was harmed. He had been dealing with her outbursts for hundreds of years and was understandably exasperated. Carlisle's hands-off parenting approach with Y/N was most likely the reason that Edward was in his current predicament.

Y/N had "borrowed" Carlisle's credit card and had completely disappeared for almost two months before returning to the Cullen home with a brand new black Camaro and too many shopping bags to count.

The week before her disappearance, Edward had caught one of her ideas before it was able to snowball into a very expensive trip to Las Vegas on Carlisle's dime. He could only imagine what she had come up with instead.

Carlisle welcomed her back into the home with open arms, not daring to ask her where she had been. Edward couldn't stand her continuing sense of entitlement, but he was honestly impressed by how creative she could get with her rebellious behavior.

Y/N walked up the stairs, lifting her sunglasses up onto her head as she made her way into Edward's room.

"Get up, we're going hunting," She said.

"I have school in an hour," Edward stated, closing his book and setting it aside.

Y/N scoffed, taking her sunglasses off and tossing them onto his desk. Y/N had become indifferent to high school over the years and Edward couldn't blame her.

"Where were you?" Edward asked, Y/N shrugged, "Everywhere... Europe, mainly," She said.

"How much of Carlisle's money did you spend?" Edward questioned.

"Not nearly enough. Get up," She said. Edward clenched his jaw as he stood up from the couch without any intention of doing it.

"I hate it when you do that," He muttered, shaking his head.

"Come hunting with me," Y/N repeated.

"I'll get you one deer, then I have to go," Edward bargained, "Deal," Y/N replied.

...

Edward rode to school in the passenger seat of Y/N's new car, "I met someone while you were gone," He stated.

"You should know that you don't have room in your life for anyone besides me," Y/N replied without looking at him.

Edward huffed a laugh, "You aren't even here half the time," He said.

"Doesn't matter. I don't share my things," Y/N stated, driving up into the parking lot of the school.

"I don't belong to you," Edward said.

Although it was true that Carlisle had saved him with the intention of creating a companion for Y/N, their relationship tended to be one sided. Edward was expected to be available to her at all times for whatever she may need, but the same standards didn't apply to her.

Y/N could disappear for years and would still expect Edward to be waiting for her upon her return like a loyal lap dog.

"You can keep thinking that all you want," She said, pulling into a parking spot beside Rosalie's car before putting the car in park and shutting off the engine.

Y/N reached for the door handle, "Wait," Edward said, she looked over at him, "I haven't asked you for many things in the time that we've known each other, but I'm serious about this person and I would appreciate your support in this," Edward said.

"Is she human?" Y/N asked.

Edward nodded, "Her name is Bella," He said.

"I don't care what her name is, Edward. This relationship is not going to continue," Y/N stated.

"She already knows about us," Edward said.

"You told her?" Y/N questioned.

"No, she figured it out herself," He replied.

"This shouldn't even be a conversation," Y/N scoffed.

"Bella has met the family and they accept our relationship... I'm in love with her, Y/N," Edward said.

"This is ridiculous," Y/N snapped, opening the door and getting out of the car. She slammed the door as hard as she possibly could have without shattering the window.

Edward sighed, resting his head back on the seat behind him before reluctantly stepping out of the car and making his way into the building.

...

Bella jumped as he locker was suddenly slammed shut. Her heart pounded in her chest as she looked up at the young woman with golden brown eyes, "I-You must be Y/N... Edward has told me about you," Bella said nervously.

Y/N stepped forward, crowding Bella back against the wall of lockers as she stared the girl down, "He's told me plenty about you too. But none of it matters because you and Edward are done. You're going to break up with him and forget all about us," Y/N instructed.

Bella scoffed softly, "I-I'm not gonna do that. I love him," She said.

Y/N's face fell, "You little-," She started, an arm quickly wrapped around her waist and pulled her away from Bella.

"Don't even think about it," Edward growled.

He looked up at Bella, he could hear her heart racing, "Are you okay, Bella?" He asked.

She nodded, "I'm fine," She said softly.

"Go wait in the car," Edward said sternly to Y/N. She shoved his arm away from herself before storming off down the hallway.

"You weren't kidding about her," Bella said.

"I'm sorry, that shouldn't have happened," Edward said, making his way over to her.

"You don't have anything to apologize for," Bella assured.

"She'll come around eventually, I promise. She hated me at first too," Edward said.

"I find that hard to believe," Bella said, picking up her backpack and slipping her arms through the straps.

"Y/N is a very complicated person to understand," Edward sighed. The pair began walking down the hallway towards the exit, "Does she try to intimidate people very often?" Bella questioned.

Edward flinched at the question, "What?" Bella asked.

"That wasn't her attempt to intimidate you... Y/N has the ability to control people's minds and if you were anyone but you, you'd be doing exactly what she told you to," Edward said.

"Seriously?" Bella asked, Edward nodded.

The pair made their way outside, Edward's eyes quickly located Y/N, she was leaning against the hood of her car with her arms crossed while staring daggers at Bella.

Edward read her thoughts quickly, resting his hand on Bella's back and walking her over to her truck when he found no immediate threats to her safety in his friend's mind.

"Is there any way that I can talk with her sometime? Just to clear the air," Bella asked.

"That's really not a good idea right now. Just go home and I'll come see you later, alright?" Edward said, she nodded.

Edward opened the door to her truck and allowed her to climb in before closing door for her. She sent him a small smile as she started the truck before putting it into gear and driving off the lot.

...

The Cullen family gathered in the living room, the air was tense as they discussed the incident that had occurred between Bella and Y/N at the school.

Edward had told Carlisle about what Y/N was thinking before he was able to intercept her attack on the young girl Edward had come to care for.

"You were going to hurt Bella, that is absolutely unacceptable," Carlisle said firmly. Y/N rolled her eyes, "I didn't even lay a finger on her, Carlisle, you're being dramatic," She replied.

"Edward heard your thoughts and was able to stop you before inflicting any physical harm to her, but your intentions were clear," Carlisle said, glancing over at Edward.

"Having an incident in the school would absolutely draw enough attention to our family to require us to leave Forks again," Esme said.

"Especially after what happened in the parking lot," Rosalie muttered.

"It's not like I was going to kill her, just maim her a little," Y/N shrugged.

Edward clenched his jaw, taking a breath to try and calm himself down before doing anything rash.

"Bella is with Edward and that makes her a part of this family," Carlisle said.

"Understand that this human girl is not even close to a part of this family. She will die and the world will be left no different than when she was alive. We are wasting time arguing about something ridiculously insignificant," Y/N said.

Edward ran at her, slamming her back against the wall hard enough to crack the plaster. She stared up at him with a blank expression, "Tell me that I'm lying," Y/N said.

Emmett moved to take a step forward, Rosalie grabbed his arm wordlessly before he could get himself involved. Edward and Y/N had to work this out on their own and there was definitely the possibility of an ugly fight breaking out.

"I've seen a vision of Bella as one of us," Alice said.

"That's not going to happen," Edward snapped.

"Then she'll die and this will mean nothing. Take a stand on a topic that matters, Edward," Y/N replied, effortlessly pushing him away from herself and making her way out of the room.

...

PART 2

[solarmorrigan]

The Ass of Legend

For the @steddie-spooktober day 20 prompt: Cryptid Rated: T | Words: 776 | CW: None | Tags: established relationship, modern AU, Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington are best friends, Eddie doesn't get paid enough to deal with them Divider credit: @saradika

Eddie swears, fumbling and nearly dropping the soapy pan in his hands as Steve’s voice calling from the living room pulls him from his dishwashing fugue state.

He doesn’t sound hurt or alarmed, nothing that would be any cause for concern, but his tone does have that petulant lilt to it that says he wants Eddie’s attention and he won’t give up until he gets it – not that he normally has to fight for it, but Eddie is busy.

“They complain that I don’t do the dishes, then they distract me while I’m trying to do the dishes,” Eddie grumbles as he snaps off the water and strips his dish gloves off. “Need to make up their damn minds.” He stomps out into the living room (as well as he can stomp with just socks on his feet) and finds Steve and Robin sitting on the couch, both staring at Robin’s laptop. “What.” he asks flatly.

Steve looks up, jabbing a finger in Robin’s direction. “Tell Robin I have a better ass than Mothman.”

“No,” Robin says, shooting a narrow-eyed look at Steve, “tell Steve that Mothman has a better ass than him.”

Eddie stares at the both of them for a moment. “What.”

Steve sighs. “I said, tell Robin–”

“No, I heard you,” Eddie cuts in, holding a hand up. “I just– Why are you even– How the fuck am I supposed to know what Mothman’s ass looks like?”

Giving him a look that says this should be entirely obvious, Robin flips her laptop around, the screen of which is covered with– ah. The Point Pleasant Mothman statue. Rather, a closeup of the Point Pleasant Mothman statue’s ass, which is, admittedly, bizarrely well-sculpted.

Eddie glances from the screen, up to Robin, over to Steve, and back again. “I’m… not sure I want to weigh in on this.”

“Ha!” Robin crows. “He didn’t immediately take your side, that means he thinks Mothman’s ass is better!”

“No! No, no,” Eddie says, pointing a finger at Robin. “I didn’t say that, don’t put words in my mouth.”

“Then why don’t you just tell Steve you agree with him?” Robin asks smugly.

“Yeah, Eddie, why don’t you just tell me you agree with me?” Steve chimes in, and Eddie wonders how he suddenly became the center of their argument.

“It’s just that Mothman is a known harbinger of death and disaster.” Eddie holds up his hands in surrender. “I feel like claiming you have a better ass than him is the kind of hubris that precedes getting cursed by the gods.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Okay, Mothman isn’t a god–”

“Still.” Eddie shrugs.

“–and he also isn’t here right now, so I’m pretty sure you can tell me my ass is nicer without fear of getting cursed.”

“I dunno, Steve,” Robin hums. “There’ve been sightings of Mothman in Germany, Japan, Ukraine – all over the world. Who’s to say he’s not in Indiana?”

“All the shit that’s gone down here? I’m pretty sure if Mothman was going to show, he would have by now,” Steve deadpans, and Robin tilts her head with a roll of her eyes that says she reluctantly concedes his point.

“Unless we’re drawing his attention since we’ve said his name so many times,” Eddie says.

“No, I think that might be Bloody Mary,” Robin replies, and Steve huffs.

“Okay, regardless – look at it this way:” he says, turning to Eddie, “if you think Mothman has a better ass, you can drag yours all the way down to Virginia–”

“West Virginia,” Robin corrects.

“Whatever. You can go all the way down there and touch the statue’s ass, because you’re not gonna be touching mine,” Steve concludes.

And that’s just cruel. That’s fighting dirty. Steve knows Eddie will do anything for continued ass-touching privileges.

“Welp.” Eddie claps his hands together. “You heard it here first: Steve’s ass is better than Mothman’s.”

“Ha!” Steve exclaims, practically bouncing on the couch in excitement. “Told you!”

Robin groans, snapping her laptop shut. “That doesn’t count. Eddie’s biased and you cheated.”

“I did not cheat,” Steve sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“He’s right, it’s not cheating,” Eddie agrees. “He just used his assets.”

Robin and Steve stare at him.

“Get it?” Eddie asks with a grin. “Ass–”

“Boo,” Robin calls out, pulling a tissue from the nearby box with express purpose of balling it up to throw at him. It unballs and lands sadly on the coffee table two feet in front of her. “Go finish the dishes, you absolute goon.”

Eddie sighs, turning back to the kitchen. His contributions are woefully underappreciated around here.

[luveline]

hi miss jade <3 if it hasn’t been done already, could you possibly write poly!marauders with a depressed reader? maybe she’s having a particularly hard time lately and she’s trying to hide it from them but they notice she’s been really quiet recently. then one day while they’re all just sitting together, one of them looks over and sees a tear rolling down her cheek and they comfort her </3 if this isn’t something you’re up to writing i understand! thank you nonetheless lovely <3

thank u for ur request lovely!

modern au 

“No,” Remus is whispering, “that's the other actor.” 

James leans into his side. You've successfully crammed yourselves onto the three seater sofa, all four of you. You're on one arm, Sirius the other. If Sirius and James sit together during a movie they won't stop talking, and if you and Remus sit together you'll spend the entire movie telling each other what other movies the actors have been in. 

James and Remus seem to have found a loophole. Sirius tries uselessly to reach over their shoulders to touch you, but James blocks him by accident, head tilting back in a laugh. 

You aren't in the mood for movies. Not their fault, not anyone's, but a melancholy has its hooks in you, and you'd excuse yourself to spend time alone with it if it didn't immediately draw their attention. You're not sure you want to be alone, either. 

James reaches for your hand even as he speaks to Remus excitedly, “He's Ryan Gosling, right?” 

“Yeah, James,” —said with love— “that's Ryan Gosling.” 

You hold James' hand. It's a very real, very gentle tether, but eventually the noise in the room turns white. You lay your cheek on the sofa arm and watch the movie pass by in colours. Dusky orange, pink, blue rain. Your hard times recently have felt longer, deeper, and you've floundered in them helplessly. 

Though the boys couldn't make it worse, their devotion tends to hurt. You feel like you're letting them down whenever you can't fight your lethargy. Even now when you're together for a normal night, you're stuck under the weight of it. You could be playing with James’ hair the way he loves, or telling Remus something interesting about the movie. You could crawl across the two chatterboxes and ask Sirius what he did at work today while he draws shapes into the back of your hand. But you're not. And everything begins to feel worse. 

The TV flickers. The room hums. The tear that slides down your cheek is hot as the drag of a pin. 

You shift down into the arm to hide it as more follow. James pulls his hand away, and you assume he's just getting comfortable, but he puts it on your shoulder, the sofa whining as he leans in. “Hey…” he whispers, nearly too soft to hear. He must've been watching you. They've been doing that more and more lately. 

Your shoulders shake as the first sob brews. They aren't overly loud, you aren't wound tightly enough to really cry, you're just defeated. Tired and scared that this feeling is forever. 

The contented atmosphere in the room drains quicker than snapped fingers. “What's wrong?” Sirius asks. 

You curl away from James. You can't pretend you aren't crying and you don't really want to, but something about his touch feels raw. He comes closer, leaning into you, hand chasing around to your front where it rests over your heart. “It's okay,” he says soundly. “Oh, honey, it's okay.” 

James isn't as heavy with the pet names as the other two. When he does use them, they're genuine but said in high spirits. Almost like a joke, his ever-present humour shining through. He's warm and steady behind you, his lips brushing your ear as he hugs you to his chest. “It's okay,” he whispers, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek. 

“Sorry.” 

Remus says your name unhappily. They know better than to converge on you, and James has always been good at comforting people. Maybe his solidness in both physicality and personality does him credit, but more likely it's his unending patience. He doesn't rush you into feeling better. He just stays right there at your side until you stop shaking. 

“Sorry,” you say again, voice in fractured layers, “I don't know…” 

“I know,” he says. “Let's sit up, okay? Sit up.”

Remus gives you a look with just enough heartbreak that when he holds out his hand, you raise yourself up, knowing James will take you by the waist and help you over his lap. You smush in between their legs as Remus wipes your face dry, and Sirius meets your eyes around his shoulder. It all works to lift the weight from your chest, not fully, but enough to breathe. 

“You don't have to explain.” 

“Just don't cry more,” Sirius begs. He really hates tears, doesn't know what to do with them. “You're too lovely for tears.” 

“Unless you need to,” James says. 

“Right,” Sirius agrees through a wince. 

“She's okay,” Remus says, rubbing your cheek with his knuckles, “hmm? You're alright.” 

He isn't pressuring you into pretending things are better than they are, he's encouraging, and he knows as you know that you're not very well, but you'll manage in the end. You sink back into James arms and smile at them weakly. 

“I'm okay. I just wanted James to rub my stomach, that's all.” 

“Theatrics in the name of attention,” Sirius says proudly. “As you should.” 

James wraps his arms around your front, giving your abdomen a squeeze as he leans down to say, “I'll rub your stomach all night if you want me to,” with a warmth so tender it escapes words. 

Remus drops back into Sirius rather aggressively. “Make haste.” 

“Make haste?” Sirius presses his nose into Remus’ curls, his voice dripping with a feigned contempt, “You make haste, you sick freak.” And then he raises his hand to cover Remus' stomach in mirror of James’ touch. 

You breathe out long and slow, eyes closing of their own accord. “I'm not going to sleep, okay? I'm just tired.” 

James gets comfortable underneath you. “Do what you want, babe. I'm here for the night. If I need to pee I'll just hoist you into Moony's lap for a bit.” 

“I can fit two, thanks,” Sirius interjects. 

“Fine. I'll hoist you into his lap. Though I've no clue why you'd want to spend any time with that bossy bastard.” 

[the-marshals-wife]

Refuge (Sierra Six x Reader)

─ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐌𝐀𝐈𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ⋅☆⋅ 𝐀𝐎𝟑 ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─

A/N: It's official: I'm obsessed with The Gray Man. I've watched it 3 times so far in under 2 months, and I really wanted to write something sweet for my current favorite Goose character.

Description: Sierra Six/Courtland Gentry x Fem!Reader, established (secret) relationship; flirty, steamy fluff + angst if you squint | Warnings: suggestive themes, kissing, alcohol | Setting: post-movie | Word count: 1,746

Gif credit: user magnusedom

Imagine Six returning to you, his best kept secret, and asking you to come away with him

There was only one thing in the world that could make you open the front door of your apartment after midnight. The instant you recognize the familiar, distinct sequence of knocking, you shoot upright from your slumber and scramble off of the sofa, the book on your chest flying across the floor from where you had dozed off. Having almost tripped on the rug, you release the dead bolt and frantically fumble with the chain lock. Heart pounding, you slide it loose and jerk open the door.

Waiting on the other side like an apparition was a smiling face you weren't sure you'd ever lay eyes on again.

"Sorry for the late hour, ma'am. Could I trouble you for a cup of sugar?"

"Court!"

You couldn't help it. His name, the name only you could use, escapes your lips like a cry.

"May I come in?" he gestures.

You grab his arm and usher him inside.

"Where have you been?" you asked in a hushed voice, looking over him.

"Here, there, everywhere," he answers, leaning back against the closed door. "Spent a little time in nowhere too."

"I've been so worried about you! I haven't heard from you in months. I know that's the job, but it's been so long without a sign or anything. I was afraid something happened to you. I didn't know what to think," you say all at once.

"I know, I'm sorry. I'll explain everything, I promise. Just, let me look at you first," he says, gazing on you softly, "Wow. How is that possible?"

"What?"

"How are you more beautiful than the last time I saw you?"

You feel your cheeks turn red, but it doesn't keep you from pointing a finger to his chest.

"If you think being a smoothie is going to get you out an explanation, think again, buster."

He wraps his arms around your waist.

"Fair enough," he nods, "It's still true though. You're even prettier when you're angry."

"I must be stunning then," you smirk.

He brings his hand up to lift your chin, leaning in close, "Incredibly."

The waning space between you vanishes as he captures your lips. You lean into his touch, savoring every sensation you'd missed so much. From the warm, smokiness of his scent to the gentle scratch of his beard on your skin. When he finally pulls away, you're nearly breathless.

"Why don't you make yourself at home, stranger?" you propose, composing yourself, "You want a drink?"

"I wouldn't say no to a beer," he replies.

"Coming right up," you say, turning towards the kitchen, "They feed you in 'nowhere'? I got half of a leftover sub here, and some really leftover pizza I can nuke in the microwave."

"Tempting, but I'm good for now, thanks. Just the beer," you hear him say as you grab two bottles from the fridge.

"Good call, honestly. We can just order take out or something."

He doesn't respond, and it immediately catches your attention. You grab the bottle opener from the drawer and make quick work of the caps. With a faraway look in his eye, he stands on the other side of the modest island that separates the kitchen area from the living area. You extend the bottle towards him, and even when he takes it from your grasp, he's barely shaken from his silent reverie.

Too worried to imbibe, you set your own drink down on the counter. "Court, what's wrong? I can tell something is bothering you."

He takes a drink, which is followed by a long pause.

"Do you remember Fitzroy's niece, Claire?"

You nod. "Of course. Is she alright?"

"She is now," he sighs, setting his jaw, "Fitzroy is gone."

"What?" you say, rounding the island to be at his side.

"It's a long story, but some bad people got ahold of Claire to get to him, because of something that I did. We took care of it in the end, but...he didn't make it."

He takes another hefty drink and puts down the bottle.

"Court, I'm so sorry," you say, touching his arm, "I know how much he meant to you."

He turns to face you. "He did. Now Claire has no one, except me. And that's what I came here to talk to you about."

Your pulse quickens at the seriousness in his voice.

"Her and I have been on the run the past couple weeks. Staying ahead of Carmichael and his goon squad."

"Wait, you escaped the agency?" you ask, shocked.

"Didn't have a choice after they tried to use her as leverage to get me to keep doing their dirty work. I got her out, which means I'm out too, for good," he confirms solemnly, "I've found a place for us where we might actually have a shot at a normal-ish life."

You stare at him wide-eyed.

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying...I'm all she has left. She needs me. And I need you," he says, gently rubbing your upper arms, "Before, I couldn't give you the life you deserved. But this could be my second chance. I think I might have finally gotten to the top of the hill, and I want you there with me."

"Oh Court, I don't know..." you hesitate, mind reeling, "I don't know anything about raising a kid."

He grins. "Neither do I. We can figure it out together. I mean there's gotta be a manual or something, right?"

You can't help but snort at the idea. Just as more protests are forming on your tongue, he gives you a look so disarming that you forget the words entirely.

"Come away with me, Y/N."

He takes your hand in his.

"It won't be easy, and it definitely won't be perfect. I know I've got no right to ask you to leave everything behind. But I've loved you from the very beginning, and I will protect you with everything I have."

His vow brings tears to your eyes. He laid his heart bare, and in doing so, he'd banished the last of your meager doubts.

"Well, when you put it that way," you say.

You grab the collar of his jacket in your fists and pull him into a kiss. He hums in pleasant surprise and laces his fingers through your hair. After another heated moment of rediscovery, you at last loosen your grip and surface from the embrace.

"Is that a yes?" he chuckles.

"It is," you answer, your smile becoming nervous as your thoughts turn to the future, "Do you think Claire will like me?"

"Oh, don't worry, she's going to love you," he smirks, letting you go and walking over to the window. "Honestly, I'm not sure I'm going to survive you two. This was probably a bad idea."

"Now I really I can't wait to meet her," you tease.

Your amusement fades, however, as you watch him part the curtain and cautiously peer up at the surrounding rooftops.

Dread stirs in the pit of your stomach.

"How much time do we have?" you ask.

"We should probably get you packed up," he says over his shoulder.

"Really? I thought we'd at least have tonight. Are you being followed right now?"

"Not yet. No one knows about this place. But the longer I'm here, the greater the possibility that changes," he frowns, "I need to get back to Claire. I took a risk coming here. She can't be alone for long."

You mind begins to race as your gaze darts around your apartment and belongings. The framed pictures scattered across the walls of old friends and family you hardly see suddenly meant more than anything tucked away in the safe beneath your bed. But could you even take them? Would having any ties to your old life be too dangerous?

Old life. The thought makes your head spin.

"This is happening so fast," you say as you rub your temples, "I never thought I'd just leave everything. I don't even know what to take with me."

"Hey," he says, stepping back over to you, "It's alright. Listen, I know I got caught up in pouring out my dumb old heart a minute ago, but you don't have to do this, Y/N. If you want to stay, I understand."

"No, I'm coming with you," you deny, "I want to be with you, no matter where we have to go. I've never wanted anything more. You have made it to the top, Court, and I wouldn't miss the view for anything."

All this time, you had been the only refuge in the world for "Sierra Six". Now, more than ever, he was becoming yours.

He kisses your forehead softly and smiles down on you.

"How about we just start small, and go from there. Baby steps. Like, maybe a suitcase?" he suggests.

"Sounds good," you agree, "Guess I don't need to pack the kitchen sink for wherever we're going?"

He snickers, "No, we have one of those. Got one in the bathroom too. We even have a toilet."

"I wasn't expecting such luxury," you smirk.

"I mean you have to hold the handle down a little to get it to flush, but other than that," he quips.

"Well, I suppose I'll survive," you say in mock exasperation.

"We do have a TV, so that kinda makes up for it. Plus, I got queen bed all to myself. I might could be persuaded into sharing, though."

You cross your arms, eyeing his suggestive look.

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, but you'll have to sleep on top of the covers. I don't wanna get your girl germs on my sheets."

"Courtland Gentry," you grunt, smacking his arm.

You take off down the hall to your room, and he follows after you laughing.

"What? What'd I say?" he asks, knowing full well.

"Why don't I just sleep on the floor?" you pose.

You bolt over to your dresser and start rummaging through your clothes, keeping your back to him.

"Okay, you're right. That was unfair of me," he concedes.

Biting your lip, you spin around with your eyebrows raised.

He stands in the doorway, pulling a stick of gum from his pocket and unwrapping it, "You can get under the comforter."

You throw a shirt at him, shaking your head.

"Shut up and help me pack."

He pops the gum in his mouth and smiles.

"Yes ma'am."

[fluentmoviequoter]

Find Another Moment

Pairing: Jim Street x fem!SWAT!reader

Summary: Through a trip to find his mom, a series of explosions and executions, and an impromptu dinner date, you realize that you need Jim Street by your side all the time. Almost as much as he needs you.

Warnings: spoilers for 2x22 "Kangaroo" and Cinque story line from s2, angst to fluff, Karen Street being a bad mom, lots of comfort and love!

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: I shocked myself by making a rewrite that isn't chock-full of verbatim lines from the show! I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!🤍

Masterlist Directory | Jim Street Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

There are very few people you rush to answer the phone for. When Jim Street calls hours after your shift ends, you nearly trip over your feet to get to the phone and talk to him.

“Street, hey,” you greet when the line connects. 

“Hey, sorry for the late call,” he says. “But I, uh, I wanted to ask if maybe you could get another ride to work tomorrow? I know it’s late notice.”

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

Street sighs, and your worry and concern for him grows.

“You can talk to me, Street. You know that. But you don’t have to.”

“No, I want to,” he answers. “It’s my mom. That thing with the credit card information worked out and I got an address. Now that I know where she is, I can do something. I’m going to go check it out in the morning before I head to HQ.”

“No problem. Family comes first. If you want me to come along though, just wait in the car, I can. You shouldn’t have to do this at all, but it’s really messed up that you’re having to do it alone, Jim.”

You don’t often call him by his first name, so you hope he doesn’t take it as trying to force your way into his personal life. He gets enough grief from Hondo about his mom, and the last thing you want to do is make him think you want to interfere and give your opinion, too.

“Your decision,” you add. “But I can definitely call in a favor from someone else. And my car should be back from the shop this week, so I’ll finally stop asking you to chauffeur me.”

“I don’t mind. Just… with my mom, I don’t want to make anything awkward between us if she is there.”

“Street, there’s nothing that could happen that would change how I think of you or our relationship,” you assure him. “I understand if you want to go alone, though.”

“I don’t,” Street says softly. “I really don’t.”

“Then pick me up before you go. What harm can some moral support do?”

“Thank you.”

“What friends are for.”

“No, really. I don’t think you realize just how much you’re doing for me. Thank you.”

“Goodnight, Street.”

Street sits back and sighs. You said nothing could change your relationship, but after moments like this, he wants to be the one to change it. Being friends and teammates is great, but you could be more. And, for once in his life, Street wants to do something for himself, to be happy with you without any care for what others think. If his mother doesn't scare you away, by some miracle or chance of fate, Street will tell you that he has feelings for you. Then, you get to take it from there because Street has been manipulated too many times in his life to find comfort in causing others to rush into big decisions. Especially when his heart and happiness are on the line, too.

The following morning, you wait on the curb of your usual parking spot for Street. He seems nervous as he pulls in, and you hope that the moral support you came to provide eases him. You’ve heard the horror stories about his mom but haven’t talked to her extensively like some of your other teammates. If she is here, you’ll give Street room to do his thing and then navigate the rest as he instructs. Street is special to you, and you refuse to lose him by overstepping or pushing his boundaries. He’s your friend, and you stay there because if you lose Street, you lose everything that matters.

“This is it?” you ask.

Street leans over the steering wheel to look at the old, sinking apartment complex. People wander aimlessly around the building, and clothes and furniture hang from windows. A distinct sense of doom and gloom escapes through all the cracks and crevices, showing the building's age and lack of care.

“Come in with me?” Street requests. “Please?”

You nod as you open the door. As you walk toward Street, you have to step over broken beer bottles, cigarette butts, and empty nos canisters. At his side, you smile, trying to remind Street that you’re with him, no matter what.

Inside, you follow Street up a staircase lined with trash. The hallway at the top is dark and dirty, and the cheap laminate floor is peeling from the corners. No one deserves to live like this, you think as you notice someone sitting at the end of the hall, rocking back and forth.

Street slows beside an open door, and you stop as he pushes it open further. Music plays inside, and Street looks over his shoulder at you and nods once.

“Good luck,” you whisper. “I’m right here.”

You watch Street step inside, then turn slightly to see inside the apartment. It’s trashed and nearly unlivable, but Karen Street is sitting on the floor and laughing at an old cartoon. Your eyes move to Street as he tries to get her attention. A sound down the hall draws your attention momentarily, but you turn back quickly when Street asks who someone is.

“Bryce,” the unseen man answers.

“So, you leave the apartment and disappear for weeks without a word and starting using again ‘cause you chose this guy?” Street asks.

“Name ain’t ‘this guy,’ it’s Bryce,” Bryce says. “And you need to go.”

You can see Street, but not Bryce from your position in the hallway. When Street stands quickly, you step inside and watch as he shoves the man against the fridge.

“Okay,” Bryce pants.

“Hey, stop it,” Karen calls as she stands. “Stop it, stop it! Eddie, baby, please.”

While Bryce asks who Eddie is, you debate whether you should walk back into the hallway or try to help Street. When Karen hugs Street while talking to his father, you wait. You step toward him as he shoves his mom back.

“Oh, Jimmy,” Karen says when she realizes it's Street and not her husband. She pulls her robe closed and murmurs, “I’m gonna… straighten things up.”

She moves toward the kitchen, and you follow her, nodding at Street. You gently place your arm before Karen and smile when she turns toward you.

“Hey, Mrs. Street,” you greet softly. “I can straighten up for you, but why don’t we go somewhere else for now?”

“What’s she on?” Jim asks behind you.

“We took a mix,” Bryce answers. “A mix of a lot of things.”

“Maybe we could go get breakfast,” you suggest. “Wouldn’t you like some time with Jim?”

Karen nods and turns toward Street. “I can make waffles,” she offers. “I might have to go to the store though.”

“I don’t want waffles, Ma,” Street answers.

Street grabs a blanket from the table and drapes it over his mom’s shoulders. “I’m taking her home,” he says as he places his hand on her back. “Bryce.”

You follow Jim and Karen for a few steps, then stop. “Bryce,” you call. “If I find out that the mix of a lot of things was your creation, I’ll be back.”

“It wasn’t!” he yells after you.

You wave your hand over your shoulder as you exit, leaving the door open behind you. When you catch up with Street, he’s almost back to his car.

“You take her home, I can call someone,” you offer.

“I’ll drop you off. Tell Hondo I’ll be late?” he replies.

“Sure.” Street closes the car door, and you catch his wrist as you ask, “Are you okay?”

He shrugs, and you nod in understanding. You squeeze his hand gently, then release him to get in the car. Street means more to you than he’ll ever know, and you’ll do everything you can, even covering for him to Hondo, to be here for him.

“Street, it’s me,” you say to the voicemail. “Hondo knows you’re running late, but I didn’t tell him anything specific. I’m going to the courthouse with Cortez. Um… if you need anything, let me know.”

After you hang up, you exit the car and meet Jessica on the sidewalk. She knows who you called, you’re sure of it, but you’re hoping that she won’t try to meddle or give you advice. The walk into the courthouse is a comfortable silence, which you’re grateful for. As you sit, Jessica speaks to the reporter on her other side, but you keep your eyes on the defendants before you. When they stand suddenly and begin chanting, you roll your eyes. They’ve been saying the same thing since they were arrested.

“The time to be good to each other has passed,” they add. “The system will be burned to ashes, starting with this courthouse.”

You look at Jessica as you lean forward.

“That’s new,” she says.

Outside the courthouse, people begin yelling, and you don’t hesitate to stand and walk toward the door. Jessica follows behind you, and when you enter the hallway to see Cinque on the screen, you stop in your tracks.

“Cinque,” Jessica says. “He must have hacked the feed.”

She raises her phone to film the live video, but you listen to Cinque rather than focus on who is with him or where he is. Hondo and the rest of your team will be watching back at HQ, but if you can help, you want to be prepared.

“So,” Cinque continues, “this time we don’t want money and we don’t want to bargain. We’re going to burn the system down and rebuild on its ashes.”

Cinque raises a phone and presses the screen. Several cars outside the courthouse explode, and you duck down as the people around you scream. Jessica pulls her gun and instructs people to move farther into the courthouse. You stay beside her and fight every instinct to run out and help the people closest to the explosion.

“Cortez, this isn’t over,” you say over the chaos behind you.

Jessica holsters her gun and pulls her phone out of her pocket. “He’s going to sentence a politician on live television every hour,” she tells you. “He’s just getting started.”

“That was the 4th Street bridge, but he’ll move. You need my team.”

Your phone rings before Jessica can respond. Street’s name on the screen is the best thing you’ve seen all day, you think as you answer the call.

“Street,” you greet when the call connects.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“I’m fine. Cortez is good, too. No casualties here. How are things there?”

“Hectic. When are you coming back?”

“When am I coming back?” you repeat, looking at Jessica. She shrugs, it’s your decision. “I’m not. I’m going to stay with Cortez and keep an eye on everything here.”

“Be careful,” Street implores. “Keep me updated.”

“You, too.”

“Councilman Strub’s body, hanging from the 4th Street bridge, it seems familiar.”

“Figure it out, Street, we both know you can.”

“I have to tell Hondo all is good there.”

“I’ll see you later, Street. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

Less than an hour later, you’re still at the courthouse when Cinque executes another politician. You don’t watch this time, but you text Street to be careful immediately after the broadcast ends.

Back at HQ, Hicks tells Street, “Get the rest of your team and go grab Cinque!”

“The rest of my team isn’t here,” Street mumbles as he and Deacon exit the situation room.

“I know you’re worried about her,” Deacon says, “but she’s okay. If we want to get her back here safely, we have to stay focused, Street.”

Deacon joins Luca as Street calls for Chris and Tan to visit the location of Cinque’s last IP address. As he works, Street realizes that Deacon is right and wrong at the same time. He doesn’t just want you back to be part of the team, Jim Street wants you by his side all the time. Having you at his side, as a teammate, when things are bad, is great, but that’s not all he wants. He needs more.

 After successfully saving Councilman Washington, 20 Squad is surprised to see Jessica back at HQ. Street, however, only looks for you.

“She’s still at the courthouse, waiting for things to settle there,” she tells Street. “Deputies didn’t mind the help.”

Street nods and watches Jessica walk to her office with Hondo. He’s glad you’re okay and safe, but he’d prefer to see you in person. You stepped up this morning to help him with his mom, and now, Street isn’t sure when he’ll see you again.

“We need to find Cinque,” he tells Luca.

“For personal reasons or the public’s safety?” Luca asks knowingly.

“Why not both?”

Your phone rings during a conversation with a bailiff. Jessica’s name on the caller ID makes you answer it before you even excuse yourself.

“Cortez, hey,” you greet. “Everything okay?”

“It will be. Cinque is in custody, and Deacon and Hondo are reviewing all the intel we have to find the last Emancipator. I need you to join me at City Hall, if everything is under control at the courthouse?”

“As under control as it can be. They’re understandably freaked about the explosions and the live broadcasts, but they can spare me. I’ll be there in twenty.  Do you think we’ll actually find anything or have to wait for another lead?” you ask as you exit the courthouse.

“I wish I had an answer for you.”

Before you leave for City Hall, you text Street to let him know where you’re going. You hesitate over the ‘Send’ button, then add, I’ll see you soon. It’s a promise.

“Find anything?” Street asks as he enters the situation room.

“There’s a live press conference at City Hall, we think it’s the next Emancipator target,” Hondo answers. “Cinque’s been planning all of this for a while. Was there anything going on at City Hall in the last year?”

“Let me see,” Deacon murmurs. After a quick search, he pulls up a record and photos. “They installed new security cameras four months ago, and the installation crew had to scan IDs to gain access to the building. And that work crew sure looks like our Emancipators on trial.”

“They used the installation job to plant explosives inside City Hall,” Hondo realizes.

Street’s phone buzzes, and he continues listening to Hondo as he reads your message and rereads it.

“Cinque likes an audience. Now he’s got one on live TV,” Hondo adds.

“Tell Cortez,” Deacon urges.

“She’s not the only one there,” Street says, looking up from his phone. “They’re both in a death trap.”

“Call her,” Hondo commands as he raises his phone to his ear. “We need everyone out without raising flags.”

Standing in the crowd at City Hall, you watch as Cortez turns to the side and answers her phone. Your phone begins buzzing immediately after, and you step back to answer the call from Street.

“The Emancipators are planning to blow up City Hall,” Street says, skipping his usual greeting. “Hondo wants everyone out.”

“Got it,” you answer.

“No, hey, listen to me. You get out of there.”

“Street, I will.”

“Don’t wait, just get out of there and come back here. Okay?”

“I’ll be back soon, Street. I promised, didn’t I?”

Now, you just have to keep that promise.

Back at HQ, Hondo preps 20 Squad, and they roll out in Black Betty less than five minutes later. In his seat, Street forces himself to pay attention to Hondo. If he doesn’t focus on his job, his mind will run rampant and make him think of everything that could happen to you.

When people begin exiting City Hall, the final Emancipator detonates one of the explosives hidden inside. You’ve strayed from Hicks and Cortez to make sure everyone gets out safely, and when the building shakes and the first explosion echoes through the halls, you cover your head.

“Go, get out of here!” you yell to a man in the same hall.

The explosion sounded like it was on the two-side of the building. Though you know the sound may have been distributed oddly and you could be wrong, you begin moving that way. Street told you to leave, but you’re this close; you can’t sit back and do nothing.

“Go,” you call as you run past civilians exiting doors off the hallway.

You near the two-side as the explosions continue, ranging in speed and location. Without communications with your team, you have no idea if the bomber is even in the building. Or anyone else, for that matter.

“22-David, Chris got the bomber,” Luca alerts.

“30-David to D-Team. Status,” Deacon requests.

“26-David, clear,” Street answers.

“25-David, clear,” Tan adds.

“20-David, all clear,” Hondo reports after a moment. “And I’ve got Cortez.”

“Just Cortez?” Street asks.

Street doesn’t wait for an answer before he rips his phone from his pocket and calls you. You don't answer, and Street runs toward one of the only standing entrances. As he enters the falling building, he yells your name, screams through the dust, ignores the burning in his eyes and throat, and climbs over the rubble.

“Talk to me!” he yells, feeling ready to collapse. Leaning against a pile of debris, Street yells your name once more.

Each explosion disorients you more. Between the dust, the noise, and how the closer explosions throw off your balance, you lose sight of the exterior wall and your escape. Instead, you focus on moving forward and keeping your hope of finding any door.

Someone yells in the distance, but you can’t decipher where they are. Everything is muffled, and your steps are growing slow and heavy in your oncoming lethargy.

“Street,” you whisper, reaching for your phone before remembering you dropped it while running past a falling pillar.

Your eyes flutter closed as you lean against a wall. Investigators will be inside soon, so you rest amongst the wreckage and consider simply waiting for them. Until someone yells your name, that is.

“Street?” you ask without opening your eyes. You try to imagine the voice in your head again, and the simple thought of Jim Street gives you the strength to stand. “Street!” you yell. You’re interrupted by a cough, but you call for him again and hope you aren’t imagining his presence.

“What can you see?” Street yells.

He sounds closer now, and you smile as you reply, “Dust!”

“Cute,” Street says, his voice quieter but clear.

You turn to the side, and your eyes widen when you see him. Street steps to you and pulls you against his chest, hugging you tightly. He cradles your head against his chest for a moment before he pulls back and lays a hand against your cheek to look at your face.

“Let’s get out of here,” he suggests. “You feel okay?”

You nod and agree, leaning against Street as he follows Luca’s radioed directions to a clear exit. In the light of day, you can see that you and Street are both covered in dust, but there’s no one else you’d rather have beside you for support. You like having him by your side, you realize, and you wouldn’t mind staying at his side even when you’re off-duty.

“Thank goodness,” Street sighs. “I thought I’d forgotten what you looked like without all the City Hall powder on you.”

“You stare at her enough it should be burned into your mind,” Luca teases as he waves at you. “Have a good one.”

“You too, Luca,” you call.

“You want to come over?” Street offers, pulling his backpack onto his shoulder. “I can make you dinner.”

You smile as you close your locker. “I really want to, Street. But isn’t your mom at your place right now? Don’t you need to spend time with her, before, you know?”

“Is that the only reason you’re saying no?”

“I didn’t say no,” you argue with a smile. “I don’t want to intrude, though.”

“Come with me,” Street repeats, offering his hand.

You lay your palm over his, and you know you are home. Your place has always been by Jim Street, and you’re finally seeing that.

“Go ahead,” you murmur at Street’s door. “I’ll either be here to take you to my place or I’ll come in later.”

Street nods and squeezes your fingers gently. As he enters his apartment, he sighs. “Hey,” he tells his mom.

“How was work?” she asks.

“It was good,” Street lies. You were in danger, it was terrible, but his mom has enough to deal with already. Not that he would have told her the truth anyway. “How you feeling, Mom?”

“My headache’s cleared away, so… Thank you so much for coming and getting me. Uh, thank your friend, too. You okay?”

Street doesn’t answer, his eyes straying to the door, where you’re waiting to be everything he needs and more. Not because you have to or feel some obligation or twisted sense of responsibility for him, but because you want to.

“I’m so sorry, Jimmy, that you had to see me like that,” Karen continues. “Sometimes your mom’s just pretty sick.”

The door opens, and Street doesn’t turn around because he knows it isn’t you.

“Mrs. Street,” Karen’s parole officer says, “I have to remand you back into state custody for parole violations. You missed several check-in appointments and were found under the influence or narcotics.”

“You reported me?” Karen asks Street.

“So that you can get treatment, get better,” Street explains.

“I can’t go back to jail. Jimmy, I can’t go back to prison, I can’t. After all I’ve been through and all I’ve done for you, you’re sending me back? What kind of son would do this to his mother?”

“The kind that doesn’t want you to die.”

You watch as Karen is led out of Street’s apartment. With her back to you, she never sees you, but you heard everything. The door is still open, but you knock regardless as you step into Street’s home. His eyes are on the floor until you enter, and then he looks up with sadness evident on his face. Jim Street has never been one to wear his heart on his sleeve, but with you, he’d rip it out of his chest and place it in your loving hands without second-guessing that you’d treat it better than he ever could.

“Jim,” you say softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Street gently grabs your left wrist, closing his fingers around your skin and feeling your pulse thump beneath his touch. With his other hand, he pushes the door closed. When you step closer to him, Street pulls you into his arms and drops his head to your shoulder. Carefully, you move your hands to rub between his shoulders while gently brushing through his short hair.

“You did the right thing,” you promise him. “You love her. Even if she can’t see it, you did the right thing.”

Street’s arms tighten around your waist, and you close your eyes as you hold him.

“What do you want for dinner?” Street asks against your shirt.

You chuckle at his sudden change of subject, but neither you nor Street move. The comfort, the peace, the love you feel at every point of connection you have with Street is better than anything you’ve ever felt or will ever feel in the future.

“What if we order from your favorite place?” you suggest.

“Why?” Street mumbles, his hands clutching the back of your shirt.

“Uh, because you like it.”

“No, I mean, why stay with me, be here for all of this?”

You gently push Street back to look into his eyes. With your hands on either side of his face, you smile and answer, “Because I want to be. Right here is the best place I’ve ever been.”

Street smiles, his dimples appearing beneath your thumbs at your honesty. With his hands at your side, Street leans his forehead against yours and sighs.

“I really am hungry,” he admits.

“I thought we were having a moment,” you tease, brushing your thumbs over his dimples.

As you look into Street’s eyes, you desperately want to kiss him. After everything that’s happened, you don’t want to make him uncomfortable or force him into something he isn’t ready for yet. So, you wait.

“You didn’t listen to me. When I told you to get out of City Hall… you were all I could think about and when we realized what Cinque’s crew was doing, I realized that I need you, all the time,” Street confesses.

“I thought you were hungry,” you whisper.

“You can’t have it both ways,” Street replies happily. “Unless you want it both ways, and then I’ll find a way to make it work.”

“I want you, Street,” you say. “Now and forever, I want nothing but you.”

“Even with all the drama?”

“And the trauma,” you affirm with a nod. “We all have pasts and baggage, Street.”

“Would kissing you immediately after sending my mom back to jail be weird?”

“Now that you’ve pointed it out, yes, it would.” You step back and suggest, “Dinner and then we try to find another moment?”

“Only if you’re in it,” Street answers.

[snixkers]

Bailed Out

Pairing: Elle Greenaway × Fem!Reader

Fluff/Minor Angst

For: requst by @lez-talk1 and @imagining-in-the-margins Pride Challenge!!!

Content Warnings: Cursing, internalized homophobia/biphobia, canon level violence, no physical descriptors

Summary: Elle has a crush on you. Elle doesn't want to.

Author's Note: Gotta get my sapphic representation innnnn for Elle. Also, whoever requested this, I'm so sorry, it was lost in the comments. Enjoy!!!

Feedback is always welcome!

Requests are OPEN!

Elle Greenaway knew she was fucked.

She had been held hostage, shot, traumatized, and more in her years at the BAU. But by far, the worst thing was her crush on you.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with you. Your smile lit up a room, and your confidence made her feel better by association. But when she realized that the feelings were more than just a like, she began to realize some things about herself.

She had a crush on a girl. And she was a girl. Did that make her a lesbian? She wasn't big on labels, but it didn't make sense. She could flirt with men, find them attractive, be interested in them romantically. Could she do both?

Something about saying that she liked girls was scary. Not that she cared if other people did, but it was herself. She liked girls.

Maybe she was just jealous and dealing with issues after the Fisher King.

Easier to do that than actually mention anything to you.

Which worked well for a couple months, until those feelings started to get stronger. It was no longer that she liked a girl, she was in love with a girl. Which was a whole new can of worms she was not opening.

Every single time you two would get paired up on a case, she would stare longingly at you to the point where Hotch offered time off because he believed she was disassociating.

It was a stupid little crush, and it was getting out of hand. She had to do something about it sooner rather than later.

Elle, headstrong and unable to tackle her emotions properly, walked up to you after the majority of people had gone home and tapped on your back.

"Hey, can we talk?"

You spun around, and it nearly knocked her on her ass just how much you made her day better. All her previous ideas about asking you out or maybe accusing you of some type of witchcraft immediately dissipated.

"Um, do you need more coffee?"

You shook your head, putting in your headphones and turning back to your computer.

"All set."

"Yeah, no problem. Sorry for bothering you."

So Elle Greenaway, who had stared down killers and rapists, fled back to her desk with her tail between her legs.

The second time she tried to ask you out, it was during a movie that Garcia and Reid had dragged everyone along to. The seats were scattered for convenience, and some sick deity* had placed the two of you together.

*Garcia

She spent the entire movie nervously fidgeting, considering asking for another bathroom break before realizing you might think three meant she was having a medical episode.

So she sucked it up, basking in your sweet perfume and the high of sitting next to you. During the credits, you were both getting up when some sick deity** forced her to bump into you. You held onto her arms to steady yourself, and Elle did something incredibly stupid.

**not Garcia

She leaned forward and kissed you before promptly turning around and walking out of the theater.

The next week was tense and uncomfortable, but she made sure there wasn't any chance of another one-on-one.

She didn't try to ask you out a third time. After the movie theater disaster, why should she?

Clearly it wasn't meant to be. She had enough emotional baggage to fill the overhead bins of the BAU jet. It would be better to forget about the whole thing.

But you had different plans.

After a week of avoidance, you walked up to her desk with a purpose, and she immediately panicked. Before she could apologize profusely (since when did she apologize?), you had kissed her.

Oh.

"There, now we're even. But if you want to do me a favor, you could come get dinner with me tonight."

Oh.

"Um, sounds great. I'll just, uh, get my stuff."

Now she sounded like Reid. Dammit. She watched you walk away with a satisfied smile, sighing to herself.

Elle Greenaway liked girls. She liked you. She was getting used to it, but she could definitely get used to you.

[callsign-rogueone]

the love letter

sawyer henrick x healer!reader (peach!) words: 1.7k 🏷: no book spoilers, no warnings, set in iron flame, the 4th chapter in sawyer and peach's story, more of james being creepy but he doesn't make an appearance this time, nolon is still out of office, two points extra credit if you find a reference to another gf in here somewhere, both of these kids are still in denial and will be for another... three? chapters, first chapter of 2025 lezgeddit

Two more shelves of supplies to inventory, and then you’ll be done for the day. You pull yourself up from the floor, wincing at the ache in your knees from squatting in front of an under-the-sink cabinet. “Almost done,” you sigh. 

“I’ll finish up,” Sarah says, nodding toward the door. “You go see loverboy.”

“He’s a friend,” you correct, hoping she can’t see the warmth in your cheeks.

“Mmm,” she hums, clearly not buying it. “A very good friend, then. He’s here almost every day.”

She’s right. Like clockwork, Sawyer is waiting for you at eleven twenty eight. Always just a little bit early, but never ever late. You suppose riders have to be even more punctual than healers. 

“Thank you,” you say, giving her a rushed half-hug before you head out to the main room of the infirmary.

He’s always sitting at one of the study tables, and always stands up as soon as he sees you. 

You don’t wait for him to ask. “I got a hundred percent on my foraging assignment,” you say by way of greeting.

He smiles. “See? I told you not to worry about it, miss future Head Healer.”

“You’re not letting that go anytime soon, are you?”

“Nope.”

You roll your eyes at him playfully, but there’s no denying that his belief in you feels good, even if it’s exaggerated — there’s a tiny bit of truth in every joke. 

“Could you thank him again for me?” you ask softly. 

“Of course,” he says warmly. “And I brought you something, to celebrate.”

“It’s not another knife, is it?” you ask with a nervous laugh.

“I promise it’s not a knife.” He reaches inside his jacket, pulling out a piece of cloth, then folds back the edges, revealing something that glitters in the afternoon sunlight — a delicate metal chain with a tiny flower pendant at the end of it. He lays it in your palm, pocketing the cloth. 

“Oh, it’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”

“I didn’t. I made it myself.”

Your smile fades near immediately. “You made this?”

He looks a little crestfallen. “Yeah, why?” 

“I love it,” you reassure him quietly, still gazing at it, “but I don’t want you to be in pain. Especially not for me.”

He tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

You look up at him. “Doesn’t it hurt? Using your signet?”

He looks concerned, his eyebrows furrowing. “Of course not. It felt a little weird and tingly at first, but it never hurts.”

“But the Colonel always looks so uncomfortable, and the other mender… fixing a broken bone nearly brought her to tears,” you tell him, looking back at the tiny metal flower that you hold in your palm. You wouldn’t want to wear it if it had caused him pain to make it — but then if you don’t wear it, the pain would have been wasted. Which is worse?

“Hey,” he nudges, his hands settling on your forearms. “I promise you, it didn’t hurt me at all to make this, or to adjust that dagger for you. It’s easy, like shaping clay. Easier than that, really. I don’t have to sculpt all the details, I just picture them and they appear.”

You crack a smile. “I was wondering why you stole a single flower from my basket the other day.”

He blushes. “Sorry. I needed a reference — I wanted to make it accurate.”

“It’s perfect,” you tell him. “Thank you. Can you help me put it on?” You know you could do it yourself, but some part of you wants him to be the one to close the clasp, to lay his claim to you.

He takes it back from you, roughened fingers brushing against yours. “Turn around,” he prods.

You move your hair out of the way, letting him drape the thin chain around your neck. It’s just long enough for the tiny flower to sit exactly above your heart. The metal is pleasantly warm against your skin, seeming to glow under his touch as he clasps it, his fingertips brushing against the sides of your neck. 

He wants to kiss the soft skin there, to wrap his arms around your waist and press his chest to your back, to nudge his nose against the side of your throat and just breathe you in, because you smell absolutely intoxicating — sugary, fruity perfume and a hint of whatever herbs you’d been working with this morning. He settles for a gentle, fleeting touch to your shoulders, smoothing out the sleeves of your shirt before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Thank you, Sy,” you say quietly, turning to face him again. There’s a soft pink blush across his cheeks, his lips curved into a shy smile. It’s adorable. You’d definitely kiss him right now if this weren’t all an act. It would be so easy to step forward and rise onto your tiptoes and just… Nope. Boundaries. He’s just doing you a favor, as a friend. Don’t make it weird.

He isn’t saying anything, so you attempt to cut the tension by changing the subject. “You’re pretty good at this pretend boyfriend thing, you know. Bringing me gifts, slipping that love letter under my door…”

His head tilts to the side in confusion. It's unbearably cute. “What letter?”

You give him a sly smile. “I know it was totally over the top and super cheesy, but you don’t have to pretend. It was kinda cute.”

His gaze hardens. “What letter, peach,” he repeats, with an edge to his voice that you’ve only heard a few times — it’s not a question, but an order for you to tell him what the hell is going on.

Your heart drops. “It really wasn’t from you?”

He shakes his head no.

It all starts to add up. You haven’t seen Sawyer’s handwriting in years, but now that you think about it, it didn’t look anything like what you’d seen this morning, and there isn’t any trace of amusement on his face as he looks at you — he’s telling the truth. It wasn’t him. It was James.

All those sweetened words now feel like taunts, the promises like threats. Maybe they are. Maybe you’re right to be scared of him.

“Do you have it with you?” he asks gently.

“No, it’s… it’s on my desk.”

He picks up your bag, shouldering it and gesturing toward the door, as if to say lead the way. You make the trip silently, taking him down hallways that have become familiar to him in the last few weeks. He’s memorized the turns by now; a left past the infirmary, up two flights of stairs, another left, third door on the right. Room 322.

You unlock it with an actual key — something he’s still not used to — and shrug off the healer’s robe as soon as you walk in the door, tossing it over the back of your chair.

He’s walked you to your door a few times, but he’s never been inside. He realizes that the way everything in the riders' rooms is black, the healers’ are powder blue; the sheets and drapes, and the woven rug between your desk and the bed. He steps back, not wanting to dirty it with his boots.

It’s just as sparsely furnished as the riders’ rooms, but you’ve added a few things to make it less austere. The stuffed bunny you’d carried around as a child and taken meticulous care of sits on your pillow, there’s a neat row of tiny nail polish bottles on the desk — and a small piece of paper there among your books.

You hand it to him, chewing your lip. “I just thought you were being overdramatic about it to be funny, but…” You watch his eyes flick back and forth as he reads through it, and you make a second, sickening realization. “I don’t know how he figured out which room is mine,” you whisper. “All of my healer friends think he’s crazy, so they definitely wouldn’t tell him. And you’re the only other person who knows, besides the leadership.”

He looks up from the paper, his jaw clenching. 

“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” you whisper, holding back tears. “Hey,” he soothes, dropping the anger completely. “Don’t apologize. None of this was your fault.”

“Maybe it was,” you say softly. “Maybe I was too nice to him, did something to make him think I liked him…”

“Whether or not you were nice to him, he should have taken no for an answer the first time,” he says firmly. 

“I just don’t know what to do anymore. I told him about you, because I thought that would finally get him to stop, but I think that might have made it worse. I don’t want him to go after you.”

“I’ll be fine. Nobody else is allowed into the rider’s quadrant, and even if we crossed paths, I could totally take him in a fight,” he says with a half-smile — it doesn’t make you feel any better. “C’mere.” 

You step forward without hesitation, letting him gather you into his arms and resting your head on his shoulder. The leather of his jacket is cold against your cheek.

“I promised you we would get you through this, and I’m not going to quit. Is Nolon here today? Or the head healer?”

You shake your head. “No. I never know when they’ll be around. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Then tomorrow, you and I will talk to them about what’s going on, and see what he can do about it. I’ll meet you in the infirmary, like always. Bring the letter with you.”

“Okay,” you sniff, worrying the little flower back and forth between your fingers nervously. “Thank you, Sy.”

He reaches up to cradle your cheek, brushing away a stray tear with his thumb. “Of course, sweet girl. You know I’d do anything for you.”

You nod silently, leaning into his palm. He lingers there a moment, until you hear the muffled chime of the tower bells. “You should go,” you say quietly. “I don’t want you to be late.”

“Don’t worry about me,” he soothes. “Are you going to be okay for the night?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’ll be okay.”

He gives you one last little squeeze before he pulls away. “Alright. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You hum in response, silent as you watch him leave.

Tomorrow. You just have to make it to tomorrow.

[danganfixationronpa]

As a more in-depth continuation of my last post involving Akane Owari... (TW: mentions of sexual assault & body objectification.)

What most of the fandom sees Akane as: That air-headed girl with the big boobs who is obsessed with food and fighting. Pretty much just another Aoi Asahina.

Who Akane *really* is: A strong woman inside and out and who loves food because she realizes how important eating is after years of being homeless with countless younger siblings to take take care of, but she doesn't prioritize food *so* much to the point where she would kill any of her fellow classmates to escape the funhouse.

While not academically smart, she is highly intuitive and actually a lot more aware than people give her credit for.

While short tempered, she cares greatly about her classmates and doesn't tolerate things like murder (yes, she was a remnant of despair, but Kodaka didn't exactly write Class 77b's despair-ridden selves well at all due to putting brainwashing into the equation.) Even somebody she is constantly antagonistic towards like Nagito, she only becomes so antagonistic and violent towards him because he is putting other's lives in danger and "seemingly" showing no remorse for their fallen classmates. Even after she goes into a blind fit of range and nearly strangles him to death, when Chiaki snaps her out of it, she genuinely feels remorse and begs forgiveness.

Was willing to work hard (which is something she dislikes doing), so she could get her and her younger siblings out of the streets.

Is a survivor of sexual assault and objectification from many men in her life, but she sadly doesn't seem to understand the gravity of those situations since she casually talks about her own body in a objectifying way sometimes. But just because she doesn't realize just how serious those situations truly were in hindsight, she is a still a victim of those horrible actions.

Lastly, on a surface level, she and Hina most definitely have similarities. However, they are *far* from the same character. (I'm not going to get into the reasons why cuz this post already went on long enough 😅)

Overall, yes, some of these details are only known when playing through her FTEs, but even putting her backstory aside, all of my other points still stand.

This girl deserves more love and recognition, dammit!

EDIT: Holy, it's only been a couple of hours and this post is already getting so many likes and reblogs! Thanks, everyone! Glad to see others agree.

[libraryofgage]

PJO Steddie Eight

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Seven

This series was line-jumped on ko-fi! Thank you for the ko-fis <3

To learn more about line-jumping, please refer to this post

Anyway, another series was also line-jumped and I'm hoping to have that one posted by this time next week as long as life doesn't take me out lmao

as always, if you see any typos, no you didn't :^)

-----

Steve is an awful, horrible, terrible person. Not only did he kiss Eddie without making sure it was okay, but he even spent the entire fight before that wrapping lightning around Eddie. He even let his control slip enough to shock Eddie when he was too distracted by lips and teeth and tongue. Worst of all, he can't stop thinking about it, his fingers twitching every so often with the urge to find Eddie and kiss him until they're both stupid. 

What's he supposed to do in this situation? Talk to Eddie like he's an emotionally mature person capable of communicating his thoughts and feelings? Steve would laugh at the thought if he weren't so busy sulking by the lake. 

It's a nice night for a sulk. The moon is full, its reflection wavering in the water that gently laps against the shore. He can barely hear the victory celebration around the bonfire, singing and laughter and joyful white noise drifting through the trees behind him. Steve lets it wash over him, his chin on his knees as he stares blankly at the water and tries to figure out what he's doing with his life.

“I gotta admit, that is some impressive sulking.”

Steve jolts, twisting around to see a man in cut-off shorts and a crop top lounging on a boulder next to him. The man looks chiseled, but not overly buff, with his arms being the most defined. His skin is a deep brown, and his smile is blinding. He appeared out of nowhere, and if that didn't give away his godliness, the bow and heart-tipped arrows would have.

“Eros,” Steve says, forcing his shoulders to relax. “What are you doing here?”

“Not even a hello? Am I not pretty enough for you right now?” Eros asks.

“Hello, Eros. What are you doing here?”

That earns him a laugh, the sound lingering in Steve's ears and trying to worm its way into his brain. “Fair enough,” Eros says, idly twirling one of his arrows between his fingers. “I’m here on my mother’s behalf, actually.”

Steve tenses, studying Eros with renewed suspicion. “What does Aphrodite want?” he asks.

“You know Mother and her wagers,” Eros replies, shrugging when he meets Steve’s gaze. “She’s sent me to make sure she wins it. Her wager, that is. The one about you and a certain son of Hermes.”

That does absolutely nothing to assuage Steve’s worries. In fact, it makes them stronger. He pushes himself up, brushing pebbles and dirt off his jeans. “I hope you’re not planning to use your arrows.”

Eros blinks, looking from Steve to the arrow he’s been twirling. And then he laughs again, nearly doubling over. “No, no, I wouldn’t waste an arrow on you two. Puh-lease, Sparky, give me a little more credit than that.”

“Sparky?”

“Isn’t it fitting?” Eros asks, flashing a shit-eating grin that still manages to come off as charming. Steve would call it impish and mischievous, if someone asked him. Thankfully, nobody is. “Anyway, no, consider this more of a friendly nudge so Mother doesn’t throw a fit.”

“What are you even trying to nudge me about?” Steve asks. He thinks he’s lost the plot somewhere between Eros showing up and getting called Sparky. 

Eros sighs and looks up at the sky like the stars will help him. “I usually enjoy watching people dance around each other, but I’d greatly appreciate it if you and Eddie could start dancing with each other now. Preferably starting tonight. Selene has given you a particularly beautiful moon to work with, you know.”

Steve looks up at the moon for less than a second, but that’s more than enough for Eros to be gone by the time he looks back. He sighs, frowning at the vacant boulder.

He isn’t stupid. He knows what Eros was getting at. The thought is just terrifying, is all. He doesn’t trust himself to not hurt Eddie. Just being around Eddie makes his fingertips buzz with energy, and his control has slipped more in the past few weeks than ever before. Eddie might say he doesn’t mind or that he trusts Steve, but the problem is that Steve doesn’t trust himself.

That fact just frustrates him more. He frowns, runs a hand through his hair, and sits down on the boulder. Steve would love to just throw caution to the wind. He’d love to just hope for the best and hold Eddie’s hand and not worry about things. But that’s not the kind of person he is. Steve does what’s best for those around him, he works himself into a frenzy thinking about their safety, and doesn’t hesitate to sacrifice himself in the process.

It’s probably not healthy, but it’s kept him and the kids alive and mostly happy, and that’s what really matters. 

Right?

Right.

But gods is that tiring. Maybe...maybe he can be a tiny bit selfish. He won't throw caution to the wind, but maybe he can test the waters. And if nothing explodes on him, he can see where it goes.

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

Eddie is almost impressed by how well Steve can avoid a person when he puts his mind to it. He hasn’t seen a glimpse of the other boy since he ran off. And it’s not for lack of trying, either. Eddie has practically scoured the camp from top to bottom as everyone else helped set up the Victory Bonfire. 

He ultimately decides that searching like this is pointless, so he finds a scrap of paper in his tent and folds it into an airplane. He writes Steve’s name on one wing and doodles a guitar and bat on the other before sending it flying. It’s not the flashiest power a demigod can receive from their parent, but Eddie has never been happier to have it as he follows.

The paper airplane leads him past the huge bonfire, skirts around the woods, and really starts to pick up speed as it gets closer to the lake. A wave of relief surges through Eddie when he sees a familiar figure past the tree line. Before the plane can zoom onto the rocky beach, Eddie snatches it from the air and shoves it into his pocket. 

Steve is sitting on a boulder by the lake, knees pulled up to his chest as he stares out at the water. For a moment, Eddie gets the feeling he’d like to just sink into the water and disappear for a while. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea if Steve was a Poseidon kid, but he’s more likely to drown than find peace as a son of Zeus. 

Eddie hesitates, wondering if he should interrupt, when Steve looks over his shoulder at him and says, “Hey.”

That’s all the invitation Eddie needs for tension to drain from his shoulders as he walks over. “Hey,” he says, climbing the rock to sit next to Steve. They’re not close enough for their shoulders to brush, but a small lean is all it would take. “You’re missing out on some legendary s’mores at the bonfire.”

Steve snorts, propping his chin on his knees. He’s silent for a few seconds before whispering, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, Stevie, I’m fine,” Eddie promises, leaning forward so he can get a better look at Steve’s expression. His eyebrows are pulled together, and Eddie has to suppress the urge to rub his thumb over the wrinkle that forms between them. “You didn’t actually hurt me, you know.”

“You were surrounded by lightning, Eddie,” Steve says, frowning at him. “You probably have a burn somewhere you can’t see. It couldn’t have been good for your heart, either.”

No, it probably wasn’t good for Eddie’s heart, but not for the reason Steve is worrying about. Eddie got too excited fighting with Steve; the lightning that crackled and arched between them made his adrenaline surge. For the first time, he actually enjoyed combat instead of dreading it.

“Well, let’s check,” he says, sliding off the boulder. Before Steve can question him, he shrugs off his vest and yanks his shirt over his head. He holds his arms out to the side and looks at Steve expectantly. “Go ahead.”

A few seconds pass before Steve gets off the rock and moves to stand behind him. Eddie can feel Steve’s eyes passing over every inch of his back, searching meticulously for any signs of lightning-related injury. When a few silent minutes pass without finding anything, Steve stands in front of him to continue his search.

Eddie gets to watch him in return this time. Steve’s lips press together when he’s concentrating, his eyebrows twitching and shifting with whatever thoughts are passing through his head. He stands with one hand on his hip, the other hovering as though he wants to brush his fingers across any suspected bruises. 

“See?” Eddie says, “All good. You didn’t hurt me, Stevie.”

A few seconds pass before Steve slowly exhales and nods, tension draining from his shoulders. “What about your heart?” he asks, glancing at Eddie’s chest. 

It’s such a perfect invitation, isn’t it? Eddie would be a fool to not take advantage, right? He’s not always the smoothest demigod in camp, but even he can see the perfect moment in front of him.

He grins and takes Steve’s hand, bringing it to his chest. He places Steve’s palm over his heart. “What do you think?” he asks.

Steve frowns, tilting his head slightly. “Your heart is beating faster,” he says, looking up with concern clear in his eyes.

“That’s not because of lightning, sweetheart.”

Eddie feels the exact moment Steve understands what he means. It’s the moment his control slips just enough for a tiny spark to pass from palm to chest. It makes Eddie’s skin prickle as he grins. 

“Sorry,” Steve whispers, trying to pull his hand away.

Eddie holds tighter, stepping closer until Steve is leaning against the boulder with nowhere to go. “I like when you shock me. It doesn’t hurt. It tingles, but it doesn’t hurt. In fact, it felt good when you kissed me,” he says.

“I’m sorry about that, too,” Steve says, grimacing as he looks at the lake over Eddie’s shoulder. “I didn’t…I should’ve asked.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie tells him, leaning in until their noses are almost brushing. 

“Seriously?”

“Yeah, Stevie. In case you couldn’t tell by now, I like like you. Since the moment I saw you, really.”

Steve blinks, and then he starts laughing. “Really? Like like? What, are we in middle school?” he asks.

“You can’t knock the simplicity of the middle school confession, sweetheart. It’s got no room for misunderstanding.”

With an amused eye roll, Steve says, “Sure, if you say so.” He’s still smiling, his gaze focused on Eddie now instead of the lake. A faint blush has colored his cheeks. “In that case, I like like you, too.”

Eddie grins. “Does that mean I can kiss you now?”

In answer, Steve places his free hand on Eddie’s shoulder and tugs him the last few inches closer. Their lips connect, a tiny static shock passing between them and making Eddie shudder. He pushes closer before Steve can pull away, trapping Steve’s hand between them and bracing himself on the boulder. 

The kiss starts and stays slow, a gentle push and pull. Eddie would be happy if it never ended, but Steve pulls away after a few seconds. "You're sure?" he asks.

"Yeah, Stevie, I'm sure," Eddie promises, studying him for a moment before pulling back and leading Steve away from the boulder. "Wanna dance?"

"There's no music," Steve says.

"Who cares?" Eddie asks, tugging Steve closer. He watches Steve glance up at the moon, hesitating for a few seconds before nodding. "Just follow my lead."

Steve smiles, letting Eddie lead him along the beach, dancing to music he can't hear.

------

Tag List

@mugloversonly, @mentallyundone, @hairdryerducks-blog, @carriethesaint, @lunabyrd,

@weekend-dreamer7, @farfaras, @littlelady03, @my-tears-are-becoming-a-sea20, @mogami13,

@a-little-unsteddie, @itsall-taken, @queenie-ofthe-void, @tinyplanet95, @littlebluejane,

@hangoversandhandgrenades, @rabbitwhoeatsstars, @bisexualdisastersworld, @steddieinthesun, @paintgonewrong,

@sadcanadianwinter, @deehellcat, @blanketlicker, @angrydonutdestiny, @booksareportal,

@fallingchemicaldiscos, @am-i-obssed-probably, @anne-bennett-cosplayer, @estrellami-1, @fandomcartographer,

@steddie-as-they-go, @cris-wants-a-word, @potato-of-the-lord, @plasticcrotches, @enigmahaze,

@melodymeddler, @lololol-1234, @sageclipse, @steddiehyperfixation, @livelaughlexa,

@genderless-spoon, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @r0binscript, @thelittleclare, @blondie1006,

@bxnghy

[greenerteacups]

1,7&8 for Minerva please! I love the way you write her and I always want to see more of her in fic, we didn’t get enough of her in my opinion in cannon.

1. Why do you like or dislike this character?

MINERVA MY BELOVED. I like Minerva McGonagall precisely for the respect in which she is like Severus Snape: because when you're encountering the books as a child, her actions read like normal intelligent grown-uppy behavior, and when you return to the books as adult, they become belligerently bugfuck insane. She is literally all those meme posts about Gryffindors. What do you mean you're putting an 11-year-old child on a high school varsity sports team. A sport that involves rocketing around in the air at Mach Christ while missiles the size of a fucking football zoom around trying to hit him. A sport where at least four other children on the field are wielding large heavy BATS. What do you mean you're buying him the most expensive racing broom on the market to do this. What do you MEAN you're dueling like four ministry officials at once while your students are taking their Astronomy practical. What do you mean you took four Stunners to the chest, something that your resident Healer says should have KILLED you, and then went back to work afterwards. What do you mean you're calling the Secretary of Education incompetent to her fucking face. What do you mean you realized the Battle of Hogwarts was coming and IMMEDIATELY started beating the ass of your coworker of seventeen years. What do you mean you're yelling COWARD at his fleeing back when he refuses to duel five professors at once, as, in fairness, you probably would have tried to do in his position? Huh? MINERVA?

Basically, Minerva's first principle when it comes to children is "I will be stern but fair with you when you inevitably make mistakes," and when it comes to adults, it's "catch these ninety-year-old hands, you contemptible bitches, I'll own you."

7. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you like?

I really like the fandom trend of having all cats in Hogwarts be maybe-kind-of-probably McGonagall. Especially if they're engaging in normal, cat-like behaviors. Like, yeah, if I could turn into a cat, I'd probably spend my evenings just chillin and getting scritches, too.

I also really like fics where McGonagall teaches someone to become an animagus. I'm sad that canonically she doesn't know the Marauders are animagi, because the idea of her teaching them (or even accidentally helping them figure it out, a la Slughorn and the horcruxes) is so dear to me.

8. What's something the fandom does when it comes to this character that you despise?

Minerva doesn't get nearly enough credit for being as unhinged as she is. She's treated often like a normal, reasonable figure of authority, which she is, but far too little attention is paid to the ways in which she is a two-time guerrilla soldier practically vibrating out of her chair with her desire to kick someone's ass.

[out-there-tmblr]

Young zaundads wip (20)

***

At the end of the month, Silco forgoes a day's pay to line up with Vander and withdraw money. It's the same as always: a long snaking queue across the courtyard, two Piltie bookkeepers sitting with their piles of folders and the cash box between them; six bored looking enforcers standing behind them, with their masks and goggles, hands loose on their guns.

It's the same as always, but Silco keeps his arms crossed and his scowl grows meaner with every shuffling step forward. He looks like he's about to start ranting about the unfairness of having to beg for wages they've already earned.

"Stop looking at me like that," Silco hisses at him, which feels unfair given that Vander hasn't said anything. "I'm not stupid enough to say something in front of enforcers."

"I'm well aware you're not stupid," Vander says gently, but it doesn't work. Silco only glares at him. "I mean it. Sharp as a fish hook, my Ma would say."

"She really was a riversider," Silco mutters back and Vander will happily take the edge of mocking rather than that tightly-held anger.

"Got something against riverside? Going to tell me we all smell like chum?"

Silco raises an eyebrow in challenge. "That you can't walk straight on land unless you're drunk?"

"That a freshly washed riversider only has silt between their toes?"

Silco snorts in amusement as they shuffle forward another step. "And the only way to get their attention is to dress in canvas and bring rope?"

Vander laughs at that one. It's such a stupid fisherman joke, but it's not the sort of joke anyone makes around a guy Vander's size. "Yeah, that's us. If it doesn't float or have fins, we're not interested."

Silco tilts his head, his expression becoming thoughtful. "Why didn't you join a boat? Better than being here."

"I get seasick," Vander says, like stepping onto a boat doesn't make him think of his father every damn time. Wonder if he should be mourning or fuming.

"You grew up by the river. How can you get seasick?"

"It's a skill."

"Not a very good one," Silco replies and they shuffle forward another step.

It takes another hour of standing in the electric lights of the courtyard, but eventually they get to the bookkeepers. There's no true privacy in the mine – too many people and not enough space. From his spot in line, Vander hears Silco requesting a balance, and pulling out his notebook. A large folder is opened on the table, the bookkeeping looking up Silco's name.

He reads out the figure and Silco copies it down, while Vander looks on, stunned. It's over twenty thousand bronze. Vander has to cunt on his fingers to translate that debt to gold, but two thousand four hundred gold sounds even worse. Three hundred gold is an impossible figure. Ten times that…

But Silco doesn't even blink at that figure. He just nods and then says, "I want to withdraw coin. How much am I allowed to withdraw on credit?" He withdraws the maximum amount and then asks for half of it in silver.

Vander gets waved over to the other bookkeeper as the coins are counted out.

Vander has nearly eight hundred bronze owed to him. He withdraws most of it, even takes some out in gold just to hold the sparkle in his hand.

He finds Silco waiting for him with a pouch of coins. "Sixty. We didn't agree on interest, but five seems fair."

"For the wood?" Vander stares at the pouch, at the seven bronze lect in Silco's palm. "You don't have to pay me. I don't need–"

"There's nothing free down here," Silco talks over him. "You pay now or you pay later. I don't like building up debts."

"You owe them over twenty thousand!"

Silco looks up at Vander, not backing down an inch. "To be precise, twenty-one thousand, five hundred and eighty. I won't owe you as well."

"Look," Vander says, wrapping a hand around Silco's arm and tugging him away from the others. "I'm sleeping there too. Every night, I'm saving money because I don't have to pay for a bunk. If we're both gaining from it, we should go halves in the costs."

Through narrowed blue eyes, Silco considers it.

"And no interest," Vander adds. "Not between us. We're better than the damn company."

Silco gives one sharp nod to that. "Fine. Halves. That's twenty-seven bronze."

Vander hands him back the pouch. "And the bed too. We should go halves in that."

Silco glances down at his coins, and quickly realises he'll have just enough. "I could have waited until next month, Vander. I don't need charity."

"The isn't charity. This is us working together and improving life for both of us." Vander leans down, low enough that he can whisper right into Silco's ear. Boice pitched carefullylow, he adds, "And this way I don't have to wait to fuck you in a real bed."

***

[dsireland86]

We talk about dad! Noah and dad! Jolly but what about dad! Folio? 🥺

♡ Folio having his little girl on his lap while he's playing the drums (with ear protection for her of course).

♡ Catching her making a make shift drum kit out of the pots, pans, and tupperware with some wooden spoons as the drumsticks.

♡ Taking her out fishing when he's on a break from touring for some daddy daughter time.

♡ You nearly having a heart attack when he takes her out on a motorcycle ride once she's old enough.

This gem is inspired by the writing above from @stardustsirenmelody!!! You, my friend, are a fantastic human. I'm giving you credit for this one. I just wrote it. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

GIRL DAD

TAGS: @philomenie @supersquirrel1996 @foliosgirl @angelmarie89 @fadingintothegrey @theanarchymuse95 @thisbicc @lma1986 @dominuslunae @shayzillaaaa @fadingintothegrey @an0mallly @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @mrsnoahsebastian @flowery-mess @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning @stardustsirenmelody

Her birth was the happiest day of Nick's life, next to marrying you. The moment you went into labor, Folio was right there beside you, supporting you and watching everything you went through in order to bring his daughter into this world. As soon as she arrived, Folio cut the cord and laid her on your chest, watching as your motherly instincts took  over instantly. And the best part wasn't that you made him just a dad. You made him a girl dad.

Now, at the tender age of two, Folio has your little girl sitting with him at his drum kit at every possible moment. With her little set of pink ear muffs, she sits between her daddy's legs or on his knee,  repeatedly trying to take the sticks from his hands. Folio eventually gives in, letting her have one, and she immediately brings it to her mouth, using it as her teething ring. Later on, when cleaning up, Nick finds the stick that she dropped, picks it up, and smiles at the bite marks from her two tiny teeth.

By the age of four, Nick's little girl is as wild and crazy as he is. With her long dark hair and button nose, she's a spitting image of her daddy, right down to her interests. When dinner time comes, she's right there in the kitchen, under your feet, pulling out every pot, pan, and lid to form a makeshift drum kit. With Folio's help, she has the best kitchen inspired drum set up, complete with its own set of wooden kitchen mixing spoons. For the next thirty minutes, your baby girl hits every piece laid out before her, while you and Nick steal kisses and inappropriate whispers  of what you're planning after little miss goes to bed.

For her 7th birthday, Folio gets her her first big girl fishing pole, promising to take her fishing once he gets back from the band's most recent tour. And he does. The perfect spring day comes, and it's the three of you at your cabin by the lake. Folio is all in waders, net, boots, and more, standing in the shallow part with your baby, showing her how to properly cast for the first time. The smile they're both wearing is worth more than gold, making you feel like the richest woman in the world. When she finally gets a catch, Folio is more excited about it than she is and he helps her reel it in, trying to be quiet and not scare the poor thing. He has you snag a quick picture as he holds the wiggling fish for her because she doesn't like how slimy it feels. After taking the hook out, Nick tries to show her how to gut and skin it, but she refuses. That part she gets from you.

Just like ten years go by and your little baby isn't so little anymore. Folio decides it's time he takes her on a proper motorcycle ride even though you still think she's too young. But you trust your husband. He is the safest rider you know, after all. Nick comes home with a helmet and riding pants for his little riding partner, making sure she's properly dressed for the ride. Exiting the house wearing nothing but his black leather, Folio climbs on the bike and helps her up. She clings to her dad for dear life at first, but as they pull out and slowly take off, you hear a loud yell and a holler from her, about how awesome her dad is. 

[cosmicjoke]

People are always trying to give the credit for Levi’s heroism and goodness to someone other than Levi him self and it’s so freakin’ annoying.

“Oh, Levi’s mom is the only reason he turned out good, because she loved him.”

As if the handful of years they had together and the single clear, positive memory he had of her would alone be enough to overcome the two plus decades of absolute horror that followed, or even the horror of their lives together, living in absolute, desolate impoverishment, squalor and ruinous desperation.

“Oh, Kenny taught Levi to value life by showing him his life mattered.”

Is this a joke? Kenny was a serial killer and the only thing he ever taught Levi was how to use his strength for selfish gain.

“Oh, Furlan and Isabel taught Levi to care about other people.”

Levi saved Furlan’s and Isabels’s lives before he even knew either of them. Nobody showed him or taught him to do that. He did that on his own.

“Oh, Erwin instilled Levi’s desire to help people into him and taught him morals.”

See my previous point. Levi had a desire to help people long before he ever met Erwin, as exemplified by his rescue of Furlan and Isabel, as well as the other characters he attempts to rescue and safeguard the lives of throughout "No Regrets", like that soldier who nearly killed himself on the titan obstacle course, or Flagon and Sairam out in the field. Even in the OVA, we see Levi protect Isabel from those thugs chasing after her, despite knowing nothing about her. We see him agree to Lovof's proposal only because he wants to protect the life of that disabled member of his and Furlan's crew, after he's taken by Lovof's men to the surface, the obvious implication being, if Levi doesn't cooperate, then they're going to kill the kid. Or later on, when he tries desperately to get both Furlan and Isabel to stay behind on their first scouting expedition, to take all the danger onto himself, only agreeing to let them come when Furlan asks him to trust them. We see that instinct and desire to help and protect people long before Levi ever knew Erwin, or felt any sort of loyalty or admiration for him, he just didn't have the means or the know-how, given what a struggle it was just to survive in the Underground, and given nobody ever taught Levi the ways in which his strength could actually make a significant difference to people. Levi only had a limited idea of how it could, from having taken Furlan and Isabel under his wing and providing them protection.

What Erwin did was focus that already existent desire and instinct onto a broader goal, by convincing Levi it was possible for him to really make a difference to all people by lending his strength to the Survey Corps. Erwin showed Levi how it was possible for him to do what he'd already had a desire to do, if not a belief in his ability to do it, something we see Levi struggle with throughout "No Regrets", not fully believing in his ability to actually help anyone until the end, when Erwin gives him his big speech. And again, it makes sense that Levi would struggle to believe he could actually help anyone or make a difference, given how he grew up and how nobody ever taught him how to use his strength to help. You can have all the desire in the world to do something, but if nobody ever taught you how, then it's going to be a lot more difficult to believe in your ability to do it, or to do it at all. Still, Levi did his best, and did help people as much as he could and knew how. Erwin isn't responsible for Levi having that as his motivation. Erwin only gave Levi the direction needed to believe he could utilize his strength to the benefit of many people, rather than just a few. Basically, Erwin broadened Levi's horizons about what might be possible, and of course, that's why Erwin's influence and impact on Levi is so great. It's fine to acknowledge that, it's fine to acknowledge how important Erwin was to Levi. But to actually try to give Erwin the credit for Levi's compassion and kindness, or his moral values, is absurd and wickedly unfair to Levi himself. Levi already had those qualities in him. Nobody instilled it in him.

I don’t know what this obsession is within a certain segment of this fandom with wanting to rob Levi of the credit he deserves for being the man he is. It's why I always say Levi is a perfect example of nature over nurture, because he literally had no good role models growing up. He had his mom, but again, he barely knew her and barely remembers her. He had literally the opposite of a good role model in Kenny. And yet look how he turned out. It's why I get so pissed when people try to give the credit for that to someone else. Levi deserves the credit for how he turned out. He beat such hard odds, and it's unfair to him to deny him that recognition. It's unfair to deny him recognition for the strength of character it took to overcome the hellish cruelty he was raised in by retaining his great humanity, empathy, compassion and kindness. Very few people could have done the same. Further, I think there's something insidious in it, when people do that, when they try to give the credit for Levi's goodness to someone else. It's basically tantamount to claiming Levi's pain and trauma growing up isn't worth acknowledging. It's like telling an abused kid that they were made better by their abuse, and they should be grateful for it as a result, instead of complaining about it or feeling hurt over it. It’s so lame and unfair, because not only does it perpetuate this harmful idea that none of us are responsible for ourselves, but it also undermines and dismisses the trauma and tragedy of Levi’s childhood by pretending it wasn’t really all that bad or there can be found something positive from the abuse he was subjected to under Kenny's care. It's horribly close to victim blaming, and smacks of abuse apologism

It’s a miracle that Levi turned out the way he did, and the miracle comes from Levi himself, not any of the people listed above.

[adiluv-moved]

❥ 𝐈𝐃𝐎𝐋 𝐎𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐒𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐌𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇𝐄. ˚⊹꒷

717 words, modern au, obsessive fan behavior, reader is not traveler, not edited.

superfan scaramouche who is absolutely infatuated with you. he's been one of your group's day one fans, his stan account going back even before y'all had blown up in popularity. and you? you've been his bias from the very start, too ꒰a fact he doesn't even attempt to hide꒱—obsession growing all the more rampant with time.

superfan scaramouche who collects all of your merchandise, whether it be official or fan-made. hauls have become a necessary part of his lifestyle, long having adopted the habit of shelling out thousands of mora every month in order to add to his ever-growing collection of albums, photocards, and posters. the wood of his shelves are practically curving beneath the weight of everything, trashcan overflowing from all the packaging he throws out after unboxing everything.

superfan scaramouche who streams these unboxings to his loyal follower-base, the sharp tongue he's become infamous for always being undermined by the adoring smile on his face as he flaunts everything. the sheer extent of his collection has made him a well-known name amongst your fans, merch creators often sending him their newest design ideas and samples for feedback.

he's harsh in his critiques, unhesitating as he point out even the slightest flaws to his audience—especially so when it comes to designs with you. in his mind, if they're going to portray you, then they'd best do it right. other members of your group's fanbase do call him out for this behavior, though he counters saying that creators are already well aware of his temperament when send him anything.

superfan scaramouche who uses his position and wealth as the son of an inazuman politician in order to fund this lifestyle of his, although ei is oftentimes left unimpressed with his dedication to you. as such, she'll occasionally attempt to lecture him about his spending habits, but her words often fall on dear ears as he continues reaching out for his credit card the second your group's official twitter teases at a new release. honestly? the only thing that she manages to accomplish during these 'interventions' is tiring her throat out.

superfan scaramouche who rakes in extra money by capitalizing on his appearance, aware that some of his followers are only really interested with his account because of his breathtaking features. so long as the donations are large enough, he has zero problem flirting with his audience, immediately setting the money he gains from them aside to be spent on you. ironically enough, he can't help but find his admirers pathetic for thirsting over a man that hardly even knows them... despite having the exact same attachment to you.

superfan scaramouche who will get into fights online over your name. anybody who attempts to insult you—even as an off-handed remark—are met with a barrage of harassment from his ꒰many꒱ burner accounts. every aspect of their online persona is scrutinized, attempts to expose his identity met with ever harsher abuse. nearly all of his victims have had to deactivate just for the sake of being left alone, a fact he doesn't feel bad for in the slightest.

superfan scaramouche who attends every. single. one. of your group's events without fail, always making sure to come prepared with gifts and merch for you to autograph. covered in head to toe in bagging clothing, a baseball cap on his head, and a mask to obscure the bottom half of his face—you can't help but feel a little apprehensive when he makes a beeline straight towards you, though your inhibitions are quickly forgotten when the both of you start chatting.

superfan scaramouche who appears totally innocent and unassuming during your conversation, compliments almost falling off his tongue as he sings your praises. he'll comment on the smallest details within your mvs, choreography, outfits—claiming it a shame that you aren't as popular as some of the other members within your group. you eagerly sign the photocard he presents you, telling him to have a nice day before he leaves. it's the only thing he posts about for a week straight.

unbeknownst to you, he records the entire interaction, watching it compulsively to fuel his delusions—convincing himself that you're madly in love with him. needless to say, the charges on his credit card only increase in size afterwards.

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