#she's a teenager what do you want her to do?

[graceface1712]

How Sweet Pouge reader met Rafe!

Soft RafexSweetPouge reader

Summary: Rafe is known to hate Pouges. All of them are nuisances to him. Until one particular girl catches his eye. He asks Topper if he knows her name and only for Topper to tell him that she’s a Pouge. 

Warnings: Nothing!

Enjoy 🫶🏻🫶🏻

*ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚ *ੈ✩‧₊

The beach party was in full swing. People were drinking, dancing, and partying their asses off. Rafe on the other hand, was busy trying to make sure Topper’s psychotic girlfriend, Ruthie, didn’t start any more fights with people. She was literally insane.

“Topper. Control your girl. She’s being a fucking lunatic.” He bites out to Topper. Crazy ass bitch. He thinks to himself. His eyes scan the beach, making sure everything is going smoothly. Then all the sudden, his eyes land on you.

You’re wearing a bright pink tank top, it’s spaghetti straps fighting to hold in your boobs that are threatening to spill out from you jumping around. It shows just a sliver of your tan waist, but it’s enough to make Rafe want to wrap his arms around it. Your toned legs are clad in a pair of jean shorts and beaded brackets decorate your arms.

You look so carefree, so happy. Dancing around with everyone. Your smile is stunning. It takes Rafe’s breath away in the best way possible.

Rafe turns to Topper. “Hey, who is that?” He asks him. Topper tries to see who Rafe is pointing to.

“Dude, there’s about 20 people you could be pointing to right now.” Topper says sarcastically.

“Her. The girl in the pink tank top and jean shorts.” Rafe says growing impatient, even though he knows Topper had a point. It’s a giant group of dancing teenagers and Rafe could have been pointing to any of them. But he needed to find out who this girl is.

“Oh. Man that’s Y/N. She’s hot but I would never mess with her. She’s a Pouge, the Pouge princess as many people refer to her.” Topper spits the word out with disgust. Rafe’s eyes widen.

Now he remembers. Of course he knows how the Pouge Princess is. I mean, he’s the Kook King.

Well you being a Pouge isn’t going to stop him. He may hate Pouges but most of them are annoying and make stupid decisions. He’s never even heard of you so you must be normal.

Rafe walks over to you confidently. When he wants something, he gets it. And you’re no different.

When he lightly grabbed Y/N’s arm, she was startled and turned around to see who the culprit was.

She was even more surprised when she was met with Rafe Cameron staring down at her. Y/N along with everybody else knows that Rafe doesn’t interact with Pouges unless he has to. And typically it’s in a violent way.

Rafe has never done anything bad to her before. Honestly, she doesn’t get out too much anyways. Usually her dad is making her scrub down their little shack, and if not, she’s out at the beach tanning and surfing.

Y/N just lives her life to the fullest. Her family is dirt poor, the only reason they have a roof over their heads is because her grandpa built her house when he was younger. But other than that, life is all about the experience for her. She tries to be kind to everybody and will never ever judge someone for what they look like, or how they are. That’s why many people in town refer to her as the “Pouge Princess”.

But she has no hard feelings towards Rafe unlike many other kids on the cut her age. She doesn’t blame them though.

“Hi.” Rafe says. He can smell her intoxicating scent. She smells like a warm, vanilla, bakery. The breeze is making her scent drift right to his nose.

“Hi!” She giggles and its music to ears. “Do you need something from me?” She asks him.

He lets go of her arm and runs a hand through his buzzed hair. But something caught his attention, there was no judgment, no nasty look, or condescending tone in her voice that was directed at him. Most people in town couldn’t even look at him without wincing. Whether it was from fear or disgust. So naturally, Rafe was drawn to her.

“Well I just wanted to come talk to the prettiest girl on the beach.” He said with a grin stretching across his face. Y/N’s face burned with a blush.

“You think I’m pretty?” She shyly asked him

“I think you’re the most gorgeous girl I’ve ever laid eyes on.” He leans down and whispers in her ear.

The red staining Y/N’s cheeks turned to a dark crimson. Y/N has struggled with her appearance for a long time. Her dad being the main cause of that, always calling her ugly and worthless. The compliment meant a lot to her.

Rafe and Y/N shouted over the loud music, talking to each other about everything. Y/N was dancing and swaying to the music, and Rafe was trying to keep her still so her words wouldn’t jumble up while she was bumping around.

After a while, Y/N got tired. She smushed her face into Rafe’s chest.

“I’m tiredddd.” She complained. Rafe wrapped his hands around her forearms and guided her to a big piece of driftwood down the beach. Now they were away from the craziness of the party.

Rafe was looking at Y/N with something in his eyes that she couldn’t quite decipher.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” She’s asks him.

“Can I go on a date with you?” The words fly out of his mouth before he can even register what he’s saying. Y/N’s mouth falls open.

“What?” She asks.

“Can I take you out? On a date. Tomorrow.” Rafe says. Now his words are collected and put together.

Y/N teases him a little. Taking a long time to come up with an answer. Even going as far as tapping her pointer finger on her chin and making it look like she’s thinking about it. Obviously there is only one answer.

“Y/N.” Rafe mutters.

“Of course I will!” Y/N happily says, finally giving up on her teasing. A sigh of relief escapes Rafe. Like she was really going to say no.

“Thank goodness. Here’s my phone you can give me your phone number so you can send me your address.” Rafe says while fishing his phone out of his pocket and opening his contacts app.

Y/N’s whole mood changes. More red flush adorns her cheeks, but not out of the fact that she has butterflies or is nervous, it’s out of embarrassment.

“What’s wrong?” Rafe asks her. He noticed her mood change.

“Ummm. I don’t have a phone.” She says.

“Why are you grounded or something?” Rafe asks her.

“No, it’s just my parents can’t afford to get me a phone.” Y/N says embarrassed.

Rafe’s eyes widen. He has never experienced a life without having some sort of electronics thrown in his face. Ward had always tried to buy his and his sister‘s love with either the newest gaming console or tablet or iPhone.

“Oh. Well that’s okay. You can just give me your address and I’ll write it down in my notes app.” Rafe says. It’s obvious that she is uncomfortable about not having a phone, so he doesn’t want to make it something it doesn’t have to be.

“Okay.” Y/N says and then proceeds to tell Rafe her address. She’s glad he didn’t make a big deal out of the situation. I mean it’s the 21st century almost every kid her age has a cell phone, especially in the Outer Banks. But unfortunately, her parents don’t make enough money to be able to give her a phone. So she goes without one. The only way her friends can communicate with her, is verbally.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow, 6pm sharp. Wear something comfortable.” Rafe says and smiles.

“Okay. I’ll be ready” Y/N beams up at him.

“Can’t wait baby.” That’s the last thing Rafe says before walking off and disappearing into the crowd of teenagers.

What just happened? They both wonder to themselves.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/

First one! 🫶🏻

[kitananami]

MDNI.

ExBf!Gojo, who would still pathetically send your favorite flowers on your birthday. This card on this one read:

Happy birthday babyyy, I love youuu <3

On the front. You scoffed, turning it over.

Can you please talk to me?

On the back.

The same flowers that would be added into the glass stained antique vase that normally held every single bouquet Gojo gifted.

But these flowers were sent right back to him.

ExBf!Gojo, who reached for his phone after looking down at the porch, the porch that held the same flowers he sent to you the day before.

"Aww did I choose the wrong flowers /: "

ExBf!Gojo texted. Staring at his screen waiting for you to reply. Until the waiting turned into 3 days. After 3 days you finally replied, but instead of on text, it was a box full of his shit, sent by a delivery truck. So he swallowed the egotistical lump in his throat and grabbed his phone, realization settling in— he did fuck up bad this time.

"Y/n I'm sorry... Can we please talk?"

The last attempted text before he realized he was blocked.

ExBf!Gojo, who already knew you rarely gave second chances to other people. The woman of his dreams he spent three years with, the happiest three years of his lonely life, yet the same woman he could never get back. The one who he knew despised him and meant it when the second to last words she denounced was,

"It's over."

ExBf!Gojo, who stood at the hotel room door he booked two days before your birthday. The same man whose heart felt limp, seeing you cry for the first time in the three years you shared together, watching you pack your suitcase in pure anger. Because he knew it'd be the last time he saw you.

So he reached for you, grabbing your wrist gently, "Baby, i swear, it really isn't what it looked like—"

The last words he said to you in person before you cut him off, pulling your wrist away to swipe an angry tear falling down your cheek. The very last words of yours that hurt him because you called him Gojo instead of Satoru. And you didn't even look at him in his stupid blue eyes,

"Don't touch me. I never wanna see your fucking face again Gojo."

ExBf!Gojo, who was too friendly. Who would flirt with any pretty girl in sight without even realizing it.

ExBf!Gojo, who couldn't handle his alcohol like a childish teenager and finally pushed your limits after you saw him at the pool, pouring a shot of cheap tequila into a blond girl's mouth, followed with her grabbing his face and kissing him on the lips.

ExBf!Gojo, who started to go crazy after 6 months had passed. 6 months of convincing himself that he would get you back. He was left with nothing else than the box you sent him back with his shit. Nanami even began forming a slight concern, because for the first time in his life, Gojo Satoru was quiet and didn't have an ego anymore.

"Why aren't you being annoying anymore?" He asked.

He responded in an emotionless shoulder shrug.

ExBf!Gojo, who started to hate himself even more for how he made you feel that day, for being the reason why he saw you cry for the first time. Because it was the same day today, but a year later. A year later since he saw you in person. A year since he heard the voice that made him so fucking happy every time he heard it. But the lack of presence had him chasing any last bit of hope, hope of feeling that happiness again. If he could hear you simply cussing him out again, just to hear your voice, he'd pay. He deserved it anyways. But even you didn't give him that energy or time. You were too mature. Something Gojo couldn't be.

ExBf!Gojo, hated the thought of you being with another man. Not because he was insecure, but because it was him you chose, nobody else. Even though every single man whose path you've crossed wanted you, you never made him feel like he was an option. He was your man, and you were obsessed with him. And it was a healthy obsession because he knew you would drop him the moment you felt disrespected by him. So why the fuck was he dumb enough to do that to you?

ExBf!Gojo stood at your door, this time with your favorite flowers in his hands. But they were different this year, because it wasn't store bought, he picked it in a flower field he had to trespass. He knocked on your door and took a step back, gripping the stems of the flower he made you. In the midst of convincing himself he needed to stop being so emotional to calm down, attempting to grasp back his ego and snarky remarks, 2 minutes had passed. He knocked again.

ExBf!Gojo stood for another 10 minutes. Then started to feel too desperate. Like the weight of everything he regretted and lost spiraled into a deeper avalanche. He curved his neck back and sighed, looking at the roof of your porch as tears started to peek in the corner of his eyes.

"Y/n, please. Just let me talk to you. Even if it's one last time."

ExBf!Gojo Heard the echo of his sorrowful voice bounce off into the night of your birthday. He looked back down at the bouquet of flowers he held, taking note of the smallest details. And he began to talk to himself again.

"God no wonder why these were your favorite flowers. You always had good taste. Always knew what you wanted, except for picking the places for us to eat," he chuckled, the tears threatening to fall down his face.

"So beautiful.... you're so beautiful y/n.... I wish I could call you baby again, but I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable," he croaked out, tears streaming down his face this time.

"I don't care how stupid I look right now, I just realized you might not even be home," he scoffed, a smile forming on his face in delirium, he sniffed up his cries as the tears kept flowing, "I wish I had the opportunity to make you as happy as you made me... I didn't deserve you, but you deserved to be as happy as I was," He sobbed, starting to sound incoherent, jumbling his words.

"Fuck I miss you so much baby. I'm so sorry," he grit through his teeth, nodding his head in defeat, "I'm so sorry baby...I just don't know how to stop loving you."

ExBf!Gojo looked up to see the door slowly creak open. And he was right, you are beautiful. Too beautiful for his own good. Your eyes were tearing up regardless of how much you wanted to fight it. And you sighed.

"I hate you Satoru." You whispered.

ExBf!Gojo who didn't care that you hated him. Because at least you opened the door and said something to him. He held out the flowers,

"Happy birthday!!!" He said cheerfully with red eyes and tears still rolling down his cheeks.

You looked down at the flowers. Disorganized and messy. Like a boy made them. Because a boy did make them. A boy who every girl wanted in high school, and it disgusted you because how can you like someone like him. Until you guys reconnected during your college years. A boy who turned into a man somehow... who made sure to get you flowers every year of your birthday. A man you swore you would never fall in love with.

ExBf!Gojo who's ex girlfriend pulled him into her home after accepting the flowers and setting it by the door.

ExBf!Gojo who was sat down on the couch by his ex girlfriend as she connected her lips passionately with his, followed by aggression.

Gojo sighed into the kiss, snaking his hands all over your body to ensure this was real, that this was actually happening. That the bulge forming in his pants wasn't another pathetic wet dream he had of you.

ExBf!Gojo had his shirt lifted off of his chest, quickly assisting with your removal next. You gripped behind his hair, pulling his head backwards to the side before you began sucking his neck hungrily.

ExBf!Gojo exhaled, muscle memory kicking in, grabbing your tits and swirling the nubs of his thumb over your nipples, earning your moans that he missed so much. You sucked and kissed all the sensitive spots on his neck, marking him dark red till he exhaled,

"Mmmm baby...."

ExBf!Gojo switched places, plopping your back onto the couch as he ripped off your pants, reconnecting his lips with yours, then to your breasts, sucking feverishly. Your moans teased him, gripping his hair again. He traveled down to your core,

"I've been so fucking hungry..."

ExBf!Gojo licked the tip of his tongue down your slit, then scooped up every bit of wetness oozing down your core before ramming his tongue inside, working inside your cunt like he was getting paid overtime for it. You arched your back against the couch. His hand that wasn't wrapped around your thigh held your hand gently as you gripped hard every swipe and suck he made on your clit.

"Sa-toru... Baby- uahh," you said falling in and out of consciousness at how fucking good he ate you out.

ExBf!Gojo was going insane right now. But finally, in a good way. The best way possible. He ate you like the last supper, but he would make sure this isn't his last.

"Baby please fuck me..." you sighed, rolling your cunt desperately on his face as he reminded you of how pathetic every toy you purchased felt against your pussy, every one of your attempts to imagine times he ate you out so good, this good.

ExBf!Gojo who almost came at your breathless, desperate request, if it wasn't for him almost cumming in his pants from tasting your pussy again. The only pussy he's felt since you broke up with him. Because he knew after you, nobody could ever taste and feel as good as you.

ExBf!Gojo's arms had to be pulled up by y/n because he couldn't stop eating her pussy.

ExBf!Gojo had to hold in every urge to cum at the slightest touch of you. You sat up on the couch as he stood in front of your face, pulling down his Calvin Klein underwear, licking a strip of the precum oozing down his dick before sucking the sweetness out of him, stroking his shaft.

ExBf!Gojo who had to grab your hair and stop you before he came too quick.

"Wait Baby stoppp.... I'm gonna cum if you do that"

He didn't deserve to mess up that beautiful face of yours for his pleasure. He also really needed to be inside your pussy.

ExBf!Gojo who picked you up and carried you into your room. Laying you down aggressively yet gently, on your back. You both exchanged eye contact, yours looking into his in anticipation, and his looking into yours in pure love and euphoria. You fucking hated him, but somehow loved him too.

ExBf!Gojo lined himself up, not even needing to collect any wetness as he slid right into you slowly. He watched as your eyes closed and your mouth opened slowly into a soft moan. And he watched your beautiful face—every stroke, savoring every single one as the tightness and warmth of your pussy had him biting down hard on his lip, trying not to cum in under 20 seconds.

"Baby you're so fucking beautiful," he said before picking up his pace. You couldn't respond with any literate words.

"God I could never lose you again...." he groaned, pulling up your legs over his shoulder, he remembered every detail, every stroke, every position that drove you crazy and closer towards your climax.

You squealed out, tears forming at the brim of your eyes as he picked up his pace. You felt every inch and circumference of him, wondering how you could've ever left someone who always laid it down on you this good. Regardless of how much of a shitface he was. Your bedroom echoed with the sound of your wet pussy and his balls slapping against your cunt.

ExBf!Gojo who kissed your lips and looked at you once again, caressing your face and stroking the side of your face gently with his thumb as he kept a steady rhythm of his hips snapping against yours– slowly, pushing the back of your knees closer to the side of your body, inching into you deeper and deeper.

"The only time I could ever make you cry again is if I'm fucking you like this my love," he exhaled, "Taking me soo good..." he grinned menacingly, picking up his rhythm again, making a tear slide down your face as he felt your wetness building up, walls clenching dangerously tight around his cock,

"My good girl...."

"Please please.... yes Baby...." You managed to say. Both of your hands gripped his shoulders in an attempt to catch consciousness before you felt your peak, "I fucking love you Satoru...."

He rolled his eyes and head back, not being able to fully look at you at how hard your words hit. He kept the same rhythm, gliding into you, "I love you too baby... Fuck I can't hold it in are you gonna—"

He was interrupted by your screams and tears sliding down your cheek. You came down on him, milking his dick with your pussy. He felt so fucking good. And every bit of regret letting him in your house dissolved with your moans and cries.

"Baby where can I come?" He said uncontrollably fast, wiping your tears, nearly about to burst inside you.

And even after you came, every sensitive stroke felt like after shocks of more orgasms.

"Mmmm Satoru... cum insid—" you attempted to say, now this time interrupted by him stuffing his face in the crook of your neck. Beating every ounce of his cum into your pussy, his groans synchronized with your moaning and crying, filling you up with beads and lines of his warm cum.

"God I am never..." he popped his head back up, still slowly and lazily rolling his cock into you. He slid his hands slowly up against the blanket under you, intertwining his hands with yours, "losing you again."

_______

a/n- hi guys :P

[all-purpose-dish-soap]

Thank you so much for the part 2 of the shapeshifter AU! 🙏 The atmosphere is so singularly spooky and sultry. Keep up the great work!

on it boss!!

70 / 1.6k / part 3 of shapeshifter familiars!141 tormenting witch!reader

...

You wait until the early evening. It's the earliest you can run. Your so-called familiars won't come out while the sky is still bright. Even so, the moon’s faint sliver stands faintly visible against the sky. You pack your things and fetch your traveling cloak. Vital components. Your dagger. Scrying parchment. You've survived on less.

Something catches your eye as you open the door. The setting sun gleams off the little glass vial on your hearth. You grab it. It's the thing Soap left—what he was teasing you about; the "little treat" he brought back. You see now what it is: black henbane. Your heart beats faster. Out of anger or anticipation—you're not sure which wins out. You'll certainly make use of this. But it will be despite your demons. Not because of them.

As you set off to leave, though, you find yourself face-to-face with a different threat altogether: townsfolk with torches and pitchforks.

The mob's torches flicker, casting jagged shadows across their grim faces. Their leader, a broad-shouldered blacksmith with soot-stained hands, steps forward. The pitchfork trembles in his harsh grip. "Off to consort with devils, witch?"

Behind him, a farmer's wife spits at your feet. "My boy hasn't slept since your cursed raven perched on our roof! You sent those monsters to torment us!"

A ripple of agreement surges through the crowd. You catch the glint of silver amulets around their throats—crude charms of rowan berries and iron nails. Your designs.

"I don't want any trouble," you tell them. You already intend to leave this place forever; all you need to do is convince them to let you go in peace. "I swear it. I condemn the demons that plague the village just as you do."

The blacksmith's shout cracks like a whip. "Liar!" He thrusts his pitchfork toward your cottage and the crow feathers littering the threshold. "Found your nest o' nightmares. Bones under the floorboards. Charms written in your hand guidin' those beasts!"

A teenage boy hurls a rock. It grazes your temple with a thump that rings in your skull. "She fed my sister to the black dog! Saw its yellow eyes in her window the night she vanished!"

Then a torch arcs through the dusk. It crashes against your doorframe, tallow and embers cascading onto dry thatch. The farmer's wife screams, "Burn the hellspawn out!"

Other voices roar in agreement. The mob surges forward as one. Their amulets glow faintly as they near your wards, rowan countering rowan.

You slam the door shut, scattering glowing red hay, and bolt for the back door instead. You flee toward the forest. Warm blood slides down your face and trickles into your collar. You crash through the tree line. Brambles tear your cloak. Torchlight dances between birches behind you. They’re gaining.

"Kill her before she calls the beasts!" one voice shrieks.

Another voice, a child’s, cries, “There! By the elder tree!”

Your boot catches on its massive roots. You hit the forest floor hard. Pine needles stick to your bleeding palms as you scramble up—and freeze.

Yellow eyes blink open in the shadows ahead. A wolf.

The blacksmith’s heavy gait clatters to a halt. “Christ preserve us.”

The hound steps into the fading daylight, scars rippling across its muscular flank. Ghost. He bares teeth longer than your fingers.

You back away only for another shadow to fall from the trees above and land next to you soundlessly. The shape is feline—Gaz—but he's no longer the size of a housecat. He's as massive as a tiger. A growl thunders through him. He levels his gaze past you. At the villagers. They don't stand a chance.

You whirl back on the villagers with wild eyes. "Get out of here!" you cry at the mob.

The blacksmith shoves a trembling boy behind him. "Back! Back to the—"

Ghost lunges. Not at the villagers. At you.

His jaws snap inches from your thigh, herding you backward into Gaz's flank. Gaz pins you with one paw on your chest. He keeps his claws sheathed, but the pressure is enough to bruise. His rumbling purr vibrates through your ribs as he licks blood from your temple wound.

"Demons!" A villager hurls a torch. It bounces off Ghost's shoulder. Embers catch in his fur. He doesn't flinch.

Soap's cawing laughter rings from the treetops. He drops down as a raven, shifting mid-fall into human form. He lands in a crouch. "Och, look at these brave lads! Come to play with the big bad devils."

The blacksmith thrusts the pitchfork at him. "Back!"

 Soap catches the shaft and yanks the smith forward. "Careful now. You'll poke someone's—" He drives the smith’s own weapon through his boot, impaling foot to soil. "—eyes out."

Screams erupt. The mob fractures. Some flee. Others stand frozen.

"No, don't hurt them!" you gasp out. You try to push out from under Gaz's paw, but it does you no good. "Leave them alone!"

Gaz's purr deepens into a predatory rumble as he drags his rough tongue up the side of your neck to taste your sweat. His hot breath stirs your hair when he growls, "Too late for mercy, love. Smell the fear on 'em? Ripe as summer fruit."

Soap wrenches the pitchfork free from the smith’s screaming form, flicking gore off the tines. "Aye, let's make it a proper feast! Been ages since we had fresh meat that fought back."

"Enough."

Price's voice cracks through the woods like thunder. He stands under the pines’ shadow as if waiting for the last motes of sunset to vanish before he ventures out.

"You lot should've heeded the warnings. Salt your thresholds. Avoid the woods after dark." His gazes pauses over a young child frozen in fear, no parents in sight. He tuts. "But you meddled. Stole from my witch. Harmed her."

The blacksmith finds his voice. "W-We didn't—"

Price steps forward. His boot crushes the smith’s bloodied foot into the ground. Bones pop. "See, that's the trouble with mortals." He crouches to stare into the terrified villager’s face. "You don’t admit you’re wrong."

"Price, please, just take me instead," you plead. "I'm what you came for, aren't I?"

Price's gaze snaps to you. He rises slowly. The flicker of your burning cottage on the horizon behind you reflects in his eyes and makes them glow. His expression tells you how little choice you have in that particular matter. Where you go, they go.

Then he looks past you. “Gaz."

Gaz’s hand slides up your inner thigh. "Already on it."

"No. Save the foreplay. We've got a village to raze." He grabs the bloodied collar of your cloak and hauls you to your feet. "You'll watch. Then we'll discuss your ungrateful actions." His gaze flicks away. "Ghost. Gaz. Clean up."

You can only watch Ghost and Gaz bound into the screaming mob. Your body feels lighter than the air. Then you remember the weight of the henbane in your cloak pocket. The next moment, it's in your hand. You crush the glass, ignoring the stab of pain. You send it sailing through the air, and it lands right on its mark—the roaring torch discarded in the leaf litter.

The henbane catches and wafts up into the air as smoke. It curls upward in thick, narcotic tendrils. The smell is heady, its effect potent and immediate. Soap snarls as the first plume hits his nostrils. He staggers back and clutches his head. Gaz convulses mid-pounce, collapsing into ferns as his tiger-like form shrinks to housecat size. Ghost whines low in his throat and shakes his massive skull like a dog with water in its ears.

Chaos erupts. Villagers seize the chance to bolt. The blacksmith drags his wailing son toward the tree line.

Price grips your arm hard enough to leave talon marks. His other hand clamps over his nose, veins bulging in his temple. You cough into your sleeve. Your vision swims. Henbane's poison works both ways, after all. It’s powerful for those who know how to use it for their own ends. Black henbane is what you used to summon your familiars and what bound them to you. But its hallucinatory effects are more pronounced on those who have surrendered the greater part of their souls to magic—or for those whose bodies are already flush with it. Price, Gaz, Ghost, and Soap don’t stand a chance. Even your soul is so considerably marked by witchcraft that you quickly fold to its effects. But you, at least, can twist it and warp it to weave a spell that might protect you.

Cloaked in smoke, you transform.

The shift hits you like a lightning strike—bones crackling, muscles twisting, vision narrowing into a something wide and preylike. The forest tilts, and suddenly Price's grip is gone. He holds your sleeve, but not you. You slip away, tumble through your limp clothes, and hit the forest floor on four paws. The world sharpens into smells of damp moss and wolf musk. Your rabbit heart hammers against ribs as thin as wishbones.

You dart left--straight into Gaz's waiting claws. The tomcat pins you with a paw, purring as his claws prick your scruff. Then he sneezes, henbane pollen glinting in his whiskers. You writhe free.

You race deeper into the forest with the wind at your back. The woods close in, but thorns no longer claw your clothes; roots no longer trip you. You are no longer an intruder. The forest itself turns toward you, opens to you. Thorns tug pleasurably against your fur as you bound past. Old magic stirs beneath your rabbit feet.

"Clever girl. Find her." Price's voice slithers through the trees far behind you, syllables slurred but venom intact. "And keep her whole enough to scream."

...

← part 2 / [part 3] / part 4 ➡

more Price / more Ghost / more Soap / more Gaz / masterlist

[no-144444]

different- o.piastri

summary: the differences are starting to show ow that oscar is going to be present in mia's life, and in turn, yours.

pairing: oscar piastri x ex! single mom! fem! reader

part one | part two

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You were terrified. The past few weeks had been… strange, to say the least. You’d seen Oscar every single day of the last month. He moved his entire life to London in the span of a week for Mia. It reminded you of the teenage Oscar who would move mountains for you, and you were glad Mia got that side of him too.

It had been a whirlwind of emotions since Australia, and you’d watched every Grand Prix since then from your London house. Mia adored it. You told your family and friends about Oscar coming into Mia’s life, and there were varying degrees of support, but Teresa, your closest friend, hated Oscar. Every time she saw him it was either a roll of the eyes or a passive aggressive comment, but he took it all in good faith and just smiled and continued talking. It was a lot though, you’d been Oscar-less for 4 years, just seeing him through a screen, and now he was coming to your apartment everyday with a coffee for you, and something for Mia. Now, you two texted daily. Now, he was there again, and it freaked you out. 

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Oscar sat outside in his car, psyching himself up for the conversation that was about to happen. How the fuck dop you tell a 4 year old that you’re her dad and you didn’t know about her for 4 years, and now you want to be in her life every single day? How do you apologise for the missed time? How would he apologise to you if she got mad at you? What if she hated him forever and he lost her and you? How could he prove to both of you that he was serious about you two?

Beth: You’ve been MIA since last week, what’s up Osc? Call me please xxx

He cursed himself and the universe's impeccable timing. Beth was the girl he’d been seeing for a few months, and like all the girls he’d dated since you, bore a striking resemblance. He didn’t know what to tell her, how to explain it, or if he even should. His first thought was to ask you what he should do, what you’d be comfortable with him telling, and then he realised he would then be admitting to ‘moving on’, when he really only wanted you. He was at a stand-still in his brain, and muted her messages before going up to your front door. 

“Hey,” you smiled, opening the door to him, Mia on your hip. The picture in front of him made his heart ache a little bit. He could imagine himself coming home to it every night, after every race, for the past few years. “Come in.”

“Thanks,” he smiled, walking inside and taking Mia out of your arms as she reached for him. She softened the ache a bit. “Hey Mia.”

“Hey Osc!” she bundled into his arms, squirming around. She directed him to her playroom where they spent about 3 hours together, before you came in to set her down for her nap. 

“Do you want to…?” you offered, gesturing to her bedroom. “I can show you, just in case you need to know one day.”

He swallowed the lump in his throat and followed behind you. “Yeah, after you.” 

He watched as you gently tucked her in, a soft smile on your face as she looked at you with all the love in the world. He could’ve sworn his heart was trying to claw itself out of his chest to get to you two, but he swallowed back the tears, and left the room behind you, after kissing Mia on the forehead. 

“She really likes you,” you pointed out as you made him a coffee. 

“Thank you for letting me be part of this,” he nodded. “It means… everything to me. She does.”

You nodded. “You’re a natural.” 

He took the cup you handed him with a grateful nod, and you sat across from him. “How are you doing?” 

You stared at him like a deer in headlights for a moment then looked back down at your own mug. “Can I be honest?”

“Of course,” he assured you. “I want you to be.”

“I’m a bit… overwhelmed? If that’s the right word. This is all just… a lot,” you explained. “It’s just… I was a single mom for like 4 years, and now I have you and I guess I’m just still getting used to it. Not that it’s bad or anything, it’s just… different. But Mia and you get on so well, and you’ve been so kind throughout this whole process, so, thank you for that. It’s just-”

“Weird?” he offered, and you chuckled. 

“Weird,” you confirmed. “What about you?” 

“It’s been weird, obviously. But, I adore her. I knew I had cared about people before, but this is just… different. I didn’t think I could care about someone so much after you-” He cut himself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry-”

“It’s alright,” you shook your head. “I get what you mean.” 

He nodded. “She’s wonderful. She’s so smart. She’s so funny. She’s so… you, honestly,” he chuckled.

“She’s a mini me that looks like a mini you,” you laughed. He’d missed that laugh. He’d missed you. 

He nodded. “Well, yeah.”

“How does it feel to be leading the championship?” you asked, sipping your tea. 

He didn’t even think about F1 unless he was in the car. He just raced, and then rushed home to see you and Mia. He shrugged. “I haven’t really thought about it,” he breathed out a long sigh. “I guess it feels good?”

“You haven’t thought about it?” you gawked. 

“I usually rush home after races,” he admitted. “I like to talk to Mia about it.” 

“Oh,” you looked at him, then back down at your mug. “Well, y’know, we could come to the next one, if you want her there.”

“I’d want you there too,” he took your hand. “Both of you.” 

You nodded. “We could be there.”

“I’d like that,” he smiled, his thumb running over your knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.” 

“Alright,” you smiled flatly, but he could see something in your eye, something that made him think he was doing something right. “We’ll make it happen.” 

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“Oscar… is my dad?” Mia questioned. “How?” 

“Well, Oscar and I used to be in a relationship, and we loved each other very much. And we broke up before I knew I was pregnant with you, and I didn’t have a way to tell him you were on the way, but we saw each other in Australia and I told him then, and that’s why he’s been coming over so much,” you explained calmly and gently. 

She nodded for a moment. “That makes sense. Why did you two break up?” 

Both of you cringed and he turned to look at you. 

“Sometimes people may be the right fit, but it might just not be the right time in their lives for them to be together. That’s what happened with me and Oscar,” you spoke slowly, basically grasping at straws to think of something to explain your very complicated break up. 

Oscar tried not to let himself get excited at the fact that you still thought he was right right person for you, but it did make him fell quite good about himself. Right person, wrong time? He could work with that.

“So do I call Oscar; dad, or Oscar?” she asked, glazing over your explanation. 

“You can call me whatever you want,” he smiled. “Oscar, Osc, dad, anything.”

She nodded, studying him again. “I think I’ll call you dad,” he decided. “I like you a lot dad. Are you going to stick around now?” 

He chuckled. “I’m going to stick around until the end of time Mia,” he promised. “Swear.”

“And you and mom are going to get back together?” she asked sceptically.

“Umm,” he thought about it for a moment. “We don’t know.”

“Well you should. Mommy has been single since I was born, and she needs someone who’ll love her,” she blurted out as you covered your face with your hands. 

“Mia,” you groaned. 

“What?! It’s the truth!” Mia shrieked. 

“Anyway,” you changed the topic. “Do you have any other questions?” 

“Not really,” she admitted. “Am I going to have to go between dad and moms house?”

You looked at each other. “We haven’t really talked about that yet,” Oscar admitted. “Is that something you don’t want?” 

“No. It seems like a lot. I want both of you in the same house with me,” she shook her head. 

You turned to each other again. “Well, we’ll talk about it,” you smiled back at Mia. 

“Can dad stay over tonight?” She asked. “I want to watch a movie with him.”

“Of course he can sweetheart,” you smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll get dinner started.”

“I’ll clean up the playroom!” She called out as she ran in the direction of her room. 

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“That wasn’t bad,” he announced as he chopped up carrots. 

“Not at all,” you nodded, your mind a million miles away. 

“I thought she’d take it worse,” he sighed. “Oh, and I really don’t have to stay over tonight-“

“Nonsense,” you brushed him off. “We have a spare bedroom. It’s all yours.” 

“Thank you, for all of this,” he smiled. “She genuinely means everything to me.” 

“That makes two of us,” you smiled, a genuinely, real smile. The ones he was so used to back in the day.

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[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (16 - A Heart to Break)

Chapter Summary: This was cold, deliberate. Wanda wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. She was around, always there at team meetings, in training sessions, and the common areas. But she never acknowledged you. When she did look at you—on those rare occasions—it wasn’t to meet your eyes. It was to look through you, as if you weren’t even there.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Chapter Tags: Angst

A/N: I'd like thank all of you again for following this series. Getting asks or feedback for this story is always the highlight of my week, especially how busy I am with school. Hope you like more angst :) P.S. @justagaynerdsblog it's not what you think. It's not THAT kind of triangle, it's just two idiots in love and being stupid // More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

Wanda started dating Vision right away.

Much to your chagrin.

Not that you had any right to feel that way. You’d practically shoved her toward him, hadn’t you? Painting Vision as the perfect choice, the logical choice, the safe choice. You could almost laugh at how quickly they’d made it official. 

Well, almost.

Every time you saw them together, that laugh stuck somewhere in your throat. The compound wasn’t exactly big enough to avoid them. You saw them everywhere—Vision holding open a door for her, Wanda tilting her head back to laugh at something he said. It was all perfectly polite—just like you’d told her it would be. 

You told yourself it was fine. You had no right to feel jealous, no right to feel the knife that twisted in your chest every time Wanda smiled at him the way you wanted her to smile at you—how she used to smile at you.

Still, it grated.

You didn’t realize how much until the team dinner that Friday.

The dining room was rampageous, everyone laughing and talking over each other in a way that only happened when Tony was footing the bill and the drinks were flowing freely. Wanda sat next to Vision, their chairs too close, their hands brushing often enough to make your jaw clench every five minutes.

You’d taken a seat at the far end of the table, two spots down from Sam, who was loudly recounting some mission story that had Natasha rolling her eyes. You weren’t really listening. Your attention kept drifting to the other end of the table, where Wanda was leaning in to whisper something to Vision, her lips curving into a soft smile at his response.

You looked down at your plate, stabbing a piece of grilled chicken a little harder than necessary.

“Having fun there?”

You glanced up, startled, to find Sam smirking at you, his arms crossed like he’d been watching for a while.

“What?” you asked, your brain still catching up.

“You’re murdering your dinner,” he nodded toward your plate, “What’d that chicken ever do to you?”

You looked down and realized your fork was practically embedded in what used to be a respectable dinner. Now, it was just a mushy lump, draining what was left of your appetite. You loosened your grip and mumbled, “Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Sure you are,” Sam said with a wink, his grin widening before he went back to the group discussion.

At the other end of the table, Vision said something that made Wanda laugh. It wasn’t one of those fake ones (you could honestly tell) she gave when she felt like she had to. Against your better judgment, you risked a glance. Wanda’s eyes were bright, her head tipped slightly toward him, looking positively smitten. Vision said something else, and she laughed again, this time quieter, her hand brushing her hair back behind her ear.

“God, this is pathetic,” you muttered to yourself, barely audible.

“What’s pathetic?”

Natasha this time. For someone trying to keep their head down, you were doing a terrible job. 

“Nothing,” you mumbled quickly, hoping she'd let it go. 

Of course, she didn’t. “You’re sulking like a teenager, and it’s making everyone uncomfortable. Come on,” she said.

Before you could make your defense she was already on her feet, nodding for you to follow. You hesitated for a fraction, then pushed your chair back, grateful for the excuse to leave. You could feel Wanda’s gaze on you as you stepped away from the table, Natasha leading the way out.

By the time you reached the balcony, you were ready to empty the meager contents of your stomach. You hadn’t been eating well lately, and it was starting to take a toll on your training regimen. You’ve been skipping workouts more often this week, and Natasha had been noticing that too.

“You wanna talk about it?” she asked, though there’s no pressure in her tone of voice.

“Nope,” you replied, short and to the point.

Natasha shrugged, unbothered. “Suit yourself.” 

She shifted to one side of the balcony, pulling a cigarette from her back pocket and lighting it with the kind of flair that made you wonder if she smoked to think or just to piss people off.  She inhaled deeply, held it, exhaled away from you in a long, steady stream. 

You leaned against the railing, your fingers curling around the cold metal, trying to focus on the night sky rather than the conversation you knew was coming. Natasha never forced anything, but she didn’t let things go either. Not when she thought there was something worth digging into.

“This… push and pull with Wanda. It’s exhausting to watch, honestly,” she started.

You scoffed, almost exaggerating it. “I don’t know what you’re—”

“You were friends, real friends, and now you can’t even be in the same room without turning into this.”

“Into what?” you asked.

“Like a zombie, Y/N. And Wanda—or maybe Vision—is the brain you want to eat. You’re not yourself. What happened?”

“That’s ridiculous.” You bristled, looking away. “Nothing happened, okay?”

“Right. Because ‘nothing’ turns people into brooding messes who barely eat, barely train,” she countered.

You kept quiet. Natasha had no business knowing about this. If your face gave you away this evening, you were just going to have to fake it until you make it.

“Something happened, didn’t it?” Natasha said, not even bothering to disguise the accusation. “Between you two. Because this? This isn’t just awkward. It’s worse. My guess? You broke your own damn heart.”

“I don’t have—”

“A heart to break?” she cut in, rolling her eyes so hard you could practically hear them scrape against her skull. “Stop it. The more you deny it, the more it owns you. That’s how it works.”

You frowned, trying to parse where she was going with this.

“There’s a way to handle it,” she continued, exhaling smoke as if it carried some of her frustration with it. “You move on, Y/N. But, clearly, you’re doing it wrong.”

“You’re the expert now?”

“I’m saying I’ve been there,” Natasha said, taking another drag of her cigarette. “You’re stuck because you haven’t accepted the decision you made. And it’s eating you alive.”

“How do you know that I—”

“Oh, come on. Everyone knows Wanda’s been obsessed with you since she joined the team,” she said with a faint smirk. “And now she’s with Vision. It doesn’t take a genius to connect the dots. You chose something—or someone—and now you’re second-guessing yourself.”

What she said settled over you like a suffocating blanket. Natasha was right. It was the ‘what if?’ that’s been haunting you since you denied your feelings for Wanda—rather impulsively if you were being truly honest. 

“Do you… Do you think I made the right choice?”

“As much as I’d love to hand you the answer on a silver platter, I don’t have it,” Natasha said, brushing ash from the tip of her cigarette. “Only time will tell, I guess. But I will say this: you made your choice for a reason. Trust yourself on that, at least.”

Natasha pushed off the wall, brushing her hands against her pants. “Better get back inside before she comes looking for you.”

“She won’t.”

Natasha let out a dry, skeptical hum before heading back inside. You’d thought she’d dragged you out here to convince you to get Wanda back. But this was harder to swallow.

Trust yourself. 

As if it were that simple.

—

The fallout with Wanda this time was different. Different from all the other times you tried to jumpstart some version of a friendship or a co-working relationship and failed. It wasn’t the wary distance you’d both kept when she first arrived at the compound, when trust was something neither of you could afford to give. This was worse.

This was cold, deliberate. Wanda wasn’t avoiding you, not exactly. She was around, always there at team meetings, in training sessions, and the common areas. But she never acknowledged you. When she did look at you—on those rare occasions—it wasn’t to meet your eyes. It was to look through you, as if you weren’t even there.

She was always with Vision now. Rarely did you see her without him by her side. The team had started referring to them as Wanda and Vision, like they were one entity. It wasn’t, “Ask Wanda,” or, “Ask Vision.” It was, “Ask Wanda and Vision.” As if they’d merged into one seamless, perfect unit. When Vision wasn’t around, the questions still fell to Wanda, as if she spoke for him. When Wanda wasn’t around, Vision became her proxy. The separation between them had dissolved in everyone’s minds, and you hated it. Not because they didn’t deserve to be happy—no, you’d told yourself you wanted that for her. You just hadn’t realized how much it would hurt to watch it unfold right in front of you.

You told yourself you’d get used to it, that it was just a phase, but it wasn’t. It was more like a drawn-out misery you couldn’t escape. You missed her. You missed the easy banter you’d started to build before everything fell apart. You missed the way her sharp wit challenged you, the way she’d smirk when she knew she’d gotten under your skin just enough to make you react. You found yourself wondering if she still trained, if she was keeping up with the progress she’d been so proud of.

And sometimes, when you were alone in your room, you wouldn’t even turn up the music. You’d sit there in the quiet, waiting, straining to hear anything from her side of the wall. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d hear her playing the guitar—something she’d started doing more often in recent weeks. Most nights, though, it wasn’t the guitar you heard. It was Vision. Wanda’s voice rarely reached you, but when it did, it was laughter. Laughter that you didn’t cause, that wasn’t yours to hear anymore.

The worst of it came when they started leaving together. Late at night, when the compound had quieted down and most of the team had gone to bed, you’d hear the faint sound of their footsteps, see them heading toward the exit. You told yourself they were just walking, just talking, but you weren’t naïve. You knew what couples did late at night.

And they were a couple now.

—

You considered going back to your apartment in the city. It wasn’t far—just a few miles—but the missions were rolling in again, and timing was everything. It was easier to stay at the compound, to be ready for whatever disaster came next. Besides, throwing yourself into work was better than sitting alone in an empty apartment with your thoughts circling Wanda and Vision like vultures.

Missions came and went, and luckily, you weren’t paired with Wanda or Vision. Someone else was always available, someone else always volunteered. It was a small mercy you clung to as you poured yourself into the work. You kept yourself busy. Busier than usual. You took on every assignment thrown your way, volunteering for extra shifts, running double-time during debriefs. 

But the work didn’t just distract you—it became a way to punish yourself. You didn’t take unnecessary risks; you took reckless ones. If the odds were stacked, you went in headfirst.  It wasn’t that you wanted to get hurt—at least, not consciously—but somehow, the pain on the outside felt like the only thing that could dull the pain within.

And the wounds came. Small ones at first—a sprained wrist, a shallow cut above your brow. Then larger ones. A nasty gash along your arm during an ambush. Against protocol, you never went to the in-house medical team. You handled it yourself—bandaging wounds in your room, stitching yourself up with clenched teeth, biting down on a scrap of fabric to muffle the sounds of pain.

It was only a matter of time before your luck ran out.

—

The bullet grazed your side during a narrow escape, tearing through your jacket and slicing into your skin with brutal efficiency. You barely had time to think about it in the heat of the moment, too focused on getting out alive. But by the time you returned to the compound, the adrenaline had worn off, leaving nothing but the sharp, unrelenting pain and the blood—hot and stick— seeping through your fingers as you clutched your side.

Turning a corner, you nearly collided with Wanda, who was coming back from the gym. She was still in her workout gear, a towel slung over her shoulder, her hair pulled back, a light sheen of sweat on her skin. Her eyes darted up to meet yours, and for the first time in weeks, she didn’t look away immediately.

You managed a small nod and tacked on a weak smile for good measure. She returned the nod but the smile didn’t come. She moved to step past you, and you thought that would be the end of it.

But then you faltered—just a split-second wince as the pain surged, a grimace you couldn’t quite hide. Her steps slowed, her head turning slightly. Her eyes landed on your hand, pressed against your side, and then on the dark red stain spreading through your shirt.

“Wait,” she said sharply.  

“It’s fine,” you muttered, trudging along, trying to walk straight even though your side burned like hell.

Without a word, she turned back and then unwound the towel she had draped around her shoulders, stepping closer and pressing it firmly against your side. You jerked back at the pressure but didn’t stop her. Her hand stayed steady, though her expression betrayed none of what she might’ve been thinking. It wasn’t anger, or at least not just anger. 

“I’m calling the medic,” Wanda said.

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “It’s just a graze. I don’t need the medics.”

Wanda merely glared at your wound, though you could see the tightness in her jaw, the way her lips pressed into a thin line.

“You’re bleeding through a towel,” she said flatly.

“I just need the first-aid kit,” you mumbled, glancing toward the storage room. “That’s all.”

She didn’t look at you as she asked, “Where is it?”

“Why?” you asked cautiously.

“So we can patch you up.”

We.

Did she mean you and her? Or was this some prelude to Vision walking into the hallway and the couple patching you up together? You didn’t ask, though the thought burned in the back of your mind.

“It’s just right there,” you finally said, pointing weakly toward the door a few feet away.

She didn’t move right away. Her hands stayed where they were, pressing the towel firmly against your side, applying just enough pressure to slow the bleeding but not enough to stop your brain from wondering why the hell she was doing this. Wanda had made it pretty clear she wanted nothing to do with you. A wound like this wasn’t life-threatening at all. But she was treating it like you were on death’s doorstep, making it more difficult for you to ignore the flutter of feelings you’d been working so hard to bury.

After what felt like too long, Wanda stood, releasing her grip on the towel. “I’ll get it,” she said simply. You stayed where you were, slumped against the wall. The absence of her hands left you trembling slightly, and for the first time, you really felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at you, the weakness from blood loss settling in.

Fine. Maybe you’d lost more blood than you’d let on. Maybe being stubborn about not calling the medic wasn’t your brightest move. Still, you’d had worse. This didn’t even rank in your top five.

Wanda returned a moment later, but instead of handing you the first-aid kit, she surprised you by crouching beside you and looping your arm over her shoulder. Without a word, she guided you to the storage room, half-carrying you with surprising strength. Once inside, she maneuvered you to sit on a low bench against the wall, then turned away to open a cabinet. When she crouched back down in front of you, first-aid kit in hand, she didn’t so much as glance in your direction. She snapped the lid open and laid out the supplies.

“You don’t have to do this, Wanda,” you whispered, your voice scratchy and weak, which annoyed you more than the actual wound. You were starting to feel a little loopy, unsure if this was really happening or just a dream—if you were dead somewhere else or still lost in sleep in your bed. If it were the former, you thought, it was certainly a good way to go. It made you smile without realizing it, which only seemed to make Wanda more alarmed.

Now moving with a bit more urgency, she grabbed a bottle of antiseptic and a piece of gauze, pouring the liquid onto it before pressing it against your wound unceremoniously. You hissed, waking you up a little, your hand gripping the edge of the chair as the pain flared. She didn’t acknowledge the sound, her attention fixed on cleaning the blood away.

“Stay still,” she warned after you’ve shied away too far.

When she pulled out a needle and thread, your stomach sank like a stone in dark water. “Stitches?” you muttered, though it barely qualified as a question—more of a sigh, defeated before the fight even started.

“It’s deep enough,” she reasoned, her tone leaving no room for argument. 

The first stab of the needle lit up your nerves, a white-hot jolt that ripped through your side. You sucked in air through clenched teeth, fists balled tight at your sides.

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered under your breath.

“Stop moving,” she said, her voice maddeningly calm.

You didn’t stop moving, not entirely, but you managed to keep your whimpers to a minimum as the needle went in again. And again. At some point, the pain dulled—not because it got easier, but because it started to blur, your skin either numbing or your brain deciding it had enough.

When she tied off the last one, she grabbed the bandages, wrapping them around your torso.  The bandage had to loop around your waist, and for that, she leaned in, her arms slipping behind you. She was so near that you could almost count the freckles scattered across her nose. The proximity made you hyper-aware of yourself—how you reeked of blood, smoke, and sweat, and how there was nowhere to hide from it.

And then it was over. She finished without ceremony, knotting the bandage with quick fingers before standing and turning away. For a moment, she hovered by the cabinet, her back to you, her shoulders stiff.

“Don’t make me do this again,” she murmured so quietly that you couldn’t quite decipher the emotion behind it.

Her words should’ve felt like an admonition, but instead, they landed like a plea. You weren’t sure if she was talking about the stitches or something much more complicated. And as you watched the way her shoulders sagged slightly, the way her head dipped like the fight had drained out of her, it hit you—this wasn’t easy for her either. None of it was.

“Wanda…” Her name came out too soft, like you didn’t really want her to hear it. Like you weren’t sure what you were going to say next.

“Get some rest,” she murmured, the words almost tender—

But final.

[rock-in-robins]

imagine you're barbara gordon, your 24-25ish you've been paralyzed from the waist down because men fucking suck. You've established yourself as one of, if not, the most powerful information brokers in the world and here comes this teenage girl. she can't talk, she's fucking deadly, she learns new weapons in minutes and suddenly your in charge of her. You're arguing with batman not even for fun but because you've seen how his teaching ends (re: your boyfriend/ex/best friend/dick) but he has a point, this girl needs a mission, she needs something that you can't give. You don't know this girl but you want to. You're batgirl - or you were. She is batgirl now, your oracle now and your okay with that you are. but sometimes you miss the sky and now your a mentor/sister/mother and your not quite sure what to do.

[visenyaism]

top ten clinically depressed asoiafers

I don’t think anyone ever wrote out the Westerosi DSM but I’ll take a crack at it.

Honorable Mention- Mance Raider and Qhorin Halfhand. We don’t get enough to make a full conclusion because it’s not important to Jon’s story so this is just a vibe but I feel it strongly.

10. Rhaena the Lesbian- like one of two actually great fire and blood characters. Convalescing in Harrenhal for like a decade after her wife left her and her third husband killed all her girlfriends plus she was one dead kid and one dead mother down. Kind of epic. Should have survived long enough to be weird and bitter to Jaehaerys’ insane children.

9. Daemon Targaryen- hey speaking of killing yourself in Harrenhal. Him never being happy with what he had or knowing what he wanted beyond getting his big brother to be proud of him so he just had to constantly chase dopamine in the form of insane levels of violence grooming teenagers and getting his cop frat brother employees to like him for money. Chemical imbalance with a body count in the thousands for his last midlife crisis wife leaving teenager grooming riverlands murder suicide bender alone.

8. Rhaegar Targaryen- Hey speaking of making your clinical depression everyone else’s problem at Harrenhal leading to the death of thousands. Why do people keep letting them do this is the question. Could estrogen have saved her is the second realer question

7. Lysa Arryn. Free her.

6. Daeron the Drunken- what if you were HAUNTED by PROPHETIC DREAMS that were only BAD and spelled the death and doom of your ENTIRE FAMILY and you COULDNT ESCAPE THEM except through SUBSTANCES and you were also the HEIR and your DAD was so DISAPPOINTED IN YOU and you had to take your RUDE and disrespectful plucky BABY KING ARTHUR brother to the CIRCUS and he was TEN and BALD and picked up by the hedge knight you DREAMED OF because he is going to INSTIGATE TO THE ETERNAL MISERY OF YOUR FAMILY a little bit on accident because you are DRUNK. NO HOPE. also honorable mention to post-fratricide Maekar who just locks himself in summerhall for years and post-treason court hostage Daemon II Blackfyre. I hope he and Daeron got brunch.

5. Ned Stark- classic flavor original variant Father Depression. Things went wrong for him young that he will never explain to anyone ever and they form a veil that serves as a barrier between him and the world and everyone he loves. Poor Ned.

4. Stannis Baratheon. Never let himself enjoy anything ever. Melancholy from birth. Rude and extremely blunt with everyone. Smiles twice both at Davos. Anorexic. Bald. Who among us has not been there.

3. Alannys Harlaw Greyjoy- finding out that Theon and Asha have an alive mom who is a gothic horror attic wife who never recovered from the loss of her family to the point that she’s still asking when all her dead and missing sons are going to come home to her and then Theon comes home and does not visit her. Actually agonizing for me the reader

2. Jon Connington- I’m about to get real sincere with these last two because Dance was a really good book that hit at a pivotal time for me. Everything he is in the world to do is motivated by this deep and profound grief and repression that simultaneously makes him a worse person (hungry to commit war crimes) and his best self (dives into the river to save Tyrion contracting greyscale in the process, being as loving and supportive of a father to Young Griff as anyone really could possibly be in this series.) The fact that he is such a late-game addition but feels like a missing piece as a character because of the emotional weight he carries is really cool. I love all his chapters. Tried to grasp a star overreached and fell is so powerful.

1. Tyrion Lannister- I adore his dance with dragons chapters where after his big moment of patriarchal catharsis he is suicidal and misanthropic and an alcoholic and hurting himself and others. It is really compelling because sometimes people get worse. And yet this is interspersed with moments where he is confronted with real genuine danger or real genuine joy and he consistently chooses to be kind to others for no material gain. Like comforting Penny during the storm or tackling a Stone Man into the Rhoyne to to save Young Griff’s life. Arguably these moments do not outweigh all of the harm he is actively inflicting, but they do show that he is incorrect about his self concept that he’s a monster and is actually just a deeply hurt person who has been traumatized so profoundly and is struggling as a result of it.

[jaiel]

AU based off this.

(Warning long)

Background info:

Danny and Billy met as heroes. Identity reveal and realizing they’re the same age (16) but have alter egos that are older. They eventually start dating.They get married in their adult forms for tax benefits and to keep them both from being homeless since Billy is bouncing from foster homes and Danny was on the run. Dan and Dani aren’t in the picture to make things easier on them for now.

They fight to handle their problems because Danny comes from a species where fighting is how you say hello and Billy is a magical greek champion and patron of magic. So their language of choice when words aren’t working is fighting. They both have healing factors and hormonal teenage boys so it’s not issues. Until the league takes notice.

Imagine Danny and Billy getting sat down for an intervention. The league is tired of them coming in injured. They think Danny is abusing Billy. They also don’t know about Danny’s real age. They think he’s an immortal posing as a teenage because of his appearances in history. Meanwhile Danny was just time traveling. He also still has unresolved trauma from a lot of things.

Billy snd Danny float in, in their respective hero identities to the whole league staring at them in the meeting room. Before they could fully process it snd turn on their heels and dip. Superman suddenly locked them into the meeting room and blocked the door. Danny and Billy look at each other.

“I think we’re in trouble..” Marvel stage whispers.

“Nooooooo I think they just wanna play Mario kart.” Danny sassily whispers back.

Marvel sighs figuring Danny was annoyed he made them use the tubes instead of flying up to the watch tower. In his defense, Batman had said it was important and he didn’t want Danny getting distracted by space and making them late AGAIN. He was taken out of his thoughts by Dinah and Diana walking towards them and gesturing to seats in the in front of the other leaguers.

“Phantom, Captain Marvel. We would appreciate if you sit and hear us out.” Diana said firmly. Giving little room for wiggle room.

“I told you we should’ve went to the moon first.” Danny grumbled already moving to the seats to sit and marvel followed suit.

“Good. We gathered you today because we are concerned about you two. We as a team….as a family have noticed some concerning behaviors over the past few months. We would like to share them with you. After we share we will allow you to respond. We are here to help.” Dinah said in her typical calm voice that she used for therapy.

In the corner of his eyes he could see Danny cross his arms and float ever so slightly above the chair. His deathly slow heart rate picking up ever so slightly.

“I’ve noticed since you’ve been married. Both of you have came to meetings and incidents already injured. Just last week Phantom had various bruising on his neck, a black eye and a broken leg when he came in to finish his reports. However there had been no incidents of crime on that day or reports.” Batman remarked squinting his eyes at Shazam.

“Marvel, you yourself have come in with broken ribs and other bones on multiple occasions. Even needing to sit out of missions a few times in the last couple of months.” Wonder Woman added shifting her gaze from Marvel to Danny. Oh so that’s what this is about. It should be an easy fix. Hopefully he could keep Danny calm enough for it to happen. He began to reach for the others hand when-

Screeching of a chair scrapping against the floor made everyone’s head turnt to Green Lantern.

“Ight since everyone’s to scared to say it. We know you’ve been beating on Marvel, PHANTOM! We know about your brawls at point Nemo and you both do a horrible job hiding your injuries. It’s outrageous that you claim to be a hero but beat on YOUR OWN HUSBAND!” Green lantern yelled accusingly floating into the air. There was a mixture of agreements and muttering. Some of the senior league members glaring daggers at GL. Clearly this wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

“Isn’t Marvel a little too young for you anyways?” The Flash muttered.

Before Marvel could say anything. There was an ice spike shot directly where the Flash had been sitting. Upon impact the spike had covered the chair. The Flash himself having dodged and stood staring at them offendedly. The air around them dropped until everyone’s breath began to show like vapor. He looked at Danny whose hands were shaking as ice formed around his chair.

“Phantom, my spookie, spook it’s okay. They’re just concerned. They don’t know.” Marvel said grabbing onto one of Danny’s hands snd wincing at how cold it was. He refused to let go until Danny met his eyes.

His head had been down as he hadn’t been making eye contact since the conversation started. Marvel should’ve known something was up when there wasn’t any banter or sass coming from him. Danny’s glowing green eyes had a white reflective slit in the middle. Like the reflective eyes of a cat and his face seemed to shift or glitch ever so slightly.

“I can’t do this again.” He whispered. Small tears could be seen. Evaporating off his pale skin. “I’m not a monster.”

“I know. You’re not a monster.” He said cupping Danny’s face in his hands.

Smiling as Danny leaned into his touch. A good sign that he wouldn’t try to impale anyone else. He could hear speaking in the background but he tried to ignore it and focus on Danny.

“Now if you could stop giving us all the cold shoulder I would appreciate it.”

His attempted at a joke worked when he got a small snort out of Danny. His eyes dimming slightly as the ice began to vaporize into the air.

“I know it’s a big step but I would appreciate if you follow my lead. I’ll do your chores for the next 3 months.” He prompted looking Danny in the eyes. Danny looked back at him searching his face. He knew that Danny had found what he was looking for when the other frowned deeply.

“The rest of the year.” Danny said with a straight face that left absolutely no room for arguments. Marvel signed.

“Fine.”

“Swear it!” Danny demanded as his voice reverberated as if multiple people were talking. He hated when he did that.

“Fine! I swear on the river Styx that I will do your chores for the rest of the year.” Marvel proclaimed loudly. He could hear Wonder Woman gasp at the mention of the river. He took Danny’s waiting hand as green fire enveloped them as they shook.

He then turned to the alarmed members of the league. Some shocked, some in battle stances, some in confusion but all staring at Phantom and Marvel.

Danny watched as Marvel said the magic words. “Shazam” and transformed back into Billy with the strike of mysterious lightning. Wearing his classic red hoodie, jeans and sneakers. He snickered silently kneeling they were wearing the same thing since Danny had just taken Billy’s clothes. Billy cleared his throat.

“Some of you know. Others don’t. I’m Billy Batson. I am Captain Mavrel. It seems we have a few misunderstandings we need to clear up.” He said trying to stand up straighter like when he’s trying to sound more mature.

“You have the floor Billy.” Batman states. Raising a hand to stop all sounds of objections and shock from other members.

“Thank you. I’ll state the facts clearly. Me and a Phantom are in a healthy relationship. Phantom is an appropriate age to be dating me. We appreciate your concern but your this intervention is unwarranted. I won’t speak for Danny but I take offense at you accusing him of mistreating me and accusations against his character.” He said becoming very sharp towards then end.

Where he glared at Green Lantern and The Flash. His fist clenched but he took a breath and calmed himself. He then turned to Phantom. Danny could see that it was his time to be included. Billy’s blue eyes were soft but the unspoken question of ‘do you trust me?’ Was all but spoken. Danny sighed and mustered his courage as he let the white rings envelop him and he got up to stand next to Billy. Quickly taking his hand.

“Would you like to introduce yourself? I can do it for you.” Billy turned his head to whisper in his ear. Danny shook his head and instead clenched Billy’s hand a little harder.

“My name is Daniel Fenton. Call me Danny but you know me as Phantom. I’m 16 snd a half ghost of the Infinite Realms.” Danny said as he let himself look over the shocked faces of the League.

“You expect us to believe you’re telling the truth? We have seen evidence of you throughout history.” Aquaman countered. “Some of us even have ran into you in our youth.”

“Aquaman I don’t sense any lies come from either of them. This meeting also wasn’t supposed to be accusatory.” Martian Manhunter spoke up. “We gathered to check on the well fare of both of our members.”

“Manhunter is right. We shouldn’t be throwing accusations. The league is founded on mutual trust and understanding.” Superman stood in.

Wonder Woman stood from where she had been sitting and walked towards the two boys. Billy moved forward to put space between her and Danny. She stopped in front of them and took the lasso off her hip. She held it out.

“Would you consent to the lasso of Truth? Simply to ease the minds of some of our more stubborn members.” She said mainly looking at Danny.

In a relationship, even a fake one, there will always be fights. Billy and Danny know this from experience. But they are only teenagers and sometimes can’t have calm conversations, although they try. Then they get the idea to fight in Point Nemo, where they can’t hurt anyone. After all, the fights take place in the forms of Captain Marvel and Phantom. Their fights are of very different nature. Who will take out the trash? Let’s fly to Point Nemo. Who will get Dan out of Gotham again? Point Nemo. Is someone offended? They will sort everything out in Point Nemo!

Aquaman senses that sometimes the ocean is not calm and the sea creatures are worried and scared. And when he arrives at the scene of the disturbance, he sees Marvel and Phantom fighting, figuring out who will wash the dishes today. Arthur does not know the reason and thinks that there is a fight between them, a pretty brutal fight, with blood, screams and all that. Let's just say he did not like it. And he told the rest of the League about it.

The League already doesn't like Phantom, and this is a great opportunity to throw even more stones at him.

[car-o-line]

I absolutely love your work!! Keep it up!! :D

May I request Doey(trios!!) with a reader that’s seriously injured and is a teenager doing Poppy’s work?

Have a nice day/afternoon/night!! <33

Sincerely, a person named Aiden!

AAHH IM ADDING THAT PICTURE TO MY CAMARA ROLL HE’S A CUTIE!!! everyone say thank you to Aiden for gracing us with this request and if you don’t Kevin WILL come for you(NOT CLICKBAIT 3:00AM CHALLENGE)

Doey’s spirits dealing with a teenager that’s injured(as player)

Warning: Blood, injury😱😱😱

editing me anyway poppy and Kev are the same color but I’m pretty sure you can tell who’s who

Matthew Hallard:

Okay so first of all-

He was reluctant to let you continue doing tasks for Poppy because you’re still erm A TEEN. And the last thing he wants is another child being brought up into this mess, especially when you’re probably so tired and worn out.

But with some whining to him on your end and Poppy’s nagging he finally gave in. He did say that if you couldn’t come back that this was Poppy’s fault(you can do no wrong in his eyes <3)

Before you left Safe Haven, Matthew had to push Jack or Kevin out of Doeys control just so he could make sure you have everything you need.

“Do you have a snack?”

“Mhm..”

“Water for the snack?”

“Yea.”

“Bandages in case you get hurts? A plushy so you won’t be alone?”

“I’m not five Doey-”

Not even 10 minutes later after you left Safe Haven, Kissy swore to everything pink she heard a scream, that sounded just like you. She didn’t say it verbally but Poppy understood what she meant and quickly told Doey to go find you.

Long story short, it was Yarnaby. You were trying to collect the Omi-hand and you ran into the fuzzy lion.

The creature tried to bite your arm off but thankfully your Grab-pack pulled you up towards a vent. Sadly, he did manage to bite your arm, just not completely off.

Matthew immediately panicked and went searching for you right away, he was upset at Poppy for letting you go but he could speak with her another time, right now his focus was on you not dying.

Once he got to you, your whole arm was covered blood. He was even more panicked at the sight and quickly picked you up with his gentle arms and hurriedly brought you back to Safe Haven.

On the way back if your arm like uhm, wasn’t bleeding everywhere you would’ve hear him mumbling, “Back to Safe Haven, back to Safe Haven.”

Once you both were back he didn’t waste any time getting you to and bed and calling the medic, all the other toys were horrified. The blood from your arm splashing onto the ground from how quickly Doey was going.

When you started crying from the pain he tried his best to relax himself so he can relax you. Like distracting you from the Medic who was putting pressure on your wound, maybe reading a book to you or speaking about the random thoughts he has.

After you recovered he knows one thing for sure, you are not to leave Safe Haven for a while until your arm has fully healed and even then when you do leave he or Kissy Missy will accompany you during that time.

Kevin Barnes:

Okay so he actually didn’t care that much when he found out “Poppy’s Angel” was just a young teen. He believed that you were just another troubled kid like the rest of them except you just weren’t an experiment.

But he did slightly care, you’re still a kid at the end of the day. Not a toy, experiment, just a human.

Anyway, Poppy told you to collect food for yourself and the other toys, unlike Matt, Kevin actually encouraged it as well. Everyone was starving and who could be the best candidate for collecting food other than someone who killed Mommy Longlegs and Catnap?

Poppy wished you well as you left Safe Haven.

“Hey Kev..”

“What?”

“Don’t you think it’s worrying Y/n isn’t back yet, it’s been a long time.”

“Hm..Jacks right, we should go check on them.”

And so that’s what Kevin did, he didn’t tell anyone, just leaving(Much to Matthew’s dismay)

When he was going around the outsides of Safe Haven he spotted a figure in the distance, crawling on the ground from what he could tell. He thought it was a humanoid toy until he heard your voice, calling his name.

That’s when Kevin started to act and ran towards you, stopping near you and staring at you bloodied body.

What happened was, the doctor kinda cooked ur ass up<3

You were going to get food but the mf had like a villain entrance and went after you. You were so close to killing him, but you got distracted by a smiling critter and didn’t see one of the doctor’s clones after you. It was then too late when the doctor stabbed your leg with his sharp fingers. Running off by adrenaline you ran as fast as you could but eventually passed out and when you woke up, no one was there to help you causing you to crawl your way back to Safe Haven.

Kevin was embarrassingly(in his words) freaking out and surprised by how you lasted this long.

“HOW DID Y/N NOT EVEN DIE”

“THAT DOESN’T MATTER RIGHT NOW, THE FACT WAS THAT YOU WANTED TO BE IN CHARGE SO BRING THEM TO SAFE HAVEN KEVIN”

So he did, but unlike Matt(I’m so tired of saying Matthew istg), he was a bittttttt rough. So Matt had to yell at him to be more gentle.

Once he got back he dropped you off on a bed and started yelling at the Medic to do their job.

Once both you and him calmed down he told you that you’re never leaving Safe Haven ever again.

He also told you that you had to publicly apologize to all the other toys for worrying them so much(you didn’t because Jack told him to stop yelling at you and then he forgot about it)

After that he’d be a little nicer, he knows what you went was painful physically and emotionally so there’s no real reason to be that mad at you for messing it up.

“I told you not to go.”

“You encouraged me actually!”

“You encouraged me actually🤓☝️”

Jack Ayers:

Him being the stupid little ############# that he is he was actually happy that you were young!

In his mind that meant you would play with him and the other toys more than if you were an adult.

But when Matt told him everything you’ve been through he felt sad, buttttttttt he felt happy again when he realized that you’re in Safe Haven now and nothing could hurt you anymore.

But then,

“Hey Y/n..”

“Poppy go away I’m making something.”

“You know this is serious right?”

“…”

“…What are you making?”

“Hopscotch mat!”

“Oh! That should be fun..hm. Anyway, like I was about to say you need to get use some extra batteries.”

That made you frown instantly, but! Since you’re such a good person you went anyway.

Jack, who was in charge at the time, asked you where you were going when you were just about to leave. You told him the truth and he wished you luck.

It had been about 7 hours since you’ve left and Jack was worried sick, he kept insisting that he should go look for you but Poppy said that you were probably just taking your time.

That was until a loud crash was heard outside of Safe Haven, a loud, loud, one.

Jack didn’t even wait a second before making Doey sprint out that door, even if Kevin was yelling and him not to.

Finally after about 25 minutes he found your body next to a battery, unconscious and under a large machine, what happened was that when you used your grab pack to collect the battery from the machine. You pulled too hard and the whole machine collapsed onto you.

Jack was rightly horrified and started sobbing on the spot, so much that Matthew had to take over and lifted the heavy machinery off you just to pick up your body.

Running as quickly as he could he finally made it to Safe Haven and called the Medic over frantically.

Jack soon convinced Matthew to let him in charge so he could watch over you, he didn’t sleep at all that night, just making sure he was awake so you wouldn’t be alone in the tent when you woke up.

When you did wake up Jack was thrilled and almost started crying again, he gently held your hand in his and promised you that he wouldn’t let you get hurt anymore.

Not after that.

Idk why this took me so long, it was really fun to do this tho!🤪

[81pastrys]

Driving lessons?

Summary— When Carlos Sainz III is old enough for his road license, who’s better than his formula one driver of a father to teach him how to drive?

Warnings— none

A/N— Carlo is his nickname, Viviana makes a small appearance along with Lando.

Translations— ‘Mi hija’ : daughter ‘Mi hijo’ : son ‘si, mi Amor’ : yes, my love

Carlos had feared this day for around 17 years. When his son would ultimately need to get a real drivers license and not one for a junior formula. He was acting fine, until his wife forced him to dish lessons to his son. Almost spitting image of his father. “Papa, I don’t want to crash your car!” His son argued.

“Carlo, you’ll be fine.” Carlos said calm, despite the anxiety levels rising in his body. “It’s only my Bentley mi hijo, and I’ll be riding with you.” He added. As if she knew there was something to tease her brother about, Viviana entered the room.

“Scared of driving?” She laughed. Carlos gave her a look. “What? He drives a formula 2 car, how hard can it really be?” She defended herself against her father’s look.

“I’d like to see you try.” Carlo said. The teenagers go back and forth a minute before Carlos interjects. “Papa, it’s different!”

“I know, so then let’s go.” Carlos encouraged. The boy rolled his eyes and followed his dad out the front door. “Mi hija, don’t forget your chores. Mama will be home from work soon.” The 15 year old rolled her eyes but went on to do her chores as asked.

Carlos, being as rich as he is, pulled into the reserved karting track for his son to practice driving. They swapped seats and Carlos felt his hands get clammy at the thought. His little boy all grown up and about to drive his luxury car around a karting track.

“First, I want you to adjust everything.” He sighed. “The seat, mirrors, anything.” His son did just that. Moving the seat to accommodate his tall figure and mirrors to see everything necessary. “Okay, to shift gears, press the break firmly.”

“How different is this from my racing car?” His son asked. The nerves slamming his emotions completely now. The thought was one thing, but he’s actually sitting in a driver seat.

“Not too different, you just don’t feel the constant air or adrenaline rush.” Carlos explained. The car hummed quietly as they talk about the differences more.

“Okay, press the break and shift?” Carlo confirmed. He got a nod from his father and did so, shifting into drive. “Do I change the gears?” He asked, foot still on the break.

“Not today mi hijo, that’s for another day.” Carlos chuckled. The car started rolling forward slowly. Carlo hit the gas lightly and felt the speed pick up. He stayed at a comfortable 30kph. “See it isn’t hard, just need practice.” Carlos reassured.

They drive the track until sunset when Carlos deemed it too dark. Carlos drove them home for dinner. A familiar car in the parking garage. “Wait why is Lando here?” Carlo asked.

“He is?” Carlos asked before seeing the McLaren. “Ahh Vivi probably called him for something.” Sure enough Lando got a call from the girl about being scared for her brother. Lando was always welcome, hence why he stayed for dinner.

“How was it?” He questioned. He knew Carlos had been shitting his pants over this moment for years. He asked the question casually, although Carlos saw the mischief in his friend’s eyes.

“It was so cool.” Carlo said. Lando smiled along with Carlos. “It really isn’t that different to be honest.” He admitted.

“Clear track right Carlos?” His wife had a condescending tone. Carlos did inform her of their whereabouts and the plan he had. They stuck to the plan, knowing if they didn’t they were both getting scolded.

“Si, mi amor.” Carlos responded.

I felt it right for his son to be the third.

We don’t talk about how this was posted for 6 hours without me noticing the wrong suffix was used 🤫🤫

[mrs-kmikaelson]

apollo

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x sunshine!reader Summary: Aaron thinks you're just about the most radiant person he's ever met. But then you fly too close to the sun, and all your light disappears. Warnings: grumpy x sunshine turned not sunshine, references to greek myth of icarus and the sun god helios, apollo lore, violence, mentions of reaper arc, heartbreak, complicated relationships, avoidance, unresolved trauma, feelings, hopeful ending Words: 4.8K

Masterlist | icarus (part 1) | helios (part 2)

a/n: this is the end! thank u for all the love! i love this series sm, and i'll prolly end up writing lil blurbs for it (esp at ur request). there's sm feelings in this one. enjoy!

"I need to leave, Y/N."

"Wait— wait, we can talk about this, can't we?" You stepped closer to her, distraught colouring your face. "We can get you help."

She shook her head, a sad smile crossing her face as if she was saying she knew you wouldn't understand. Poor, sweet Y/N, her eyes said. Too good for this world. Too naïve. Too hopeful. What she ended up saying was, "No, Y/N. I can't."

"I— I don't understand." Tears welled up in your eyes. Her words didn't make sense. None of it made sense.

The smile on her face never fell. Only a single tear did, racing down her cheek. It occurred to you then that you'd never seen her cry.

"Oh, Y/N/N." She grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. "I hope you never have to."

When she let go of your hand, you knew there was nothing more you could say. She was leaving, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it.

But, deep down, you knew she'd already been long gone.

"Goodbye, Y/N."

And before you knew it, she was out the door, too far away to hear you whisper back.

"Goodbye, Elle."

When Elle left, you didn't understand it. As the only female profilers, you stuck together like glue. You both came from units where you were at the top of your game, just to be shuffled back down to the bottom, having to learn an entirely new competence.

You didn't get it. The work tore her away. The job took too much away from her, took too much out of her. But that was the job. But what about you?

She could walk away from the job, fine. But why did she walk away from you?

You didn't get it then. Too young. Too naïve. Too hopeful.

But now you were older. You knew too much. The hope had been sucked out of you.

You understood now.

You understood what it meant to not be able to take it anymore, to not be able to face the people you loved while knowing you weren't the same. And you wanted to. You desperately wanted things to go back to the way they were. 

You wanted to go back to Rossi ruffling your hair, cracking jokes about your age but always knowing he took you seriously. You wanted to go back to lunch breaks with Penelope, talking about your nails and boys and feeling like a teenager. You wanted to back to laughing in Emily's apartment, her cat crawling across your lap. You wanted to go back to watching sci-fi movies with Reid, too convoluted to grasp. You wanted to go back to when Derek would tease you instead of treating you like you were made of glass. You wanted to go back to watching JJ's son without her wondering if you were in the state of mind to do it.

And Hotch.

Aaron. 

You wanted to hit rewind to before everything happened, if not just to be at his side again. Before you tried to kiss him and before he pulled away. Before a serial killer decided he was God and your life was his to play with.

But you couldn't, and now you understood Elle better than you ever did. Because no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't be the same sunshine everyone loved. 

You couldn't stay there anymore.

You submitted your resignation. You didn't know what happened next—you never thought further along than the BAU.

But you had to leave.

You understood now.

You wished you didn't.

— 

The words echoed throughout your head on a loop.

Hotch. Accident. Hospital.

The Reaper.

If it hadn't been for Morgan, you would've jumped into that SUV and driven there immediately. But he stopped you, taking away the keys and regarding you with a soft but firm stance. You both knew it wasn't safe for you to drive.

You didn't talk about the reasons why.

Now, you sat to Aaron's left. He was sleeping. He'd never seemed so peaceful.

How ironic it was that he had to be stabbed before he took a break. Even if you knew it wasn't peaceful, not really.

A U.S. Marshal had just come and retrieved Jack and Haley, taking them to an undisclosed location. Their lives were upended. His life was upended.

Your fearless leader, stony and brave. He approached every challenge with determination, like he knew he could beat it. Aaron Hotchner was a man who won battles. But when you walked into that hospital room, for the first time since you met him, he looked afraid.

He looked like he'd already lost.

Your heart squeezed in your chest. It wasn't fair. 

Suddenly, a mumble broke you out of your thoughts. "I can hear you thinking in my sleep."

You looked down, seeing him slowly open his eyes. You fixed him with a smile, even though it didn't feel right on your lips. Be brave, Y/N, your mind chided. He'd be brave for you. "Really? I can hear you thinking in your sleep."

His face remained blank, unfazed by your attempt to change the subject. He did that often—calling you out. Never maliciously, always with the greater good at heart. But he knew you. Sometimes, it felt like he knew you too well.

You wondered, did you know him as well as he knew you? 

You liked to think so.

Like usual, you crumbled under his gaze, looking away. If you kept looking at him, nothing would stop the onslaught of tears from making their way down your face, and you wouldn't do that to him. You wouldn't cry; it wasn't your right to. You weren't his wife. 

But you were something. Enough of something to feel the need to cry, anyway.

A shaky exhale left your lips. "Why do bad things always happen to good people?"

The room was silent after your question, the only sounds being his heart monitor and the shuffling of the hospital outside. The beeping felt like a taunt, a reminder that Aaron's life hung in the balance, that he could've died.

It made you realize that you weren't specific enough. What you really meant was, why did bad things always happen to him?

Aaron Hotchner. The leader. The father. A good man. The best man you'd ever met.

The man you'd fallen in love with.

When he responded, you could hear the despair in his voice, like he had the same questions.

But for once, he didn't have the answers.

"I don't know."

—

You didn't have to knock on Aaron's door long before he was opening it, having expected you. You grinned, holding up the brown bags in your hands. "I come bearing gifts. Chinese."

"You're a godsend," he praised, undoing his house alarm. You had helped him install it when he got out of the hospital, no questions asked. 

While he did that, you placed the food on the table, going to grab some plates and drinks. This was the rhythm you'd settled into, a routine. You came over every other night under the guise of updating him with your cases, but really, it was a lot more than that for you.

You hoped it was for him, too.

You always brought food. Sometimes, he even cooked (it was edible). It was your way of making sure he ate.

You never talked about what happened. He never talked about Haley or Jack, even though you knew they were the only thing on his mind. You talked about work, and the weather, and what movies you were gonna be watching after dinner, but never anything that mattered.

You didn't need to. This, being here, mattered. You didn't need anything more than that.

You just wanted him to know he wasn't alone. No matter what happened, you'd always be there for him. This was your way of showing that.

After watching a movie you didn't pay much attention to, you stood at the door, shrugging on your coat. You were just about to leave when his hand enveloped your wrist, making you turn around.

Curiously, you stared up at him. "Hotch?" Your voice was soft, the kind of soft that came with fragile things. Fragile. Delicate. Valuable.

Aaron opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking like he knew exactly what he wanted to say without knowing how to say it. He could command a room with quiet confidence, negotiate with the most unstable unsubs and power-hungry police chiefs, and give a profile like no one you'd ever met. But when it came to his own emotions, he was at a loss for words.

You weren't used to seeing that. There was something about it. You didn't like watching him struggle, but some part of you was satisfied that you could make him pause. It made you think that, maybe, he thought about you the same way you thought about him.

Just maybe.

When he seemed to collect his thoughts, he spoke. "Thank you." He didn't take his eyes off you, making sure you knew how earnest he was.

Your breath got caught in your throat. The weight of his gaze told you everything else he wasn't saying. How this wasn't just a thank you for the food or the DVD. This was a thank you for everything.

But, in your eyes, he had nothing to thank you for.

So you smiled and said, "Don't mention it."

And you hoped he knew how earnest you were, too.

—

You awoke to loud pounding on your door.  You remained motionless, hoping the person would get bored and go away, but the knocking persisted.

Glancing at your alarm clock, you groaned. It was far too early for anyone to be visiting you. Today, any time would be too early. But the knocking only continued, so with another groan, you rolled out of bed, throwing on a sweater in a hassle as you yelled, "I'm coming!"

You muttered curses to yourself all the way to the door, hastily unlocking it. When you finally threw it open, you were ready to give someone a piece of your mind, only to bet met with who you were least expecting.

Your mouth fell open slightly, all your curses dying on your tongue. And like you'd been doused in water, you suddenly felt wide awake.

On the other side of the threshold, Derek Morgan gave you a soft smile, his expression light while his eyes carried all the heavy things you thought you left at the BAU.

Now, all those things were at your doorstep.

"Hi, princess." He paused. "We have to talk."

— 

You would've thought that, after all your time in the BAU, you would've gotten used to hospitals.

Apparently not.

As your eyelids fluttered open, you were disoriented, instantly closing them again at the sheer bright lights. The sound of feet shuffling came to your ears, followed by a flicking sound.

When you opened your eyes again, the lights were off, and Derek Morgan stood in front of you. He gave you his classic smile, but for some reason, it looked a little tighter than usual, a little bit harder to conceive.

What had happened? Why did he look so sad? Was he okay?

"D-Derek?" you croaked, interrupted by a cough.

Quick on his feet, he was soon passing you a glass of water, guiding the straw into your mouth. "Easy there, easy. There you go." He was tending to you like you were a sick child. You weren't sick. You weren't a child.

What happened? Why was he taking care of you? Why did you need to be taken care of?

When he removed the straw from your mouth, you repeated your question. "Derek, what's wrong?"

He looked like he didn't want to answer you. Instead, he countered, "Y/N, do you remember what happened?"

As if his question singlehandedly opened pandora's box, pain suddenly radiated from your lower body, aching all over. 

Your brain caught up with your body, and then the pain intensified.

You shakily exhaled. "Yes."

Derek exhaled, too, but his looked more like relief than anything. Relief that he wouldn't have to explain this to you. Relief that he wouldn't have to say the words out loud. 

"You were in surgery for a while," he said. "Yesterday night. The doctors say you'll make a speedy recovery."

You didn't respond.

"Garcia's still flying in. She won't believe anything I say until she sees it with her own eyes," he lightly chuckled. But his tone was heavy. No jokes could erase that. "The others'll be on their way back when they wake up. I told 'em you were in good hands."

You wanted to laugh. You tried. The only thing that left your mouth was a sob.

Derek was immediately at your side, cradling your head into his chest, letting your tears soak his shirt and not saying a single word about any of it. You wanted that to make it feel better, but you just felt empty.

Like there were holes in your body.

—

You sat on your couch, wrapped in a warm blanket as Derek rummaged through your cupboards, looking for something to give that was fit for human consumption. You would've been a good host and offered him tea, but he already had a pot on the stove.

He said you looked like you hadn't eaten. You didn't deny it.

"Everything in your fridge is expired, so I ordered us some breakfast from that place downtown," he informed you, setting down two mugs of tea on the coffee table and taking a seat in the armchair across from you. 

You watched the steam twirl into the air, nodding blankly.

Derek sighed. "Kid, I'm worried about you."

You sighed back in response. "I'm fine." The words came out harsher than intended.

Derek's eyes softened. "You quit your job, Y/N. You love the BAU."

Love. Loved. You shook your head, lightly scoffing through your nose. For the first time in a while, you were honest. "I love the BAU when it isn't taking everything away from me." You could count the things this job had taken from you on two hands too many, turning your reflection into a stranger.

It made you wonder what you'd do without it.

Derek's eyes didn't meet yours, looking down at the floor instead. The room went quiet. You could hear the cars outside, the rest of the world moving on while you stayed right where you were, stagnant.

Right now, you were in your apartment. Your feet were touching your hardwood floor. Your fingers played with a loose string on your blanket. Derek sat across from you. Your body was here.

But in reality, your mind was stuck in that house. Stuck walking into a trap with Morgan right behind you.

"I'm sorry."

At his sudden words, you looked up. His eyes locked with yours. You didn't know how long it'd been that you'd sat in silence, but you certainly didn't expect it to be broken with those words.

You furrowed your brows. "What?"

Despite the long period of quietness that came before, he didn't stay quiet now. He didn't even look like he had to think about what he was saying—almost like he'd thought it all a thousand times before. "Y/N, I'm sorry that you're in pain. And if I could switch places with you, I would— in a heartbeat." He leaned forward in his chair. "There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about what happened. About how I left you alone." His voice tightened up. "But Y/N, I swear to you, if you come back to the BAU, I won't ever leave you alone like that again."

Strong conviction laced his voice, like he was under oath. For a moment, you were confused by what he was saying. He never left you alone— oh.

Oh.

Tears welled up in your eyes. "Derek—" your voice cracked. Oh, you felt terrible. So, so terrible.

How long had one of your best friends blamed himself for something he had no control over? How long had this slipped past you?

You were supposed to be one of the best profilers in the nation.

But right now, you just felt terrible. 

"Derek, I never blamed you." A tear slid down your cheek against your wishes. "This isn't your fault. It never was."

Your vision was so blurry that you didn't see him crying, but you did see him wipe at his eyes. That made you get up, and he met you in the middle, wrapping his arms around you and engulfing you in his embrace.

In his arms, you cried freely, just like that morning in the hospital. You cried for all the things you pretended not to cry about. For all the things you lost. The things you didn't see. The person you were. The person you could've been.

"I'll never leave you alone again, you hear me, kid?" Derek hugged you tighter through his muffled words, making sure you didn't just hear them but that you felt them. "We're family."

Family.

You hugged him back just as tight. If you lost everything, you still had that. You might have lost yourself, but your family was right there, shining a light in the darkness, looking for you.

You prayed they'd find you.

— 

When Morgan left, it was dark out. He only left after a lot of crying and even more food, but you felt different. Reminded of what you still had.

You weren't okay. Nothing was okay. But you wanted to things to be able to get better. You didn't just want to give up and walk away from it everything. You built a life at the BAU with people you loved. Maybe there was one person you even loved too much.

God, he hurt you. He hurt you in irreversible ways, leaving you out in the cold multiple times, begging for him to see you just for him to turn away. 

And you knew he cared about you. No one acted the way he did without caring. Sometimes, you thought Aaron Hotchner cared too much, masking it behind a wall of indifference. 

Before all this happened, you were allowed behind the wall. He showed you the man he hid from others. You fell in love with that man. You missed him.

You just wanted to go back to those versions of yourself. The Y/N who would make a stupid joke late at night and the Aaron who would be too tired to pretend not to smile.

But Hotch wanted to talk about it. Aaron did, too, but it was mostly Hotch. A different version of him that was too concerned, too focused on drilling the truth out of you.

Could you give it to him? There was a time when you would've given him anything; all he had to do was ask. Now, you weren't so sure. There were certain parts of yourself you couldn't just hand out, certain things you wanted to keep for you and you alone.

You had already given up so much. You already gave your heart to Aaron Hotchner once, and he discarded it. Who was to say this time would be any different?

No. You couldn't give him everything.

But you'd give him something.

—

You found the route to Hotch's apartment the same way you did time and time before, like a dance you still knew the steps to. You knew when to turn right and when to turn left, when to keep going straight and when to stop. Nothing about this was unfamiliar.

Aaron Hotchner was once the most familiar person you'd ever known.

But you knew things were different.

Even though the elevator up to his floor hadn't changed and he still had the same mat outside his door, you knew that you weren't the same. You had changed. You weren't familiar anymore.

And so, when he opened the door and his brows raised up to his hairline, you understood the surprise. You didn't just do this—you didn't just show up at his apartment unannounced, not anymore.

His lips parted. You weren't sure if he was going to speak or if he was just in shock. You spoke first regardless.

"I, um," you wrung your hands together, "I don't have food this time." A nervous smile lit up your face, no less nervous than your first time in his office. Maybe more nervous this time. Maybe you hid it better back then.

And maybe he could hide his emotions better back then, too. The shock on his face didn't clear until after you had spoken. He blinked, then opened his door wider. "Please."

A small thank you left your lips as you walked in, crossing the threshold into a world you knew you wouldn't be able to leave again.

The apartment looked like it hadn't changed at all. The only thing that caught your eye were the toys splayed out on the living room floor.

Your heart spiked, but as if Hotch could read your mind, he said, "Jack is asleep."

Glad you weren't interrupting anything, the tension in your shoulders was released. You wondered if that's what he saw: visual cues that indicated your mental state. Was it mind reading or behaviour?

Was he a profiler, or did he just know you as well as you both thought he did?

You couldn't really tell anymore.

"Would you like something to drink?" he queried.

"No, I uh..." this was small talk. You weren't here for this; you didn't even know what you were here for, but it was for more than this.

Whatever you were here for, you had to figure it out before you lost your nerve.

You turned around, finding him right behind you. You inhaled a sharp breath. The last time he was this close to you— 

"You hurt me, Hotch." The words tumbled out of your mouth before you even had the time to filter them. You watched his face fall. You continued, anyway. "You hurt me when you left me alone that night. And I— I can't fault you for rejection. But you left me all over again when I— when I needed you."

"Y/N." He took a step closer.

You took a step back.

"I needed you. I really, really needed you." Tears built in your eyes. "But you weren't there." You wiped away the tears in your eyes before they could fall, refusing to cry. "And then you have me go on the record to talk about the most horrible experience of my life, and suspend me when you don't get what you want. Like I'm just some rookie agent."

Unlike the previous conversations you'd had, Aaron didn't say anything to his defense. He stood there, unmoving, letting you say what you needed to say. You were equal parts grateful and equal parts angry. Exasperated.

You wanted him to say something. You wanted to know if it was really all in your head, if it really happened or if you imagined it. "Is that—" you faltered, "is that all I am to you, Hotch? Just an agent? Did I ever—" you swallowed, "did I ever mean anything to you?"

"Yes." His response was rapid, his eyes narrowing as if he was insulted by the question. As if he was shocked you could ever think otherwise. He took a step closer to you, and this time, you didn't step back. "If I have ever made you feel like you are 'just an agent,' then I sincerely apologize." He paused, his eyes boring into yours. "Y/N, you are one of the most qualified and accomplished agents I have ever met, let alone had the pleasure of working with. And I can say with absolute certainty that you are one of the best people I have ever known. You are beautiful, inside and out, and full of so much light that you have brightened every room you've walked into." His words reverberated through the quiet room, soaking into your bones and into every fibre of your being. "So, if I've pressured you since your return, it is because I am worried."

Your breath hitched as he took another step closer. "I'm sorry I wasn't there. I'm sorry for leaving you alone that night and every other night afterward. I was—" he took a breath, looking down briefly. When his eyes met yours again, they were just as honest. Brave. Afraid. "I was terrified I'd lose you. That I would ruin what we had. And then I was scared for what happened to you. Too afraid to look you in the eye after I made a decision that almost cost you your life. By the time you got back to the BAU, my fear wasn't just losing you physically. It was losing you. Your heart. Your spirit. All the things I love about you."

Your heart might've stopped then and there. After a few seconds, you echoed, "Love?"

Aaron didn't back down or retract what he said. He nodded, like he was confirming it you and to himself. "Yes."

There were words he wasn't saying; you understood that. There were words you weren't saying, either.

But you knew what it meant for things to go unsaid. People blamed themselves. People crumbled. They said things they didn't mean to compensate for what they weren't saying. They were crushed under the weight of it all.

You didn't want that to happen anymore.

You took a step back, not because you were stepping away from the conversation, but because you were stepping into it. You nodded toward the couch. "Let's have that talk."

Aaron's eyes flooded with relief. You both made your way to his couch and sat down.

And then you talked until the sun came up.

— 

Your talk with Aaron wasn't easy. And despite your best promises to yourself, you still ended up crying, anyway. 

You weren't naïve. That may have been the first conversation you had, but it wouldn't be the last. There was still so much you had to talk about, so much you had to work through, but you had the time to do it.

Your suspension was lifted, but you didn't return to the BAU. At least, not right away. You decided not to throw yourself back into it, to let yourself find your footing first and process everything you tried to shove down.

Every member of the team supported you, and you knew there was a spot waiting for you when you were ready. Garcia had reassured you there were issues with your resignation, anyway (which you knew was undoubtedly her doing). You thanked her for her troubles.

She visited you often while you were home alone, updating you on the team's shenanigans. And Rossi visited you with enough food to feed a shelter, rendering it pointless to go grocery shopping at all. You accused him of spoiling you. He retorted that he could cook for the whole team if he wanted to.

And that's how you ended up where you were, underneath the fairy lights in his backyard as Reid summarized Greek mythology to you.

Gesturing his hands in the air, he explained, "No, actually— although thought to be, Apollo is not the sun god. Helios is. Helios is meant to be a personification of the sun—the sun in human form. But Apollo is god of the sun—an important distinction in categorization. He's not the sun, but he's not supposed to be. He just has sunlike features, and— I'm sorry. I'm rambling, aren't I?"

He looked sheepish, but you were leaning forward in your seat. "No, not at all." You gave him a reassuring smile. "Please, keep going."

Spencer's eyes lit up, and he went on, "Well, Apollo has many more characteristics that make him an interesting god to look at it, like his love of truth, music, poetry, healing, and..."

As he continued, you couldn't help but connect what he was talking about to yourself.

He's not the sun.

But he's not supposed to be.

Inadvertently, you realized what you'd been trying to learn for so long. The answer was right in front of you the whole time, but now, you finally understood it.

You kept trying to be this person that didn't exist. The sun. A work of fiction. But you couldn't be that. The sun wasn't up all the time. It wasn't always bright. It was impossible to be light at every waking moment. The light didn't define Apollo, and it didn't define you.

No, you realized. You weren't the sun.

You were so much more than that.

taglist: @ithinkitzleslie @burrithorr @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @bunchofcells-blog @hotchspearl @famouslywaiting @lailamares @avis-writeshq @zoeyredbird1 @dyslexicreader64 @lolagaming23 @thomasshelbyswife @spct0r @qualitygiantshoepsychic @duruxoxo @idontlikesleeping

[wendichester]

Hiiii! I hope you're doing great <3 would you please write something platonic, when Dean and Sam were children (or teenagers, it's up to you), and John were to leave them with an ally/friend of his, and she's very attentive, caring, loving, patient, and understanding with them? I deeply enjoyed that our boys had mother figures in their adulthood, that genuinely cared of them, but I would have had loved if they would have had some type of caring figure when they were younger, bc they deserve the entire world :')

Ofc if you don't feel comfortable writing about this or you just simply don't like the idea, pls feel free to ignore it :)

⋆. 𐙚 ˚ safe haven,

summary. john's out for another hunt and the boys get dropped off with a trusted friend

pairing. sam & dean winchester x mother-figure!oc

wordcount. 435

notes. love this concept and they definitely would've needed this! hope you like it hon

John doesn’t say much before he leaves. Just a gruff “You listen to her, alright?” before he’s out the door, duffel slung over his shoulder, truck rumbling down the dirt road.

Dean watches him go, jaw tight. He’s used to this—watching his dad disappear, knowing it’ll be days before he comes back, if not longer.

Sam, though—Sam still watches the taillights until they’re gone, small shoulders sagging.

“Well,” a voice hums behind them, warm and light, like a quilt fresh out of the dryer. “I don’t know about you boys, but I’ve got a roast in the oven that’s about to fall apart if we don’t dig in soon.”

Dean turns to look at her—the woman John dropped them off with. He doesn’t know much about her, just that her name is Annie, and their dad trusts her.

That’s rare enough.

She doesn’t look like a hunter. No scuffed-up boots, no haunted eyes. Just soft curves, an apron dusted with flour, and a smile that reaches her eyes.

She looks like a mom.

Dean doesn’t trust it.

But Sam—Sam is already inching toward her kitchen, nose scrunching as he sniffs the air. “Roast?” he asks, tentative, like he’s afraid he misheard.

Annie’s eyes twinkle. “With potatoes. And homemade bread. You eat bread, don’t you, sweetheart?”

Sam nods quickly, and Dean huffs, nudging his brother. “Dude, act like you’ve been fed before.”

Annie just chuckles, ruffling Sam’s hair. “Come on, then. Wash your hands first.”

Dean hesitates, lingering in the doorway as Sam beelines for the sink.

She’s too nice.

Nice people don’t last long in their world.

But the kitchen smells amazing, warm and buttery, and his stomach betrays him with a loud growl.

Annie turns, raising a brow. “Well?” she says, gentle but firm. “You coming, or am I gonna have to carry you?”

Dean snorts, shoulders easing just slightly. “I’d like to see you try, lady.”

She grins. “Careful what you wish for, kid.”

That night, she tucks Sam in first, smoothing his hair back, humming something soft. Sam’s out within minutes, relaxed in a way Dean hasn’t seen in years.

And then it’s just him.

Dean is sitting stiffly on the bed when Annie turns to him.

“You don’t have to, you know,” she says softly.

He frowns. “Have to what?”

She smiles, but there’s something sad in it. “Be on guard. Take care of everything. Just for tonight, sweetheart, let someone take care of you.”

Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything.

But when she pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, when her fingers brush against his hair—

He finally relaxes.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @whereiwakewarm ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @mrs-pondwater19 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @myceliumsunshine ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @bamboobooshark ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098 ⋆ @lacysretribution ⋆ @globetrotter28 ( continues in the comments )

[wordsofwhimsy]

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚎𝚜 & 𝙷𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚌𝚑𝚎 - 𝙿𝚝. 2

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

【ＰＡＩＲＩＮＧ】 ⦂ Mark Grayson x Reader

【ＧＥＮＲＥ】 ⦂ Fluff, romance, & slight!tragedy

【ＷＡＲＮＩＮＧＳ】 ⦂ None

【ＩＮＳＰＩＲＡＴＩＯＮ】 ⦂ “Forrest Gump” by Frank Ocean

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

♫♪ This is love, I know it’s true… ♫♪

Mornings had always been hard for you.  Most days you struggled to even open your eyes, let alone get out of bed.  As a young teenager you mother had told you this was a sign of depression.  You of course, being a teenager, brushed off her concern.  It took several years for you to come to the same conclusion on your own.

Mornings with Mark were different.

The sun seemed softer, warmer, dripping through the blinds like honey.  The songbirds were a melodious symphony that gave you a sense of peace.  Your mind was blank as you slowly blinked into consciousness.  Mark’s sleeping form was the first thing you clearly saw as your vision came to focus.  He was laid on his side turned towards you, lips slightly parted, and his face completely relaxed.  He was beautiful, and you were in love.  Unable to help yourself, and perhaps even unaware of your own actions, your fingers reached out to trace slowly over his shirtless chest.  They moved gingerly over the plains of his abdomen, dipping into the valley between his pecks, and skirting along his defined collarbones.  In synch with your fingers finding his jaw, you leaned forward and kissed him softly on the lips.

Mark’s arms snaked around you in response, pulling you into a languid yet strong embrace.  His mouth moved against yours, melting you into a puddle on his bed.  “I hope I didn’t wake you up,” you murmured against his lips.

“No, no,” he assured between quick, soft kisses.  Then he paused and added, “Well, maybe.”  You rolled your eyes and pushed playfully away from him.  Chuckling he and pulled you back in, keeping you close. “Wait no I’m kidding, come back.”  You immediately gave up the fight and settled comfortably back into his arms.  He placed a kiss to the top of your head, and in that quiet moment you wished it could last forever.  That was until you felt a pang of hunger curdle in your stomach.  Knowing that an embarrassing growl was just around the corner, you asked,

“Would you want to go get breakfast?”

“That sounds good,” he responded, burying another kiss into your messy bedhead. “Get ready.  I know the perfect place.” 

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

“Konnichiwa!” A woman of small frame and jet black hair stood at your table side, a toothy grin painting her face.

“Konnichiwa,” you greet back with a small awkward chuckle.

“Are you Americans?” the woman asked, head slightly cocked to the side. 

“We are—sorry, we don’t know Japanese.”  You threw a quick glance to Mark whose eyes were fixed on you. 

“That’s okay~” the waitress responded promptly in a singsong tone. “What can I get for you?”

“I’ll have the pancakes.”

“I’ll do the tamagoyaki [a/n: this is a “sweet and savory omelette” that is a traditional breakfast option in Japan], please,” Mark added, his stare only now moving to look at the waitress. 

“Hai!” She gave a slight bow before heading off to presumably ring in your order.  Waiting to be sure the waitress was out of earshot you finally looked to Mark with an incredulous expression.

“Y’know, this is definitely not what I had in mind when I suggested breakfast.”  He flashed his pearly whites at you, apparently pleased with his choice.

“Trust me, Japan really has breakfast figured out.”  You chuckled before taking a sip of your water. “My mom and I come here sometimes.”  The unspoken question on your mind: did your father come too?  Instead, you say,

“Debbie makes some of the best pancakes, I’ll have to see if this place can stack up.”

“Pun intended?” Mark laughed.

“In all seriousness, I’ve never been to Japan before.  Tokyo is gorgeous!”  He hummed in agreeance.

“You should see the countryside.”

“If it’s anything like it is in anime’s I can only imagine.” 

“Honestly? It’s pretty close.” Your foot bounced under the table, still shaking off the jitters from the flight here.  You took another sip of water, dehydrated from the adrenaline rush.  Mark’s broken face came into view as you put the glass back down.  He tried to hide it, but you knew him well, and his pain spoke to you even in the silence.  Uncrossing your legs you slipped your foot from the sandal you were wearing and reached out to rub your toes over calf.  This seemed to bring him back to you, his body tensing for a moment then relaxing.  “I’m excited for you to try these hotcakes.  I’m telling you they are kind of ridiculously fluffy.  It’s like eating a cloud.”

You laughed, eliciting a grin from him. “Well now I’m really excited.”  Your morning continued on in this fashion, conversation staying to lighthearted subjects and an obvious all together avoidance of what happened yesterday.  A part of you wondered if he chose to eat on the opposite side of the planet in an attempt to avoid hearing any news stories or strangers’ conversations relating to the matter.  The thought alone left your heart burning in your chest.  As desperately as you wanted to talk to him and find out the details of the event, you would leave the ball in his court and wait patiently for him to be ready to open up.

Instead, you offered him wordless comfort in the small gestures of connection as you sat there together.  Rubbing your foot against his leg under the table, reaching over with your hand to rest on top of his, placing a kiss to the top of his head when coming back from the restroom.  It was the best you could give him, and though they seemed insignificant to you, they meant the world to Mark.  They were all he needed in that moment.

“Okay, don’t tell Debbie, but that might have been the best pancake I’ve ever had,” you confessed, leaning back in your seat with your hands placed on your stomach in dramatic effect.  Mark’s face lit up.

“I told you!  It doesn’t even make sense how good they are.”  You laughed at his excitement.

“Speaking of Debbie, is she working today?”  The joy melted quickly from his face, and yours mirrored the same emotion.

“I doubt it.  I should probably go see how she’s doing…”  You stayed silent but nodded your head in agreement.  Having paid the tab a few minutes prior, you both stood from the table and headed back to the small alley you’d landed in.  “Ready?” he asked, you now cradled in his arms with your arms wrapped around his neck. 

“Mhmm.”  You both move in synch towards each other, kissing slowly and deeply.  The feeling of his lips against yours never ceased to put butterflies in your chest, your toes coming to a point in pure bliss.  Your mouths moved together, complimenting one another effortlessly.  His tongue skimmed along your bottom lip but then pulled away shyly, sending chills down your spin.  By the time you broke away for air you were already high above the ground and moving just below the clouds.  You buried your face into the crook of his neck, still unable to handle the height after all this time.

Instead of thinking of how far up you were, you focused on the feeling of weightlessness you had when held in his arms.  For all his strength and otherworldly capabilities, he treated you like a delicate flower.  Doing his best to offer you the world while forever being mindful of your fragility.  He always kept you so secure, and flying like this in his arms left you with a feeling of almost ethereality.

Unknown to you, this feeling was requited in Mark – only he felt the weightlessness in his mind and heart.  He could never let you go, and had resolved long ago that you would be apart of his life forever.  Even in the centuries to come where you were dead and gone, you would live on eternally in his heart.

♫♪ I won’t forget you. ♫♪

[mk-wizard]

I have to admit that as a grown woman who still is a TF fan... I feel the same way about this and many medias. If the men can continue to be masculine, why can't women keep being feminine? It's also why in my adult life, Cinderella is my favourite Disney princess. Because no matter what was thrown at her, her kind spirit could not be broken.

And people forget that Optimus Prime himself has been through a lot, but NEVER became hardened for it even when being apart from his beloved. Why is it that Elita-One has to become one of the guys to be strong? Would Optimus' match not have the same unbreakable spirit?

This is also why I love Windblade. Because she is a much needed reminder that a woman can be beautiful, feminine, a lady and graceful, AND strong, independent, brave and heroic. To me, Strongarm as an adult tomboy character should be the exception not the standard and I don't mean that as an insult. If you look around you, most adult women are in fact feminine. And you know what? I think even Strongarm deep down wants a husband and family too, and her feminine side would shine in those roles. And I refuse to see that as a bad thing. Being a loving wife and mother are positive female traits. In fact, I always felt she and Bumblebee had very good romantic chemistry.

To me, the one true version of Elita-One is courageous, a leader, honourable and a warrior, but also motherly, wise, a lady, patient and kind like a queen. More to the point though we need to stop femininity shaming in female characters.

Sincerely, a grown-a$$ woman who is girly, a home maker, loves baking and her favourite colours are shamelessly purple and pink.

PS: I am not ashamed of throwing in the fact that I ship Strongarm and Bumblebee together, and I imagine she does want Bumblebee to see her as a femme not one of the guys.

PPS: I also forgive TF One's characterization of Elita-One because I see her as a teenager who still as growing up to do and THINKS she has to be the way she is to survive. Also, she had a raw deal, but I see flashes of the Elita-One she will grow up and mature to be.

Transformers One and the Butchering of Femininity

If you're surprised that I'm still worked up about this film, you're following the wrong blog. I'll say this once, and I won't repeat myself:

If you won't take criticism for this movie, keep scrolling. Otherwise, you'll just bring this on yourself.

Now, about the above women.

Transformers as a franchise has had female characters long before Arcee ever showed her face onscreen. Debuting roughly in the middle of the second season of Transformers G1, we are introduced to six female Autobots still living - or rather, surviving - on Cybertron. Of those six, four are named and have speaking roles: Elita One, Chromia, Firestar, and Moonracer. They are quickly shown to have distinct personalities that, while rough (Chromia) or seasoned (Firestar), are still recognizably feminine in how they regret a mistake and nurture the ones under their care (Moonracer and Elita respectively.) Additionally, their appearance is notably feminine too, and while it may be "exaggerated" for a robot lady, it's not done with malice. Rather, it's done to show that while these women are tough and have fought for millions of years, they are still women. They are not women in male bodies, like Strongarm from RID 2015 (and who had the gall to take her name from a preexisting male character), but they are fighting to take back their home, and are patiently waiting for the time they can lay down their weapons and return to the life they naturally desire - primarily, that of caretakers and mothers.

In other words, they fight because they want to have families in a safe home and will do so to achieve this dream alongside the men.

Elita One is a spectacular example of this line of thought. Take a look below for roughly five minutes to see her original characterization.

Elita is an Autobot commander who has shouldered the responsibility of fighting for her homeworld in the absence of her leader and man for four million years.

Yet, it did not make her cold and aloof.

Rather, it only made her natural maternal side and kindness grow. She knew that she had to fight Shockwave and his forces on Cybertron and that it would be difficult, but she was not going to let them break her spirit. She would and did not let them take her femininity from her, for that would be just as much of a win for them as killing her and the others. The Decepticons want a new world order, which would also entail destroying the old order of society. Elita, as a woman, will not let that happen, for then not only is there no more safety and social order on Cybertron that would put any family she could have at risk, it is also denying her her right to be a woman who is as capable on the battlefield as she is tending house (which, let me tell you, takes the same grit and determination as a man going to work to support the family.)

Elita wants to have a family, as do her fellow female Autobots (Chromia hugging Ironhide should tell you how much that iron lady missed her man), and if that means taking up arms until they can return to a normal society, then by golly she will do so. She fights to protect and defend; it is not in her nature to fight anymore than it is in Optimus' nature. It is simply what she must do until the war is over, and when it ends, she will leave the battlefield behind her as Optimus will.

Elita is a kind, warm, motherly woman. She will help pull you out of the darkness of despair and will hug the pain away. She is a mother, and deep down she will fight if she has to, but she will only do so if all else fails.

Yet what does Transformers One do to her?

If the title of that first clip alone doesn't show you what Elita was reduced to, then maybe the clip of her childish scream will.

Instead of a motherly, feminine woman, Elita is gutted all the way to her marrow and filled with the poisonous traits of all modern "strong female characters" - namely that she is a career focused woman who needs no man unless it's to belittle him for his imperfections/limitations/perceived idiocy. The only difference is that Elita is somehow written to seemingly develop feelings for her male subordinate Orion Pax, though the story takes great pains to show that she "dominates" the partnership with Orion/Optimus, something that is a gross disservice to her and Optimus.

All of this is a destruction of Elita's characterization. They ripped her feminine qualities for a modern misconception of what women must be in order to "make her relevant".

And it's not just Elita. It's also another, though newer, female Transformer.

Airachnid, though absolutely sadistic and a cold-blooded killer who revels in murder and carnage, is still feminine. In fact, she perfectly embodies warped femininity used to allure, entice, and bend men to her whim. She has a certain "dark charm" that even Breakdown finds attractive for a short while. This is a natural feminine wile that Airachnid uses to her advantage whenever she gets the chance, or to simply flaunt her attractiveness for kicks. This is what most evil women in fiction and real life do, because why lift a finger when you can charm a man into doing the heavy lifting?

Now, we come to her in Transformers One.

Ignoring for a moment that she looks like every post 2015 cartoon's cut and dry "non-binary" character, the writers completely drained Airachnid of her agency. She's supposed to be the femme fatale that uses her femininity to get what she wants and remains on no side but her own. But instead of keeping that, instead of having a dangerous third party who could even be a chessmaster playing both sides for grins and giggles, her femininity is sucked out of her and she's given the role of bodyguard who does nothing but follow Sentinel's orders and fight in a very bland way that is the most gender-neutral I've ever seen in a character.

What happened to the female psychopath who fought like a woman? I hated her, but in the sense of "I hope she dies", not "gets neutered like a dog".

All of this is a travesty and a slap in the face. This movie is telling us that female Transformers, or even females in general, must be cold, snappish women focused on only the work and never once consider having a family that women naturally yearn for. This is a toxic notion that has obviously permeated the fictional world for a little over ten years, and this movie shows that it's not slowing down.

I don't care that all the fans are going gaga over the plot or whatever they're talking about nowadays with this flick. All I care about is that we got female characters stripped of their femininity in Transformers. It should never have happened, here and in other stories.

Get offended, incensed, and screamy all you want over my post. I'm beyond the point of giving an English damn about what you think and say of this film.

It's an insult to me and to the women of this franchise. They're independent without having to put down the men, memorable without having romantic or with romantic connection to their male allies, and fun without being "haha, strong girl go brr". The fact that you all feel the need to shove this poison down our throats tells me how insecure the lot of you are, and I'd pity you if my veins didn't burn like Hades' rivers right now.

Don't bother speaking to me of this ever again. I'm done. Yes there was good in it, but it came too little, too late. And frankly, it came in the wrong packaging - heh, pardon the pun.

I refuse to engage with anything Hasbro churns out until another five, maybe ten years from now. Perhaps by then it'll have collapsed in on itself and a brighter future for it risen from the ashes, I don't know.

So long - and enjoy these fan produced songs that grant the Transformers' ladies more honor, dignity, and respect than Hasbro could ever dare dream of matching.

[nightshade962]

I apologize if this is a ramble and not much punctuation it is late I am tired but I want to say this and I cannot write worth a s***

What if there was a fic where Jazz saves Danny from vivasection like she came back from college and was visiting and because she is in so much stress the and because of living in that Ecto contaminated house for so long she manifests a bit of powers and one of them is that she can open portals within their own Realm to different places and she was so stressed and desperate to get her little brother away from what hurt him that her power is manifested and they took him to Gotham dropping right in front of Ivy and Harley Jazz obviously doesn't know where she is she's freaking out her little brother is dying in her arms

IVy and Harley are just kind of freaking out because this teenage girl covered in blood dropped in front of them holding a boy equally if not more so covered in blood but he's like bleeding from his nose and his mouth the same time and they can clearly see he's bleeding through his shirt they're trying to keep a cool head we're trying to get the girl to let them come closer so they can help her brother cuz they clearly had come from a horrible situation and maybe it's at the point where like Harley is kind of close to Batman's family and Batman and it's kind of like Aunt Harley to the bat kids so she gets like on the phone and it's trying to contact with them like hey we have a situation here we could use some discreet medical attention cuz at this point jazz is yelling like no hospitals he can't go to a hospital after Ivy said that they should take him to one

Batman / Bruce Wayne you can decide what Persona they're going to use for this get Harley and Ivy custody of these two kids because obviously they're not in the safe living environment and they refuse to go to their Godfather saying that he's like creepy in that and they just don't trust him especially with some of the things he said( I kind of want Vlad to be like really creepy to Danny if you know what I mean like really creepy creepier the better) Harley and Ivy end up raising Danny even though jazz is at basically an adult they still take her in as like one of their kids because that is Danny's sister even if she's older like an adult age

No this is just a thought feel free to add in like I said I am tired it is late but I had to write this down so sorry if it's rambly and it runs together I didn't have the energy to use proper punctuation feel free to add if you wish I do see it morning being like a Tim / Danny coupling and if you want to like couple Jazz with someone else singing like dick or Barbara or making them in like a Triad and I'll probably be posting more lately fake ideas for different fandoms right now I'm in a real kick of dcxdp so probably going to be a few of those I've said before I can't write at least I can't write fanfiction it does not flow well with me and if any of my writing point on this website points to that then you would understand

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

“Nosferatu” (2024) simplified

Robert Eggers is subverting every theme in the “Dracula” novel, and playing with canon and expectations: “My influences are all very clear, and Nosferatu is a remake, after all,” Eggers says, yet he plays with the canon, with expectations and clichés – “hopefully subverting them to do something unexpected”.

Robert Eggers has said a thousand times already this story is a Gothic romance, heavily inspired by “Wuthering Heights”, which he read and re-read while writing the script, and Ellen and Orlok are similar to Cathy and Heathcliff. This Ellen wants this Orlok;

This is a Folk Gothic horror movie: Count Orlok is a strigoi from Balkan folklore; isn’t merely blood he feeds on, it’s souls (that why he drinks heart blood; heart as center of the soul). His lore is Balkan folklore and Dacian mythology. He’s not Vlad the Impaler and he’s a subversion of Count Dracula in many ways. He’s an entirely new character created by Eggers, as are the rest of the characters here.

The “possession” are the blood plague victims. Orlok can only “possess” those he feeds on, and traps their souls inside of Nosferatu (alongside his own). This is why Thomas was exorcised but he’s still lost in Orlok’s shadow like the Nuns warn him, he doesn’t listen (Orlok still has influence over him, as we see; not kicking out Ellen of the bed, and Thomas is the one who gets possessed in the “possession scene”);

Ellen and Herr Knock are more similar than you think; Knock is the character who tells the audience what Ellen has been doing in her teenage years (masturbation; Orlok has to be conjured for telepathic/mind communication to happen, via sexual energy). Orlok can only possess those he fed on (Thomas, Anna Harding, Friedrich Harding, etc.). He only “possesses” Ellen at the end;

Ellen is confused about her own power, she’s a unreliable narrator, because she doesn’t have the language to understand it. It’s a character outside of Victorian society which begins to unravel the mystery behind her “sickness”, but she’s comes to the answer on own. At first, Professor Von Franz thinks she’s a victim of spiritual obsession by some daemon (she’s having these “hysterical fits” because a daemon tells her to, a daemon is influencing her behavior because of what he says to her, inside of her head). Ellen doesn’t have the knowledge to understand what Von Franz means, and interprets this as Orlok being a demon possessing her body (“I have felt you crawling like a serpent in my body”). He isn’t because he never drank her blood (soul). She also keeps mixing up her 16th century incarnation with her current one;

Thomas is the character who tells the audience the “true story” in the “possession scene”; he says it’s “impossible” for Ellen and Orlok to have been lovers “then” because he was actually possessed by Orlok, he had access to his soul, he knows what Ellen is talking about can’t possible have happened in her current life/incarnation (because it didn’t; he was only a shadow at her window during her teenage years, and she’s the reincarnation of his wife, she most likely has flashbacks memories of this);

Most scenes are characters talking about opposite things and people dying as a result;

Ellen and Orlok “first night scene” at the Hardings is Ellen accusing him of being a demon possessing her, while he thinks she knows she has been conjuring him this entire time. He also believes she remembers their past life together because of the lilacs;

The “possession scene” between Ellen and Thomas is her talking about her past with Orlok (she unleashed him; lovers), and initiating a communication with the spiritual world because she thinks Orlok will possess her like a demon; Thomas knows this is impossible, truly believes he was the one who unleashed Orlok because he sold him a house in Wisburg and now thinks Orlok is getting to Ellen the same way he did to him when he arrived at Transylvania (nightmares and hallucinations);

The “vengeance” at the ending is Thomas. He’s on a revenge mission against Orlok because he wants to avenge Ellen, the Harding and himself. He blames himself for everything that has happened. Only this is what Orlok wants because he has been influencing Thomas into killing him with a “spike of cold iron” (Thomas-Handsome Roma vampire hunter).

Friedrich and Anna Harding are the mirror pair to Orlok and Ellen. That’s why they are targeted by Orlok. Orlok and 16th century Ellen were like Friedrich and Anna (but Ellen being more sexual);

Ellen’s shame is connected to Victorian views of female sexuality and womanhood as a whole. Orlok doesn’t only represent her repressed sexual desire, but also nature (vs. society/domestic sphere/Thomas) and education/knowledge (enchanter; occultist; worshipper of Zalmoxis, owner of the secrets of life and death, and immortality). Passion isn’t the only thing he has to offer; he represents liberation and power. Everything that was off limits to women in the early 19th century. This story deals with Historical Feminism.