#this was not what I had in mind when I imagined my first post in that tag

[moonpjs]

[07:24 PM] 18+ minors dni

Imagine Mark coming back to your place after a long day of work, feeling tired but horny at the same time. Simply asking you to ride his face.

Imagine him practically begging for you to go along with it after hearing you were tired too. But insisting that this is all he wants and he doesn’t even need anything in return.

Imagine him lying on his back, admiring you as you swing your leg over him, now hovering above his face. Mark immediately grabbing your hips, encouraging you to sink down onto him.

Imagine him groaning into your pussy, knowing that you’re using his face to get off. With your clit bumping his nose at every move of your hips, moans slip out of you as his tongue moved perfectly in all the right places.

Imagine him pulling you closer and closer, trying to get as much of you as possible. Hearing a muffled “mhm” every time you ask if he’s okay, worried you’re gonna suffocate him.

Imagine gripping his hair when you start to feel close, moans growing louder. You watch his eyes flutter close, as he enjoys every moment, getting increasingly turned on at each second. Especially when you cry out “I’m close!”, arching your back from the pleasure.

Imagine Mark licking up all your juices after you come, savouring the taste and keeping you in place. Unaware of how overstimulated you’re becoming.

“Please stop,” you pant “It’s too much”, finally catching his attention. He releases the grip on your hips, letting you go.

“Sorry” he chuckles as you move off of him and sit beside him, taking in the sight before you.

The view of his face covered in your juices had you weak all over again, now craving more. Though you remember what Mark said, he didn't need anything else. But it wouldn't hurt to return the favour, right?

a/n - Hi people! Just wanted to say that I am happy to take requests, so feel free to drop an ask. I will probably put together some rules for what you can request and what to avoid. But for now, just be mindful! Also thank you for the love on my first post, I appreciate it <3

[vibelladonna]

✑ 𝒷𝓊𝓃𝓃𝓎 𝓈𝓊𝒾𝓉 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒, 𝓈𝑜𝓁 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑔𝑒𝑜

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

𝓈𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: Who doesn’t love a good bunny suit fanfic? This little piece was inspired by the incredible artwork of @alienfreak124. I’m always in awe of her creations—her OC is so cool! Honestly, every time I see her work, I wish I had the talent to draw. T-T Always wanted to see what my OC would look like in the Tkatb fandom.

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions. 

Also, I’ve been thinking about branching out into other fandoms—Creepypasta is definitely at the top of the list since it was such a huge part of my childhood. Ticci Toby has always been my favorite, and I’m super excited to dive into that world. I’m also considering Death Note and Black Butler, but who knows? 

For now, I’m pretty set on exploring the creepy side first, especially with all the dark, twisted fandoms.

Anyway, I’ve got about three fics in the works for these lovely men—Crowe, Sol, and Geo. But it’s gonna be one day at a time because, let’s be real, I need to stop posting these things so damn late. College life is getting hectic, but I’m making it work, even if it means less sleep. Priorities, right?

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

✑ 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

You’re in your room, standing in front of the mirror, tugging at the hem of a plain black dress.

It’s simple, safe, and exactly the kind of outfit you’d usually wear to a small party. You tilt your head, trying to decide if “simple” is too boring. The party isn’t exactly a big deal—just a casual gathering—but there’s a nagging thought in the back of your mind: 

Crowe’s going to be there.

Before you can overthink it, there’s a sudden knock at your door. “Hey! Open up!” Brittney’s voice is unmistakable—high-energy and impossible to ignore. You sigh, already knowing she’s about to upend whatever plans you’ve made for the evening. 

When you open the door, Brittney bursts in like a hurricane, her arms overflowing with what looks like… fur? No, it’s worse. It’s a bunny costume—a black bodysuit with matching ears, thigh high socks, and heels so high they look like a twisted form of punishment. 

“Oh no,” you say immediately, holding up your hands in protest. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh, come on!” Brittney waves the outfit in front of you like it’s the Holy Grail. “It’s perfect! It’s fun, it’s flirty, and you’ll steal the spotlight! Imagine the look on everyone’s faces when you walk in wearing this. Especially Jericho.”

Your stomach flips at the mention of his name, but you shake your head. “There’s no way I’m wearing that. I’ll look ridiculous!”

“Ridiculous?” Brittney scoffs, planting her hands on her hips. “Please. You’ll look hot. Besides, when was the last time you did something bold? Live a little!” She leans in, grinning mischievously. “And, you know, like I said he might notice.”

You roll your eyes, before releasing a sigh, “Britt, I’m not trying to ‘steal the spotlight.’ I just want to blend in.”

“Blend in?” She gasps like you’ve just insulted her personally. “Blending in is for cowards. And you’re not a coward, are you?”

“...You’re guilt-tripping me.”

“Is it working?”

Unfortunately, yes. You stare at the bunny suit like it’s a wild animal that might bite you, but part of you can’t help wondering: What if Brittney’s right? What if Crowe actually notices?

“Fine,” you say, at last, snatching the costume from her hands. “But different heels and if I look stupid, I’m blaming you.”

Brittney claps her hands in triumph. “You’ll look amazing, trust me! Now, hurry up and get dressed—I need to see the final look.”

You sigh and shut the door, holding up the bunny suit with a mix of dread and curiosity.

This is either the best idea or the worst mistake.

The moment you step into the party, a hush falls over the room—or at least it feels like it. The warm glow of string lights strung across the ceiling doesn’t do much to soothe the nerves twisting in your stomach. You keep your head down, gripping a drink you barely remember picking up, and try to focus on anything other than the fact that you’re dressed like a bunny in a room full of people dressed... normally.  

Brittney, of course, is loving every second of it. She’s practically glowing as she flits around the room, dropping comments like, “Isn’t she adorable?” and “Doesn’t she look amazing?” to anyone within earshot. You glare at her from across the room, but she just winks and mouths, “You’re welcome.”

You hover near the edge of the crowd, trying to blend into the background. It’s ironic, considering the ridiculous outfit, but you figure if you keep still enough, maybe no one will notice. That plan works for about five minutes—until you catch a familiar figure out of the corner of your eye.  

Crowe.  

He’s leaning against the wall near the bookshelf, casually sipping from a glass, his posture as effortlessly relaxed as ever. Even in the soft glow of the party lights, he’s sharp, dressed in his usual clean, put-together style that somehow manages to look both formal and casual at the same time. He always looks like he belongs on a magazine cover—button-up sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he listens to someone talk.

You freeze, torn between retreating to the nearest shadowy corner and pretending you haven’t seen him, or... well, doing something else. But then, as if sensing your eyes on him, Crowe looks up—and the moment his gaze lands on you, it’s like the rest of the party fades into the background.  

You brace yourself, half-expecting him to laugh or make some snide remark. Instead, his eyebrows lift slightly, and the corner of his mouth quirks up into what might just be the faintest hint of a smirk. He takes another sip of his drink, sets the glass down, and begins making his way toward you.  

Oh no.

Before you can figure out an escape route, he’s standing in front of you, tall and composed, with that cool, unreadable expression that makes your heart do ridiculous things.  

His expression is calm and unreadable, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that immediately sets you on edge. The drink in your hand suddenly feels useless as you clutch it tightly, wishing you had anything to focus on besides the way Crowe’s gaze is very obviously trailing over your bunny suit. Slowly.

“Nice to see you decided to... dress up,” he says, his tone dripping with amusement as he comes to a stop in front of you. His eyes flicker from your bunny ears to the tights and back to your face, where your mortified expression only seems to fuel his teasing.

“This wasn’t my idea,” you say quickly, feeling the need to defend yourself. “Britt made me wear it. She said it’ll steal the spotlight or whatever…”  

Crowe raises a brow, “Britney suggested this..?” then soft smile appears once again as he leans just slightly closer. “Oh, I believe you. But she didn’t make you come to me wearing it, did she?”

You sputter, your face heating up. “I didn’t come to you! You walked over here!”

“Did I?” he asks innocently, his smirk widening into something outright devilish. “Must’ve been the bunny ears. Hard to miss.”

You glare at him, your mind racing for some kind of witty comeback, but it’s hard to think when his gaze keeps darting to your legs, the curve of your waist, and then back to your face, like he’s deliberately making a show of it.

“Well,” he says after a beat, his tone maddeningly casual. “She wasn’t wrong.”  

Your brain short-circuits. He did not just say that.

“Excuse me?”  

“About the spotlight,” he clarifies, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention.”  

You rolled your eyes, “I look ridiculous,” crossing your arms over your chest, turning your head away from his gaze.

It wasn’t long before you felt his finger under your chin to look at him once more, his deep blue eyes filled with warmth, “I wouldn’t say that now,” he counters smoothly. His voice drops a little lower, just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Not that I’m complaining, of course. But I’m curious—how many people have tried their luck with you tonight?”

Your eyes widen. “W-what?”

You can’t decide whether to tell the truth to him or strangle him. 

“Come on,” he says, his smirk turning positively wicked. “In that outfit? Like you said, half the room is staring. Though...” He leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I doubt anyone else is appreciating it quite as much as I am.”

Your breath hitches, and you’re sure your face is about to burst into flames. “Crowe, you can’t just—”

“Say the truth?” he interrupts smoothly, stepping just close enough that you can catch the faint scent of his blueberry cologne. “Oh, I can. And I will.”

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Crowe’s gaze shifts, scanning the room. The teasing glint in his deep blue eyes is replaced with something sharper, almost protective, as he takes in the prying eyes of the other partygoers.

“It’s way too many people here,” Crowe mutters, his voice low enough that it feels like the words are meant only for him. Then he glances back at you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your breath hitch.

“Let’s leave.” He mumbled.

“What?”

“I said, let’s leave.” His hand brushes lightly against your elbow, the fleeting touch sending a spark up your arm. His gaze lingers on you, unreadable but heavy with something unspoken. “Unless you’d prefer to stay here and let everyone keep gawking at you like you’re... on display.”  

Your eyes dart around the room, catching a few glimpses of the subtle but unmistakable stares in your direction. The air feels suffocating now, and the idea of staying in this crowded space seems unbearable. Still, you hesitate, caught off guard by the sheer intensity of his presence.  

“Fine,” you say at last, forcing an air of nonchalance even as your pulse quickens. “But if you’re planning to tease me, I’m leaving the second you start.”  

Crowe chuckles—a deep, smooth sound that does nothing to steady your nerves. “Don’t worry,” he says, his lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk as he places a hand lightly on the small of your back to guide you toward the door. “I’ll behave.”  

You’re not entirely convinced, but before you can second-guess your decision, the two of you are stepping into the cool night air. The sharp contrast to the party’s stuffy warmth sends a shiver down your spine, but it’s not just the chill that has you trembling.  

Crowe’s steps are deliberate, his presence magnetic as he walks you to his car. He unlocks the passenger door with a smooth motion, holding it open for you before rounding the car to slide into the driver’s seat. The quiet thud of the door closing feels heavier in the silence, the hum of the engine breaking the tension only slightly.  

“Brittney’s going to wonder where I went,” you say softly, partly to yourself, as Crowe pulls out of the driveway.  

“I’ll text her later,” he replies, his tone calm but firm. “She’ll survive.”  

The car is dimly lit, the glow of passing streetlights casting fleeting shadows across his sharp features. You can feel his gaze flicking toward you every so often, lingering just long enough to make your skin tingle.  

He doesn’t speak for a while, but the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It’s charged—like the air before a storm. You’re hyper-aware of every detail: the way his hands grip the steering wheel, the faint scent of his blueberry cologne filling the small space, the way his jaw tightens whenever you catch him sneaking glances.  

“You shouldn’t let her talk you into things like that,” he says suddenly, his voice lower now, almost rough.  

“Like what?” you ask, even though you know exactly what he means.  

He glances at you briefly, his lips pressing into a thin line before his expression softens. “Like wearing something that makes every guy in the room look at you like they’ve forgotten how to think.”  

The words are sharper than you expect, tinged with an edge of possessiveness that makes your breath catch.  

“I thought you didn’t mind people staring,” you counter, trying to keep your voice steady.  

“I don’t,” he says, his fingers tightening on the wheel. “Unless it’s you.”  

The confession hangs in the air, heavy and electrifying. You look over at him, your heart pounding in your chest. There’s no teasing smirk now, no easy charm—just raw, unguarded honesty in his gaze as he pulls the car to a stop at the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

He turns to face you fully, his expression unreadable but his eyes dark with something unmistakable.  

“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper, the words rough with restraint.  

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. The heat in his gaze is overwhelming, and you feel pinned in place by the sheer intensity of it.  

“I’ve been trying to keep my distance,” he continues, his tone rough and uneven now, “but seeing you tonight, dressed like that, letting everyone else see you like that…” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “It drove me crazy.”  

The air in the car feels thick, charged with an unspoken tension that’s almost suffocating. Your pulse pounds in your ears, your breaths shallow as you sit still, unsure of what to say—or if there’s even anything you should say. The silence stretches out, heavy and electric, until Crowe shifts closer to you, his movements deliberate yet almost hesitant.  

His hand rises, and for a moment, you think he might stop midway. But then his fingers gently brush against your cheek, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is light, almost feather-soft, yet it lingers—his fingertips trailing against your skin just long enough to leave a burning imprint.  

“Please tell me to stop…” he murmurs, his voice deep and velvety, the faintest edge of uncertainty in his tone. “…before I do something I’ll regret.”

A shiver races up your spine at the feel of his touch, and the heat of his proximity makes it impossible to think straight. Your breath hitches, and you swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry. You manage to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and searching, as though he’s looking for any sign of hesitation.  

“And if I don’t want you to stop?” you whisper, your voice trembling but carrying a weight of undeniable desire.  

His breath catches, his chest rising sharply as though you’ve just knocked the air out of him. His eyes widen, a flicker of disbelief flashing across his usually composed face. His lips parted slightly as if to speak, but no words came out. Instead, he tilts his head, studying you like he’s trying to convince himself he heard you correctly.  

You don’t reply right away—words feel clumsy in the intensity of this moment. Crowe’s gaze still lingers on you, steady and deliberate, traveling down the length of your figure and then back up again. His deep blue eyes seem darker in the dim light, their usual warmth replaced by something unreadable, something that makes your pulse race. His soft smile was still there, faint but unshakable, as if he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.  

Your breath catches, and for a second, all you can think is how badly you don’t want this moment to end. Then, before your mind has time to catch up, your body moves on instinct. Slowly, deliberately, you move your body forward—out of the passenger seat closing the distance between you and him.

His head tilts slightly as he watches you, his soft smile faltering, replaced by a soft gasp for just a heartbeat as you climb onto his lap. Your knees press into the seat on either side of him, the soft material of your tights brushing against his thighs as you warp your arms around his neck looking at him.

For a brief moment, neither of you speaks. The air feels heavy, charged with something neither of you can name. His reaction is filled with disbelief.He inhales quickly, his chest rising against yours, and his hands lift instinctively to your hips. His grip is firm yet hesitant, his fingers flexing slightly on the tight spandex of your bunny suitas though he’s testing the reality of the situation.  

You’re glad you caught him like this—off-guard, unguarded. It’s rare to see him anything but happily composed, but now? Now, his usual teasing and confidence feels shaken, his calm veneer cracking just enough to let you peek underneath.  

“Don’t regret this…” you whisper, your voice low and thick with emotion. “Please don’t stop, Jericho.”  

The tension in his shoulders eases, but only slightly. His body remains taut beneath yours, every muscle coiled like a spring. His hands tighten against your hips as if anchoring himself—or maybe anchoring you. He leans forward, and the closeness is dizzying.

His breath fans against your neck, warm and teasing, and goosebumps rise across your skin in response. His hands shift from your hips, sliding upward in slow, deliberate movements that leave you breathless. His thumbs trace over your waist, the faintest pressure sparking heat in their wake. His fingers move higher, brushing against your sides, and you can’t stop the way your body responds, arching slightly into his touch.  

Soon his lips hover near your ear, his voice low and husky, dripping with intent as he murmurs, “I won’t.”  

May got a little carried away here…

✑ 𝓈𝑜𝓁

You don’t know how it happened. 

So okay, you do know how it happened—you were dumb enough to bet against Hyugo. The guy might be obnoxious, loud, and silly as hell, but unfortunately, he’s also good at literally everything. Somehow, that fact slipped your mind when you let him talk you into betting on the last round of a stupid game at a party.

It was one of those chaotic, anything-goes types of games, the kind where people are shouting over each other, rules barely make sense, and luck has just as much sway as skill. You don’t even remember what it was called—something involving a blindfold, ping pong balls, and a lot of yelling. I’m kidding here…

All you know is that Hyugo had that stupid grin on his face, the one he always wears when he knows he’s about to win.  

“Come on,” he’d said, his voice dripping with smugness as he leaned against the table. “You scared or something? What’s the worst that could happen?”  

And like an idiot, you fell for it. “I’m not scared,” you shot back, crossing your arms. “You’re on.”  

Big mistake.  

Because five minutes later, you were standing there in stunned silence, staring at Hyugo’s triumphant face as he held up his winning ping pong ball like it was an Olympic gold medal.  

“Wow, that was almost too easy!” he said, laughing as he clapped you on the shoulder. “You really thought you could beat me?.”  

You scowled, already regretting your life choices. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. What do you want?”  

His grin widened, and you instantly knew you were doomed. “Oh, don’t worry,” he said, his voice practically oozing with fake innocence. “It’s nothing crazy. Just a little outfit change for, let’s say... an hour?”  

Your stomach dropped. “What kind of outfit change? I have a movie night at Sol’s place later,”  

And now here you are, standing in Sol’s dimly lit studio apartment, wearing a bunny suit that makes you feel about three sizes too exposed and questioning every decision you’ve ever made.  

How the tf did Hyugo knew your size anyway?

The small space smells like popcorn and energy drinks, and there’s a paused horror movie on the screen, but all of that pales in comparison to the look on Sol’s face.  

He hasn’t stopped staring since you walked in.  

The guy is sitting on his beat-up couch, one leg tucked under him, the TV remote hanging limp in his hand. His mouth is slightly open, and his face?  

Bright red.  

Like, glowing tomato-red, borderline matching the devil on the movie poster behind him.  

“…What are you doing?” he finally chokes out, his voice cracking just enough to make you raise an eyebrow. He clears his throat and tries again, this time deeper: “I mean, what’s this?” He gestures vaguely at you, but his hand is shaking a little, so it’s not exactly smooth.  

You cross your arms, trying to tug the hem of the crotch area down to show less skin, but there’s no saving it—it’s just too short. “Lost a bet to Hyugo from party earlier today,” you mumble, your voice flat, as if that explains everything.  

Sol squints at you, the disbelief radiating off him in waves. “Hyugo made you do this?” His tone flips between outraged and incredulous. His eyes dart down to the whole getup— floppy bunny ears, the thigh-high socks, even a little button tie—and then snap back up so fast you think he might’ve given himself a neck cramp. “Ugh… He’s the worst sometimes.”  

“Yeah, thanks for the groundbreaking insight,” you deadpan, shooting him a withering glare. “I figured that out the moment Hyugo handed me this thing.”  

Sol drags a hand through his perpetually messy hair, clearly grappling with some kind of inner turmoil. “You didn’t have to wear it, though,” he mutters, his usual grumbly tone edged with something oddly defensive. “You could’ve just… I dunno, said no.”  

You blink at him, unimpressed. “Oh, sure. And let Hyugo post that video of me tripping like an idiot in front of the entire campus? An excellent alternative, Sol. Really genius stuff.”

He makes a weird noise in his throat, half a groan, half something else, and he mutters, “Still better than this…” But his eyes betray him.

Because despite the whole “ugh, this is dumb” act, Sol keeps looking. Like, really looking. His gaze lingers on your bunny ears, the curve of the bodysuit, and the thigh-high socks that are making you wish the couch would swallow you whole. Every time his eyes travel down, they snap back up so fast you’d think he got whiplash.

“What’s your problem?” you snap, crossing your arms over your chest, mostly for your sanity. “You’re staring.”

“I’m not—” He cuts himself off, dragging his hand down his face with a groan. “Whatever. I’m not the one dressed like…” His words trail off as he waves vaguely in your direction, his ears reddening again as if even describing the outfit is too much for him.  

You sigh and plop down on his old couch because there’s literally nowhere else to go in this shoebox of an apartment. As soon as you do, Sol freezes like you’ve just stepped on a landmine. His whole body stiffens, his hands gripping his knees, and you swear he stops breathing.

“Relax,” you say, kicking off your heels with a sigh. “It’s not like I want to be here in this dumb outfit either.”

“You don’t look unhappy,” he mutters, barely audible, but you catch it.

Your head snaps toward him, catching the faintest flicker of his eyes darting to your outfit before immediately locking onto the popcorn bowl on the coffee table like it’s his last lifeline. His face is ‘burning’, and it only gets worse when he realizes you caught him looking.  

“Excuse me?” you ask, leaning in slightly because you can’t let him off the hook that easily.  

“I didn’t—” His voice cracks, and he clears his throat so violently it’s almost painful. “I just meant—uh, never mind.” But his ears are practically glowing, and you can feel the tension radiating off him in waves.  

“Sure, okay,” you say, sighing as you settle deeper into the couch, before you mention, “It’s not like you’ve been staring at me like a creep since I walked in or anything.”  

“I wasn’t staring!” he blurts, far too defensively for someone who was. He drags a hand through his hair, the strands sticking up even more as he groans like he’s on the verge of losing it.  

“Oh, you weren’t?” you tease, tilting your head. “Are you calling me a liar?”

He shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flicking to your legs for half a second before darting away. His hands curl into fists on his lap, and his breathing sounds... uneven.

Fast.  

One second, you’re sitting on the couch, awkwardly avoiding his gaze, and the next, you’re swept up off the cushions. His arms slide under you, one wrapping around your back and the other hooking beneath your knees, lifting you effortlessly into a bridal carry.  

“Sol!” you shriek, your hands instinctively grabbing onto his shoulders. “What are you—put me down!”  

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he lowers himself back onto the couch, keeping you securely in his hold. Your legs dangle awkwardly over his arm, your heels threatening to slip off, and you’re acutely aware of how close your faces are now—his warm breath brushing against your skin, his sharp eyes fixed on yours.  

“Relax,” he mutters, his tone gruff but oddly soft. “You were fidgeting too much. Thought you were about to hurt yourself or something.”  

“Hurt what now?!” you snap, glaring at him even as your cheeks flush. “I wasn’t—Sol, that doesn’t even make sense. Let me go.”  

“Not yet,” he says simply, his grip tightening slightly as if daring you to try and wriggle free.  

You glare at him, but the heat of his gaze makes it hard to keep your composure. His eyes flicker down for a moment—trailing from your flushed face to the curve of your legs draped over his arm. He’s trying to play it cool, but the way his jaw clenches and his ears turn a faint shade of pink gives him away.  

“Your legs are cold,” he murmurs after a beat, his voice quieter now.  

“I wonder why,” you deadpan, trying to ignore the way your heart skips at the hint of concern in his tone.  

His lips twitch a shadow of a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “This outfit isn’t practical.”  

“Well, I didn’t exactly pick it,” you grumble, squirming slightly in his hold.  

“Stop moving,” he mutters, his voice dropping an octave. His hands shift slightly, one sliding along your back and the other brushing against your thigh as he adjusts his grip. The casual intimacy of it makes your face burn hotter.  

“Sol...” you warn, your voice shaky.  

But instead of answering, he leans back slightly, settling you more comfortably in his lap. The movement makes your head spin—partly from the sudden shift, but mostly because of how close he is now. You’re practically curled up against his chest, his arm still supporting your legs while his other hand rests firmly against your back.  

And then he looks at you again. Really looks at you. His orange-red eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, the teasing, grumbly version of Sol you’re used to is nowhere to be found. There’s something different in his expression now—something serious, almost vulnerable, and it steals the breath from your lungs.  

“You should be more careful,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing lightly against your knee. His hands slide from your hips to your legs. “These heels could’ve hurt me,” His thumbs trace slow, deliberate circles along the tops of your thighs, sending shivers up your spine.

Your mouth opens to respond—maybe to defend yourself, maybe to yell at him, you’re not sure—but then his hands shift lower, skimming over the curve of your calves. He grabs one of your feet, his fingers curling around your ankle as he starts tugging off your shoe.  

“Sol, I can do that myself—”  

“N-No,” he practically begged. His cheeks are pink, his expression strained like he’s trying to keep it together. “Please, just let me.”  

You’re too stunned to argue. He’s slow about it, almost hesitant, his calloused fingers brushing against your skin as he removes one shoe, then the other. When he’s done, he lets his hands linger for a moment, his thumbs brushing over your bare ankles.  

His eyes flicker back up to yours, and there’s something desperate in his expression now like he’s holding himself back from doing something stupid. “Why do you always have to make this so hard?” he mutters, half to himself.  

“I’m making 'it' hard?” you blurt, your voice shaky.  

“You showed up like this,” he counters, his gaze sweeping over you again. “Looking like... this.”  

He leans closer, so close you can feel the heat radiating off him. His hand slides up, tracing a line from your ankle to your knee, then up your thigh, stopping just shy of where the hem of the bunny suit begins. His knee presses a little closer, and you suck in a sharp breath.  

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now?” he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.  

Your brain short-circuits. You don’t even know how to respond to that, especially not when his eyes are locked on yours like he’s waiting for an answer.  

“Sol,” you finally manage, your voice barely audible. “You’re being weird.”  

“I know,” he mutters, his lips twitching into a crooked, almost self-deprecating smile. “I’m always weird. But you make it worse.”  

And with that, he dips his head lower, his breath ghosting over your lips like he’s daring you to stop him.  

Please don’t make him stop…

✑ 𝑔𝑒𝑜

Geo hadn’t thought much about your text at first.

You were running late—what else was new? He was used to it by now. You’d told him to let himself in with the key under the mat since you were still getting ready, and, well, that’s what he did.

Your apartment was as familiar to him as ever: the faint smell of your scented candles. Geo plopped onto the couch, scrolling through his phone to kill time. After about ten minutes of waiting, he sighed loudly, tossing his phone onto the coffee table.

“Why do I let you do this to me?” he muttered, dragging himself to his feet. He made his way down the hall, the hardwood floor creaking faintly under his boots.

The door to your bedroom was cracked open, soft light spilling out into the hallway. He tapped lightly on the frame with his knuckles. “Hey, we’re gonna be late, y’know. What’s taking you so—”

He pushed the door open mid-sentence, stepping inside. And then he stopped.

His brain short-circuited.

There you were, standing in front of your full-length mirror, fiddling with a pair of floppy bunny ears.

A very, very skimpy bunny suit clung to you like a second skin, all shiny black fabric and sheer tights that showed just enough to drive someone insane. The plunging neckline, the dangerously high cut of the bodysuit, the tiny bowtie collar around your neck—it was absurd. Ridiculous. And yet somehow…

You looked stunning.

Geo froze in the doorway, one hand gripping the frame like it was the only thing keeping him upright. His trademark sarcasm, his quick wit, his effortless aloof expression? Gone. His brain? Absolutely empty. 

His mouth opened like he wanted to say something—anything—but no words came out.

You noticed him then, spinning around so fast that your bunny ears flopped dramatically to one side. “Geo!” you shrieked, your voice an octave higher than usual. “What the hell are you doing? I thought you were on the couch.”

“What am I doing?” he echoed, his voice cracking slightly as his eyes flicked over you, up and down, up and down, like he couldn’t stop himself. He quickly snapped his gaze upward, focusing on the very uninteresting ceiling. “What the hell are you wearing?”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “It’s for a charity event,” you muttered defensively. “Crowe asked me to help raise donations.”

Geo’s jaw clenched, his fingers twitching at his sides as he tried to keep his gaze anywhere but directly on you. His eyes betrayed him, though, darting back to your legs, your waist, your— “What kind of charity involves… that?” he asked, gesturing vaguely at your outfit like it was some kind of alien artifact.

You groaned, turning back to the mirror to adjust the bunny ears again. “It’s a themed event, okay? College students are more likely to donate if there’s… I don’t know, incentive?”

“Incentive…?” Geo repeated, “And Crowe ask you wear that? Crowe?” His tone was somewhere between disbelief and outrage. “What is wrong with him? Is he insane?”

“It’s not that bad,” you said defensively, though your voice wavered because, yeah, it was kind of bad. “It’s for a good cause!”

Geo crossed his arms, his lips pulling into a tight line. “No. Nope. Not happening. You’re not walking out of here dressed like that. I don’t care if it’s for world peace.”

You threw your hands up. “What are you, my dad? Relax, Geo. It’s fine.”

“Fine?” He frowns, irritated, his eyes accidentally drifting downward before snapping back up to your face. He looked like he wanted to sink into the floor. “You look like—you—ugh, never mind.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I look like what?”

“Forget it.” he sighed, his face turning an even deeper shade of red. “Just… just go change or something."

“I can’t!” you said, exasperated. “This is the whole point of the event!”

Geo groaned, dragging a hand down his face in pure exasperation. His usual sharp wit was dulled by whatever internal battle he was clearly losing. “Why do I have to be the one to see this? Literally anyone else would’ve been better. Anyone.”

You crossed your arms, giving him an incredulous look. “You’re the only one with a car who wasn’t busy,” you shot back, matter-of-fact as ever.

Geo huffed, throwing his hands up dramatically. “You should’ve just taken the bus, then!”

“And have creepy men ogling me the whole ride? Absolutely not,” you retorted, your tone sharp. “You’re a much better option. Like it or not.”

“Well,” he muttered, clearly flustered as his hand shot to the back of his neck, his eyes darting anywhere but at you, “I’m regretting it now.”

You sighed, turning back to the mirror and fiddling with the bunny ears again, your patience wearing thin. “Look, if it’s that big of a deal, just wait outside. I’ll be done in a sec—I just need to put on my shoes.”

For a moment, you thought he might actually listen. But then Geo took a step closer, his posture shifting. The embarrassment still lingered in his tense shoulders and flushed face, but there was something else now—something almost… resolute.

Before you could ask what he was doing, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, turning you around so fast you nearly stumbled.

“Geo?” you asked, startled by the sudden intensity in his gaze.

He didn’t answer. Instead, without missing a beat, he pushed you backward with a firm but careful hand, and your back hit the edge of your bed. You let out a startled gasp, barely managing to catch yourself as you propped up on your elbows.

“Hey! What the hell—”

You froze as Geo knelt in front of you, his hand gripping your ankle firmly but gently. His other hand reached out for your heels, which had been discarded nearby, and he snatched them up with a quick, fluid motion.

“You need to hurry up,” he grumbled, his voice low and laced with irritation as he slid the first heel onto your foot. His touch was surprisingly gentle, his fingers brushing against your sheer tights as he adjusted the strap. His face, however, was a different story—flushed red and rigid, like he was barely holding himself together. “So just—shut up and let me handle it.”

You blinked, your mouth opening to protest but no words coming out. Geo hadn’t spared you a glance, too focused on fastening the strap with a level of concentration that was almost comical.

“You’re—” you finally managed, but your voice wavered as his hands moved to your other foot.

“And you’re taking forever,” he shot back, not missing a beat. His grip on your ankle tightened slightly as he secured the second heel, his eyes resolutely fixed downward.

Is he blushing?

Your eyes narrowed, “You seem red there,” you teased, leaning back on your hands and watching him with a growing smirk. “What happened to all your sarcastic remarks, Mr. Smartass?”

“Shut up,” he muttered through clenched teeth, still not looking at you as he finished adjusting the second strap.

His fingers brushed against your ankle again, lingering just a second too long, and you swore you saw his ears turn even redder. Deciding to test your luck, you slowly crossed one leg over the other, making the movement deliberately graceful.

Geo’s aquamarine eyes flicked up instinctively at the shift in movement, and when he realized what he’d done, he snapped his gaze away so fast it was almost whiplash-inducing.

“Stop doing that,” he muttered, his voice lower now.

“Doing what?” you asked, feigning innocence as you tilted your head and batted your lashes at him.

“You know what,” Geo shot back, his jaw tightening as he focused way too hard on the buckle of your heel, his fingers fumbling slightly.

“Aw, is Geo embarrassed?” you teased, your voice dripping with playful mockery as you leaned forward slightly, one of your legs crossing just enough to invade his space. The toe of your heel pressed lightly against his chest, and you tilted your head, a mischievous grin tugging at your lips. “I didn’t think you’d get so flustered over a little outfit.”  

Geo, ever the picture of calm composure, froze mid-motion. His hands, which had been casually adjusting the cuffs of his jacket a moment ago, were now completely still. For a second, it was like time itself had paused. Slowly—deliberately—his gaze lifted, locking with yours.  

Fuck.

His aquamarine eyes, normally narrowed and calculating, were different now. They seemed darker, more intense, clouded with something you couldn’t quite place. It wasn’t annoyance, nor was it the usual stoic indifference he wore like armor. Whatever it was, it had you swallowing hard.  

The teasing smirk on your face faltered just slightly as curiosity crept in. You tilted your head to the side, your lips parting faintly as you tried to read him, to figure out what was going on behind that icy stare. “Geo?” you prompted softly, your narrowed eyes searching his face.  

Still, he didn’t look away. He couldn’t seem to.  

It was unnerving—and kind of thrilling, if you were honest. Normally, a jab like that would earn you a dry, sarcastic retort, something sharp-edged that would put you right back in your place. But this time? Nothing. Whatever comeback he’d had locked and loaded vanished the second your teasing grin softened into something more uncertain.  

The silence stretched, tension thickening between the two of you like a coiled spring. You couldn’t tell if it was your own heartbeat hammering in your chest or his, but the moment felt impossibly fragile.  

“Seriously, say something,” you murmured, a hint of nervous laughter creeping into your tone. You pressed your foot just a little harder against his chest, trying to get any kind of reaction. “You’re starting to freak me out.”  

His gaze flicked briefly to your leg—the curve of your calf, the ridiculous heel perched at the end of it—before snapping back to your face. “You shouldn’t play games you can’t win,” he said finally, his voice low and even.

Your breath caught for half a second. His hand moved, wrapping firmly around your ankle—not harshly, but with enough pressure to make your pulse skip a beat. With one smooth motion, he guided your leg away from his chest.

“You don’t get it,” he said suddenly, his voice quiet but firm, his tone a complete shift from his usual snark.

The intensity in his voice caught you off guard, and your expression faltered. “...Don’t get what?” you asked, your playful tone slipping into something more hesitant.

Geo’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white as if he were trying to hold something back. He stood abruptly, the sudden motion making you flinch slightly. His eyes immediately flickered with regret at your reaction, and he took a deep breath, trying to collect himself.

“Shit,” Geo muttered under his breath, running a hand through his already messy hair. His back was turned to you, but the stiffness in his posture betrayed his frustration. He exhaled sharply, shoulders rising and falling as though wrestling with something he couldn’t quite say.  

“Geo…” you started softly, the sharp edge in your tone from earlier now replaced with concern.  

“Don’t,” he cut you off, his voice strained and hoarse, like the words were being dragged out of him. “We’re not going to the charity event. You’re staying here. End of discussion.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. “What?” you exclaimed, still perched on the edge of the bed. “You can’t just decide that for me!”  

He turned to face you, amber eyes blazing with a mix of irritation and something you couldn’t quite place. “Watch me.”  

Before you could react, Geo stalked toward your desk, snatched a hoodie draped over the chair, and swung it around your shoulders with surprising precision. His hands lingered just long enough to tug it snugly over your frame, the fabric swallowing the delicate silhouette of your bunny suit.  

“You’re not going anywhere in that,” he said firmly, his tone brooking no argument. He stepped back slightly, his gaze flicking over you as though ensuring his makeshift cover-up was secure. “If Crowe wants donations that badly, he can wear the damn bunny suit.”  

Your jaw dropped, words caught somewhere between outrage and disbelief. “Geo, you’re being absolutely insane!”  

“Yeah, probably,” he admitted, flashing a grin that was more sharp edges than warmth. “But at least I’m not letting you walk into a room full of idiots who won’t be able to keep their eyes—or their thoughts—off you.”  

Heat crept up your cheeks at his bluntness, and you folded your arms tightly across your chest. His words hung in the air, heavy and unyielding, and the tension between you grew like a palpable thing.  

“You’re seriously overreacting,” you muttered, but your voice lacked its usual bite.  

“Am I?” Geo shot back, stepping closer. His towering frame cast a shadow over you as his gaze locked onto yours, burning with an intensity that made your pulse quicken. His voice dropped, low and deliberate. “Do you even realize how—” He stopped abruptly, his jaw clenching as if swallowing the words was the only way to keep them from spilling out.  

“Realize what?” you pressed, your own voice barely above a whisper now, caught somewhere between defiance and curiosity.  

Geo’s eyes darted to the floor, then back to you, before he let out a low, frustrated growl. In one swift movement, he stepped forward, his hands gripping your shoulders as he pushed you gently but firmly down onto the bed.  

“Geo, what the hell—”  

Your protest was cut short as he followed, his weight settling over you in a way that was far from aggressive but left no room for escape. His arms slipped around you, pulling you into a tight embrace as his head dropped to your chest.  

The world seemed to stop as you felt the warmth of his breath against your collarbone. He didn’t say a word, his face buried against you, his grip almost desperate.  

You froze, your hands hovering uncertainly in the air. “Geo?” you murmured, your voice soft and unsure.  

“Just… shut up for a second,” he muttered, his voice muffled against you. His tone was softer now, tinged with vulnerability that made your chest ache. “Let me have this.”  

Your hands hesitated before they slowly lowered, one settling against his back, the other threading cautiously through his hair. His body tensed at first but then melted into yours, his hold tightening as if he were afraid you’d disappear.  

“You drive me crazy, you know that?” he mumbled, his voice raw and unguarded. “And not in the way I’m used to handling.”  

For a moment, neither of you moved, the weight of his words—and his closeness—stealing the air from the room. Whatever you were going to say died on your tongue as you let the moment stretch, the sound of his breathing steadying against you.  

“Oh,” you said finally, your voice quieter now, “You’re not making any sense. We’re going to be late for the event,” you murmured, trying to keep your tone soft but firm.

“Good,” he muttered into your chest without lifting his head.

“Good?” you echoed, your brows furrowing. “Crowe’s going to kill us if we don’t show up. And you promised to drive me, remember?”

“I don’t care about Crowe or the stupid event right now,” he grumbled, his voice low and slightly muffled. “It’s not important.”

“Not important?” You leaned your head back against the bed in disbelief. “You’re acting like the world’s ending because of a bunny suit, Geo. What’s really going on?”

He finally lifted his head slightly, just enough to look at you. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that made your breath catch. “You still don’t get it, do you?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly, a mix of irritation and something deeper. “I don’t want anyone else looking at you the way I am right now.”

Your heart skipped a beat, his words sinking in and leaving you momentarily speechless. “Geo…” you started, but he didn’t give you a chance to finish.

Instead, his arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly closer as his lips brushed the curve of your neck. You tensed under his touch, your breath hitching as his teeth gently grazed your skin.

“Just give me five minutes,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips pressed softly against the spot he’d just bitten, lingering for a moment before pulling back slightly. “Five minutes, and then I’ll get up, and we can go. Deal?”

You blinked, trying to process what just happened, your body feeling like it was on fire where his lips had been. “Geo, that’s not—”

“Five minutes,” he repeated, cutting you off. His tone was quieter this time, almost pleading as his eyes locked onto yours, filled with a vulnerability he rarely let you see. “Please.”

Wow. Five minutes it is then.

· ───────⋆⋅♤⋅⋆─────── · 

[21280]

SECOND DATE UPDATE!

izuku midoriya got ghosted by you after the first date! so, he turns to mic's radio show segment in an act of desperation to know what happened... fem reader (pronoun only used once), y/n had mic as a homeroom teacher before. post war.

midoriya is incredibly nervous as he stands by on the other line as mic's cheery voice blasts through his ear and through the radios of thousands, mic's words sounding incoherent as his mind races on the possible outcomes. though, he's sure there's only one.

he's going to be absolutely humiliated.

"so midoriya here had a nice at home date with a person named y/n, and according to him, everything was super fun! when he asked for a second date, he's been hit with nothing but excuses! so he’s waiting here in the other line while we ring up his date…"

riiiing.

it's an unknown number. you shrug, choosing to answer the call.

"hello?"

"hey hey hey! is this y/n?"

you recognize the voice coming from your speaker, your lips curling into a smile. "is this mr. yamada? oh my, yes this is she! it's been a while."

you can hear him chuckle, "how're ya doing, kiddo? i've seen you pop up on my newsfeed the other day—but we're here on official biz. i'm calling from put your hands up radio because there's this listener of ours that you went on a date with..."

"oh shoot" you say, "um, who is it?"

"do you remember going out with midoriya?"

oh god no, you think. your mind suddenly becomes flooded with images and memories of the past week, where you spent a few hours over at midoriya’s apartment. what was the purpose of all this—did he spill the beans to your homeroom teacher?

you sigh as you shake your head, "yes, i do remember him."

"that sigh tells me it wasn't a good date, now, was it?" mic asks, his curiosity is evident. "wanna tell me what he did wrong?"

you awkwardly chuckle, "midoriya's a really good guy, i swear!"

"but you've been blowin him off ever since your date! i've seen you on the papers, but are you reaaally busy or is that just a load of cap?" mic pressures, and you can only imagine his eyebrow raised in confusion.

"i did? my bad, i've been real busy with the agency i haven't had the time to reply to anyone.."

there's a few seconds of silence, before mic speaks up. "producer here told me you posted on your socials a few hours ago, so unless you have a team who posts selfies of you buying tea, you've been on your phone, my dear y/n" he laughs, "now spill. what happened with midoriya?"

"well, we had a nice dinner at his house, and we played some board games and watched three all might documentaries."

mic scoffs and laughs, “that does sound like a midoriya, alright. but hey—that seems like a nice date—what happened?”

you were unsure of whether or not you wanted to speak up, but decided to do so. “he just wouldn’t stop talking about all might! and, i know he’s his father figure or something but come on! even during dinner he kept mentioning how all might liked cedar from yakushima so he got a cedar scented candle because of that. we played all might themed board games. geez—even when i went to the bathroom he had an all might towel and soap dispenser. i damn nearly fell asleep during the second documentary and he shook me awake because i was missing the best part of it.”

by now, mic is exploding in laughter, the faint sound of his fist banging the table being heard. there’s a couple giggles heard in the background too, from his producer and other guests present.

“oh my god i didn’t know.”

your eyes widen in shock as you realize who the voice belonged to. mic clears his throat, “so, midoriya’s on the other line because he wanted to speak to you and know what he did wrong, and also to ask for a second date! surprise!”

you nearly choke on your spit as you hear his voice through your phone’s speaker. “i really didn’t know you didn’t like all might, but i mean you should’ve said something! we watched the top three documentaries!”

“did you ask me if i wanted to watch three documentaries about all might, midoriya?”

“you’re right—i’m so sorry” midoriya apologizes, and it seems genuine. you know he’s the type of guy to be oblivious at times, so you give him the benefit of the doubt.

“is there any way i can make it up to you? a dinner at a restaurant, a trip, we can even watch documentaries of your favorite hero in return! i really like you, y/n, and i would like another chance.”

you can’t stop your heart from beating quicker when those words left his mouth. he’s a lover boy through and through, and he’s truly devoted to what he likes.

“edgeshot. i want an edgeshot interview compilation marathon.”

you can practically hear midoriya smile, “okay, great! i actually know a lot about him, did you know that during the war he—“

“oookay! looks like it’s all settled” mic chuckles, “i think it’s the first time we’ve had a second date update success!”

[siri-ike]

(I put the painting at the bottom so you have to read if you want to see it)

Some encouraging comments, reblogs, and the occasional fanart. Danny's notifications were predictable and comforting. People really appreciated his work, and he loved to see it. The fanart was usually posted publicly, though, and so he rebloged them ofcorse.

But, what's the right reaction when someone d.m.s you a picture of an intricate and very personal looking portrait of a boy who looks a lot like you, in black and white on one side and red and ghostly green shrouded in darkness on the other?

The two separate mediums were incredibly impressive, but was this a threat? Did someone find out who he was? And find out about Phantom?? Well, Danny is no coward, so he replied.

What kind of Addams Family shinaniganary is this?

TheBloodSon was apparently 15 years old, same as Danny, so why is he responding to him in poetic cuplets? Poems, mind you, that also kind of sound like threats. Yet endearing at the same time. They had the general vibe of "if I can't have you, no one can."

And Danny's not falling for that a third time.

● ● ●

Anyway.

Danny fell for that a third time.

TheBloodSon 's real name was Damian. He didn't wanna reveal a last name, and surprisingly, he didn't wanna know Danny's either. Something about not wanting an oricle to find him. Not that it would matter since Danny didn't have a legal identity anyway.

It went on that way for months, until one day.

Sent 18:47

TheBloodSon: I am skilled in bloodshed, but know less of emotion. With great caution, i tread, to confess my devotion.

In one week's time, a ball is planned. Will you attend? Holding my hand?

Read 18:53

Danny didn't know how to react. This was such a big leap. Sure, they knew eachothers interests, hobbies, talents, and how anoying echothers families were. But meeting in person? At an event of some sort? From what he'd heard/read, Damiens family regularly went to big rich people parties. With fancy clothes, and got ambushed by reporters and/or costumed villains. Usually both. Should he bring a thermos? Does he know about Phantom?

Sent 16:14

AstroBoi13: Which ball? My uncle might be going.

TheBloodSon: The Wayne charity gala. Anyone who makes a donation can go, but you don't have to if you are my guest.

AstroBoi13: it's not that I don't trust you or anything, but I think I'd rather have someone I already know and a way to get back home.

TheBloodSon: Understood, I look forward to seeing you.

18:18

AstroBoi13: I talked to him, we'll be there.

TheBloodSon: Exelent, your presence will be dually noted.

Read 18:20

Damian would be shaking with excitement, were he not highly trained to control such urges. But there was something more to it this time. More than an urge to flap his arms about, more than wanting to run a few laps. He wanted to... tell someone? That can't be right.

Damian could resist the first day. Five more, and he'd be golden. On the second day, however, the urge got stronger. Usually, he could just smother it, and it went away. But it wasn't going away.

He didn't even want to brag or rub it in someone's face. It was a different need. He wanted someone to be exited with him. The thought of Grayson congratulating him on making a normal friend, followed, of course, by far too much touching. He pictured Stephanie "hyping him up," as she says, and it tied his stomach in the best way. He imagined how all his "family members" would react. Multiple outcomes for each of course. And by far, the most consistent was Cassandra. So that's who he could tell if it came to that.

On the third day, he started to falter. And in a house full of detectives, the slightest hint is enough. He was aware of this and had acted accordingly. Unfortunately, he had once again underestimated the butler.

On the fifth day, Pennyworth caught him pacing in the library and moving his hands in a fanning motion. He had thought, maybe allowing himself this would help him stay quiet. But he still wanted so badly to divulge.

"Master Damian, are you alright?"

Damian stopped abruptly. He pretends as though he hadn't just been displaying the most obvious signs of secrecy. The league taught him better than this.

"I, am, great." Oh, good job, that was very convincing.

Pennyworth, of course, did not fall for this.

"If something is on your mind, I will gladly lend an ear. And if not, might I suggest pacing in front of the bookshelves instead, so the wind might clear the dust." He retorted with his usual, frivolous jokes.

"My affairs are none of your concern."

"Then perhaps you may speak aloud to the library while I clean."

Pennyworth's notions on "telling people how you feel" were as pointless as all his opinions. Had it rubbed off on him? Is he the reason Damian feels this need to talk about Danny. So much that the idea of telling someone made his heart flutter and his breath quicken.

Damian turned his head toward the butler. Paying close attention to his body language while keeping his own face out of view. "You must promise not to tell anyone."

Alfred just kept dusting the bookshelves, never even looking at Damian. "I give you my word. Anything you say stays between us." He placed his hand on his chest, but he still didn't look Damians way.

Pennyworth has no history of being deceitful. At least not towards them.

"I, I invited someone to the galla on Thursday... We have not met before." Confessing felt good, like he'd been holding up a large weight, and now he was finally relaxing his arms. He could feel a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "And I find myself concerned whether he will like me in person. Or if he will even show up." Where did that come from? Of course, he'll show up. Why wouldn't he?

Damian sat down on one of the couches. "He didn't want to go as my guest. He said he would ask his uncle to take him, but what if he was lying. What if he just doesn't want to see me. What if I already scared him off?" That was it, not just a weight. A giant lead ball just got removed from his stomach.

Alfred stopped cleaning. "This boy, is he your age?"

"Yes, he's fourteen." Damian leaned his arms on his knees.

"How do you know each other?" He turned his head towards Damian.

Damian avoided eyecontact. "We send messages over the internet."

"For how long?" He put down his duster and stepped closer.

"Seven months." He's going to be in trouble for sure. Inviting a stranger to the manor? What was he thinking?

Alfred was only a few feet away. "In these seven months, has he shown to be the kind of person who would stand you up?"

Damian thought for a moment. "No." Guilt, remorse, how could he think so little of his friend? Damian felt Alfred's hand on his back and, for once, didn't fight it.

"If he shows up, you'll get to meet each other in person. If he doesn't, then it'll be just another gala. You've survived those before." He assured with his typical dramatics.

On the sixth day, four hours before the early guests would start to arrive, Damian was at the tailor getting his suit (he got it adjusted every other week due to his current growth rate). Jebadiah "Bread" Carlson was nice to spend time with. He was always calm and rather monotone. Damian found comfort in his demeanor. Sometimes, he would stay there longer than he needed, and he'd even learned how to properly mend a stabwound on multiple materials. Mother would surely not approve. This was one of those days. He came up with excuses to stay longer like he always did, and Bread talked about his granddaughters' first steps, stitching techniques, and the camps. He was soothing to listen to. Before Damian knew it, three and a half hours had passed, and Jayson was there to pick him up.

18:18

AstroBoi13: I talked to him, we'll be there

TheBloodSon: Exelent, your presence will be dually noted.

Read 18:20

This is fine.

This is fine.

The fruit loop didn't even ask for much. Which was super out of character. He's definitely planning something. But it'll be fine.

Day one went... by, for Danny. His hands clamed up so much that he lost count of how often he washed them. His stomach felt queezy. Not in a sick kind of way, more like, ate too many boiled eggs kind of way, but slightly to the left of that, ya'know?

Unfortunately, he, Dani, and Dan (long story) got stuck in the triassic period along with Ember, Young Blood, and Box Ghost (longer story) for nine full months. The eyeballs wanted to send him home nine months later than he'd disappeared but there was absolutely no way he was skipping all the way to the start of a semester right after not only finishing one but also forgetting everything he'd learned in school. The thing is, Danny's human form had aged by nine months. His ghost form, on the other hand, was exactly the same as it had always been. So Clockwork was able to convince the council, through witchcraft or something, to let him go back to the right time period as long as he stays in his ghost form until his peers are the same age as he is.

OK, great. He can do that. As long as his parents don't go ghost hunting or turn on the ghost shields or he gets knocked out or sleep freezes something or a dozen other things that could happen. He'll deal with it when something inevitably goes wrong.

Somehow, his parents bought the "bleached hair" excuse and didn't even notice his eyes. Jazz helped, of course, but the real challenge came knocking at their door 4 days later in the form of Vlad calling about his suit preferences. That was when panic set in. They were leaving now. Staying the night at a hotel in Gotham because the gala is at 15:00 and according to Vlad, etiquette states they have to come an hour or two early since he was invited by one of the hosts. What do you mean one of the hosts? Damian invited him.

Well, apparently, Damian wasn't just a rich kid. He was the rich kid. Damian Wayne Al-Ghul, all the articles Danny had frantically looked up during the private jet trip seemed to agree that he was either a spoiled short fused brat with a soft spot for animals, or a dead faced con artist who was only taking advantage of Bruce Wayne's tendency to keep every child that crossed his path. The second category also seemed to sing the same song about Cassandra Wayne and Duke Thomas Wayne. Danny just assumed those were the racist tabloids and wrote them off. Especially after seeing a clip of Bruce Wayne puncing one of their "reporters".

Danny then reread all their messages. How he had presented himself mattered, a lot, more than how magazines saw him. After all, Danny knows what it's like to be misrepresented by the media.

Their hotel room was as fancy as he expected. Infact "room" was an understatement. It was a spacious living room with two bedrooms connected to it. Danny's temporary hotel bedroom was bigger than his permanent bedroom at home. Not as big as his, Dani's, or Dan's (he's like 11 now, seriously long story) rooms at Vlads mansion. And deffinetly not like their rooms at the Cheese Castle. But still ridiculously hoighty. All for the low price of pretending to be Vlads son in front of some rich people.

It was kind of nice sharing a room with the other two. Even back home, he never really had to share his bedroom for non emergency reasons. And in these forms (Dani also had to stay ghost and Dan didn't have a human form), they looked more like Vlads kids than His parents'.

10:02

TheBloodSon: At what time will you be here?

AstroBoi13: my uncle wants to bring us by at 2 30 or 2

TheBloodSon: You and who else?

AstroBoi13: Dani and Dan they are 13 and 11 but they can do theyr own thing

TheBloodSon: Are they your siblings or your cousins?

AstroBoi13: kind of

TheBloodSon: perhaps that will be better discussed in person.

Read 10:12

Damian hated greeting the guests, but this time, he didn't complain. It no longer mattered if Father became suspicious because soon he would ask to leave his side. One by one, people arrived. He stared down every limousine that entered their courtyard, and each one disappointed. At 14:36, he wondered if he might have missed their arrival. He was pretty sure Danny was actually Daniel Fenton from Amity Park, son of the Doctors Jack and Madeleine Fenton, and that the "uncle" He had mentioned was Vladius Masters. He couldn't find anything on Dani and Dan, but he had chalked that up to lack of time. Just then, Damian recognized the limo driving in. Anthony and his parents are here.

"Father, may I be excused, I have matters to attend."

"What kind of matters?" Father looked over to the limo approaching and cought on. "Right, I see."

Damian went back in, but rather than staying in the ballroom, where he would eventually be ambushed by Anthony and forced to waste hours hearing about the latest prank videos and "seacret gaming rooms," he went all the way to Father's office before he pulled out his phone.

14:41

TheBloodSon: Where are you?

AstroBoi13: were almost ther Dan threw a tantrum and it slowed us down a bit two minuts promise

TheBloodSon: When you get here, don't go into the ballroom. I'll sneak you away.

AstroBoi13: ??

TheBloodSon: There's an anoying classmate there. I would prefer to avoid him.

Read 14:48

14:59

AstroBoi13: at the gates now

TheBloodSon: Copy

Read 14:59

At 15:03, Damian made it to the front door, just in time to see a very tall, very pale man walk in, followed by a small boy with blueish white hair and sickly white skin, after him was a slightly taller girl, who also had white hair, still pale but not as much as the boy, and behind her was Danny Phantom, guardian of Amity Park, the second biggest city in Illinois. There was no mistaking it. That was the ghost boy Damian had read about in father's files.

Damian cought Bruce's expression from outside. Signaling him to talk to these people, or at least keep an eye on them.

"Ahem." Damian cought their attention. "I am Damian Wayne Al-Ghul, I don't believe we've met."

"Ooh, I'm Danny." Danny said. "Vl, father, may I go with Damian for a while. I'll be back in half an hour to greet your friends." He addressed the tall man. From this close, he looked like he could be two meters tall. Almost as tall as Bane.

"Don't bother, Eleanor won't be here until 4:20," Damian had heard that number be referred to as humorous, but endless research could not explain why. "Just come back some time after that."

"Looks like we got an hour and a half." Danny started in the direction Damian had come from. "Do I get to see your other paintings?"

Little Artist

So I saw this

and had an idea for Danny X Damian. Where Danny likes making various stories he publishes online. Everyone said he needed a hobby and he can’t be an astronount (or join a sport since it would be more suspicious if he left in the middle of a game or practice for a ghost attack) and Ghost Writer got him to try writing, saying it’s relaxing. And honestly? It was. Danny enjoyed making stories. Sometimes he would just type what crazy thing happened to him that day while tweaking names and a few details to not give away his identity. Sometimes he made fanfiction of some stories he liked. And sometimes he tested out making original stories, taking and first hand knowledge from various ghosts and cultures to make his writing more authentic. And after much encouragement from Jazz, he posted some of his work online.

Cue Damian coming across one of his brother’s laptops. He didn’t mean to look for long but he thought the file was for a case and wanted to know more about it. ….then he got invested.

There was an author on this sight who wrote amazing stories. The emotions captured were so vivid, and he even fact checked a few historical facts and languages used. Everything from the dialogue, to the accent, and culture. Each new story completely enraptured him.

It made his fingers twitch for a piece of paper. Some paint, perhaps charcoal?

Damian started putting heavy encryption on his computer and search history. And locked his art room up. Then came a story that truly resonated with him. An original work about a boy from a different place, trying to fit into his new reality and the new rules and expectations placed on him…worried if his family would accept him. It sounded so much like when Damian first came to Wayne Manor. And it sparked his inspiration. He spent days working on his newest piece. Trying different angles and lighting, mixing colors. It looked like a collage between charcoal and watercolor, showing someone leaving a world of darkness into the light, yet this new world was unstable and strange compared to the rigid structure of his old one. When it was finally done, Damian felt like he was both looking at himself and a stranger. The character from the story brought to life.

It felt both freeing and settling, like he finally had a name for what he had been feeling. AstroBoi13’s fics always had that affect on him.

And for the first time, Damian did something he thought he’d never do. He snapped a picture of his masterpiece and sent it to the author. Quickly so he didn’t lose his nerve.

It was fine. It’s just one picture. It’s not like this would be a repeat occurrence.

[littlemissshifter]

Dreaming and Lucid dreaming are Shifting.

Did that make you mad? Good, now read this till the end.

- Dreams: a series of thoughts, images, and sensations occurring in a person's mind during sleep.

- Lucid dreaming: dreams when you know you're dreaming while you're asleep.

- Shifting: a practice where individuals shift their awareness to alternate realities.

DREAMS

Since our awareness is shifting every second, what happens when we go to sleep? When our awareness stops being aware what happens?

Kids, kids, your awareness stops being aware here when you sleep. What about other realities?

When your conscious self goes to sleep, your subconscious self, which is connected to every reality imaginable what does it to?

It explores.

It explores all the different realities without limitations. Those are dreams. Every dream you've had is a different reality.

You are unaware while dreaming. You can't control these dreams. Why? Because did you think you can control your reality before stumbling upon manifesting or shifting? It's conditioning that is common in most of your dreams because you are conditioned that way, to believe reality cannot be controlled. This is why sometimes you can't differentiate between dreams and reality. Because they're both the same thing, one just happens when you're asleep.

We dream every night. The average is about 4-6 times each night. You shift every night. You remember some, you forget some. For me to explain why we forgot I'd have to make a different post because it'd get very long. For now just use Google.

"But why do my dreams revolve around this reality?" you ask. Because you're dreaming with the beliefs and conditioning of this reality.

If you were born in a magical world and were aware there, then your dreams will revolve around magic.

Shifting happens when you become aware of a different reality, When you've known only a particular reality your whole life, you subconscious only goes to different versions of that really. (I said subconscious because your conscious is asleep)

This is not fixed by the way. Like when you see a movie and you dream about it. When you become aware of a different world, you shift to (dream about) a different world.

Emotions play a important role in dreaming as well. They decide what your dream will be in different ways. Example: When you have a crush, you get a dream of being with them, it was fueled by your emotions of wanting to be with them. That there, is a reality where you are in a happy relationship with your crush.

Dreams are you shifting realities while unaware based on your beliefs, emotions, thoughts and conditioning of this particular reality.

Wait, beliefs, emotions, thoughts and conditioning? That sounds familiar. What else does that make? Oh yeah, your CR.

LUCID DREAMING

Now, since we've got the first topic covered, why can we control some dreams and not the other? People train themselves to lucid dream. It is possible to control all your dreams. When you become aware of the spiritual aspect of things, you get more vivid, lucid dreams because that is you taking control back whether it's a dream or your reality.

You can still lucid dreaming without ever knowing any spiritual aspect of anything. Why? Because shifting is the essence of existence. You shift every second, even sleeping.

You become aware in a dream and control it much like you scripted you can similar to your dr. It's the same.

I know what you're thinking, if they're the same, why does lucid dreaming and shifting feel so different?

Because you're aware of the fact that you're lucid dreaming. Emphasis on the dreaming here. You know you can control it, but you think you're still dreaming. 'Dreaming' for us defines that it's not real when in fact it is. If you changed your awareness to it being an actual reality, congratulations you've shifted with full awareness this time.

HOW DOES SHIFTING RELATE TO THEM

Dreaming and Lucid dreaming are a part of shifting. They are sub categories of shifting.

When you DREAM you're unaware of it being a dream, you think it's happening right now, but your conscious is asleep.

When you LUCID DREAM you're only half aware because you still believe that it's a 'dream' that you control.

When you SHIFT you're fully aware. Your conscious and subconscious are both in focused on one reality in front of you, like in your CR.

Everything you know or don't know is a part of shifting. Shifting is everything. Dreams and Lucid dreaming are not that different after all. They are different experiences yes. But the core of shifting is the same everywhere.

WHAT LEAD TO ME FINDING THIS OUT

I actually knew this for sometime, but it didn't hit me until a few days ago. How much we underestimate the mind in our daily life. Thinking shifting is something that leads us somewhere, when in reality it's us that leads shifting. You're all shifters because you're human. Human nature is shifting itself.

I've experimented in my dreams, becoming lucid and telling my mind to shift me places, to shift me back. Just whatever you can think of. The amount of power we hold in our dreams is the same as we hold in our daily life. Why the difference?

Time isn't real, so is reality. Who's to know except you?

Scientists do not know why we dream. Here is your answer.

This is my belief. My knowledge. My knowing. You don't have to accept this. You can think they're different, not at all related. That I'm just spouting nonsense. But then you are forgetting that we're shifting 24/7 why would that not include everything including dreams?

I'm open to opinions and questions. Please be civil and do not fight regarding this. Do not spread misinformation.

[torturedtypewritersdept]

blue eyes + bruises - part six

✯ pairing:

doctor!rafe cameron x fem!reader

✯ summary:

a tragic car accident looks like it'll be the end for you, but dr. cameron is here to make sure that doesn't happen.

✯ warnings:

mature themes, mentions of anxiety, nostalgia, and fear, car accident, death of a spouse (not rafe or y/n), major surgery, injuries, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, etc.

✯ a/n:

nothing!! please don't engage if you have a hard time with any of these topics <3 this was origianlly posted on my old blog @/illicitfixations, @/lovelornanonymity back in 2021/2022 and i have rewritten + reshared it here :)

—

Rafe’s soft hand tracing the freckles on your cheek is what woke you and as you stirred, wincing, as the first of the morning’s pain hit your senses, you looked up and into his blue eyes. At that moment, you were convinced there was no better way to wake up. You could imagine looking into his eyes in a tiny apartment close to the hospital; coffee filling your nostrils as the beans were rung of their juices and into the cup he’d be sure to bring to your bedside, because he’s just that kind of a guy. Those daydreams had been keeping you going lately, imagining a life outside of what you were living now – outside of hospital filled days and pain and the unattainable doctor at your bedside. You had been starting your mornings with blue eyes a lot lately, which was the main constant between your daydreams and your reality – those days – the blue-eyed days, always let you put your best foot forward and you were thankful that today was one of those days. 

“Good morning, pretty girl.” 

He spoke softly, careful not to startle you as you were still gaining your bearings from the slumber you were woken from. 

“Hi.” 

You spoke suggestively, your morning voice poking through, unsure of how sexy he found you as you sat upright in the hospital bed. You winced again. 

“Easy, tiger.” 

He chastised you softly, pushing your shoulders back against the soft pillows. 

“Here, let me.” 

He spoke, reassuring you with a smile. You gingerly nodded as he grabbed the bed’s remote control and brought the top half to an upright position. 

“What would I do without you?” 

You questioned playfully again. Jenni snickered from behind Rafe, watching as you shamelessly flirted with him, you had made that your full time job and you hoped he didn’t mind. You weren’t stupid enough to think he meant the nicknames and sweet words, even though it all felt real, you were sure it wasn’t. The truth was, you didn’t believe in love, even if it came in the form of Rafe Cameron, who you were sure had much better prospects than some girl he met for the first time in the emergency room. You thought about the night of your accident often – so much so that it was consuming your being; some days it was all you thought about and this morning, while you woke up to those pretty blue eyes, was no different. The thoughts were consuming you in the same way that Molly consumed him. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, drowning out the sound of Jenni and Rafe chatting amongst you about the day's plans. You loved them, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care when all you could see as your rows of eyelashes collided was the pale blue dress that clung to your body as you looked in the mirror one last time before heading out the door. Another blind date. You had spent your last thirty bucks on the dress, hopeful it would make a good impression. All that you knew about him was that he was a doctor – you didn’t know where or even what his name was, you just hoped he wasn’t an asshole like the last three had been. You were lonely and ready to find your person; your fertility clock ticking away by the day. You were supposed to fall in love in college and get married and do all the things that you’re supposed to do when that happens. But, instead, some dumb boy named Storm had broken your heart freshman year and you hadn’t let anyone in since. What kind of a person names their son Storm, anyways? Though you thought maybe they knew the Storm he’d turn into – maybe they knew who he’d become. You should’ve taken it as an omen; for him, for your life, for the way the 18 wheeler collided with your car, for the way the blood soaked the pale blue satin of your dress, and for the way the first time you locked eyes with Rafe you knew you loved him. 

“Earth to y/n!”

You heard Rafe chuckle as he waved his hand in front of your face. Your eyes were closed, but you felt the wind against your face as he moved it back and forth. Your eyes flew open and you forced a smile; he could tell. 

“Sorry, I was thinking.” 

You replied softly. 

“What were you thinking about, sweetheart? Is everything okay? Are you in pain?” 

His brows furrowed in concern. One thing you admired about Rafe is that he always wanted to make sure you were okay. He was selfless and kind; a golden retriever in human form and you loved that about him. You knew those qualities made him a good doctor and moreso, a good person, a good man. 

“I’m fine, I promise. I just got lost in my thoughts. I feel a little weird today, lots of emotions, y’know?” 

You replied, giving him a genuine smile this time. He always brought them out of you – by simply just being. 

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you I brought you breakfast and that you and I are going to go on a little field trip?” 

He looked at you with bright eyes, eagerly anticipating your response and as the joy laced your features, he knew he’d do anything to watch that in slow motion over and over again. 

“Is it my favorite?!” 

You squealed in question and excitement, already knowing the answer. ‘He remembers things about me’, you thought.

“Of course it is, you know I gotta take care of my girl.” 

He said, placing the chicken and mayo biscuit on the tray table in front of you. You looked down at the orange and brown Biscuit Co. wrapping paper it was covered in. Ever since Rafe had found out that you loved it as much as him, he made it his mission to bring you one at least once a week. He deemed it a treat for your progress in treatment. The words that had just come out of his mouth hit you in the same way your body flying through the windshield of your car had. The assault on all your senses made you freeze and your only response was the blush that filled your cheeks and a soft smile. 

His girl? Is that what you were to him – were you his girl? Or, would he be just like everyone else if you were too close to him. 

“Now, eat up – Big day today, sweet girl.” 

He said, smiling at you – the Rafe Cameron one – the one you couldn’t get enough of.

“What’s so special about today?”  

You questioned, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. 

“Today is your first day out of the hospital with me.” 

He said sweetly, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb. You frowned, anxiety filled you. He knew you well enough now to know it would trigger your fight or flight response – hence the biscuit. 

“Don’t worry, sweet girl. I’ll be there the whole time – we got this. It’ll be fun. You deserve some fun, don’t you think?” 

“I-I don’t know, Rafe.” 

You muttered. 

“You do. Now, eat up and I’ll go get everything ready for us to go. Jenny is gonna help you get dressed okay? I had her get some clothes for you.” 

He promised in return, a wink meeting your gaze before he kissed your cheek and disappeared from the room as quickly as he had entered. 

“He’s a sneaky little fucker, isn’t he?” 

Jenny blurted out, erupting in a belly laugh and suddenly there were crinkles beside your lashes as your smile met your eyes. 

“That, he is – but, you know what he’s up to, don’t you?” 

You questioned her, squinting your eyes in her direction. 

“I don’t know a thing!” 

She gasped, feigning shock as she placed her hand against her chest like you had shattered her heart. You could only laugh at her antics. 

“Okay, but, seriously – is this okay? Can I trust him?”

You asked. 

“Sweet girl, if there’s anyone you can trust – it’s him.”  

Jenny replied, a sweet smile on her face. Your heart clenched at her words and you nodded shyly in response. 

She moved around you to the chair adjacent to your bed where a pile of clothes lay waiting for you, quickly gathering them up in her hands before walking around the bed again and helping you lean forward. You aided her as best as you could with your left leg locked straight by the brace it was confined to. She started by reaching behind your neck as she helped you lean forward and gently untying the hospital gown that was draped over your top half. Her hands worked quickly and before you knew it, she was helping you into a bra and placing a UNC sweatshirt over your head. It was oversized and large, accommodating the injuries to your abdomen well. They were healing, but you wouldn’t be back to normal for a while. Jenni continued her work, tenderly removing the straps of the brace and lifting your leg out of it, taking the shorts that Rafe had provided for you and placing each of your ankles before she slid them up your legs as you sat there. 

“Okay, sweet girl. I’m gonna put the brace back on and then I'll help you upright so we can pull your pants up.” 

She spoke sweetly, encouraging you along the way. She knew how humiliating this was for people, she was no stranger to the reality of that. She worked as fast as she could, buckling you back into your prison before turning your body and letting your legs lower to the floor. 

“Put your hands on my shoulders and don’t touch your injured leg to the ground, okay? Rafe will kill me otherwise.” 

She joked, but you did as she said and watched in adoration as she manhandled you and helped you stand only on your healthy leg while she pulled your pants up around your hips. 

“All done!” 

She beamed emphatically at her hard work coming to fruition and just as the words left her lips Rafe entered the room. 

“You ready, sweet girl?” 

 He questioned and you smiled kindly in response, giving him a slight nod.

— 

Rafe had packed you safely in the backseat of his truck and he’d gone above and beyond, really. Though, you were sure maybe it was just the doctor in him that had you currently seated in luxury; your back leaned up against the back driver’s side door, a very fluffy pillow well above the regular hospital grade ones you were used to created a barrier between you, the window, and the plastic door handle. Your legs were laying straight out in front of you, the left one elevated by the same brand of fluffy pillow that your back leaned against. Rafe had thought of everything it seemed, you made a mental note of that as you watched your ice machine pump cool water onto the top of your knee. 

“How are you feeling back there, pretty girl?” 

He asked, turning down the radio and locking eyes with you in the rearview mirror. You gave him a soft smile, though the gravity of this being your first time in a vehicle since your accident weighed heavy on you. 

“A little overwhelmed.” 

You responded meekly and his eyes softened even more than their usual pouty, puppy-dog-like state, though you didn't even think that was possible prior to this moment. 

“I know, sweetheart. Can you make it three more minutes? We’re about to pull in.” 

He questioned you and you nodded in return, giving him a kind smile. Though he noticed it didn’t meet your eyes. Exactly three minutes and thirty-seven seconds later Rafe opened the door on the passenger side of the backseat. Your legs are met with the crisp autumn air and for the first time you realize that though it’s only been a few weeks since your accident, the world outside of your hospital room seems to be going on without you, without a second thought about you. Rafe can see how nervous you are in the murky waters of your eyes, so he does what he does best — he provides a distraction. That’s what he hopes this day will be. He hopes this day will give you a tiny fraction of the joy you deserve to feel. He’s only seen glimpses up close, but he knows how special you are. He knows you’re too good for him and far too good for this world. 

“Hello beautiful!” 

He greets you emphatically and you smile wide at him. 

“Hi, again.” 

You giggle in response. 

“Sit tight, I'll get you out in just a sec.” 

He says and you nod, watching him through the small window at the rear of the truck as he lifts the wheelchair from the bed of it and returns to your line of sight again. 

“You ready, pretty girl?” 

He asks and you nod, scooting toward him with the small amount of muscle on your right side that’s still able to help you in your movements. 

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart.” 

He coos, coaching you until you’ve slid your bottom to the middle of the bench of the back seat. Your breathing is labored when you’ve reached this point and his eyes soften at the sight. You’re trying so hard and you’re stronger than he could ever be, mentally and emotionally. So, again, he does what he does best – this time, swooping in to aid you. 

“That’s good, you did so good. Let me do the rest, yeah?” 

You nod in response to his question, though you know that it’s not really a question and that when it boils down to it, he would’ve done it anyways. His torso leans in to the inside of the truck and he places one hand under your knees and one around your shoulders. 

“Put your hands around my neck, okay?” 

He commands softly and you give him the reassurance he’s looking for with a nod. Before you know it, you’re airborne, leaning your head onto his shoulder for the brief moment before he places you down into the wheelchair. He kneeled down, adjusting the leg rest so your injured leg could sit comfortably, grabbing the pillow from the car and placing it underneath your injured limb. He stood and you smiled at him. 

“Thank you, Rafe. You’re kinder than I deserve.” 

You muttered, eyes casting down to where your hands rested on your legs. You were surprised as his thumb and forefinger met your chin, pulling your eyes toward his. 

“One of these days, I'll prove to you that you deserve far more than I can give.” 

He says, your chin still between his fingers, his thumb moving up to stroke your plump bottom limp. You look at him doe-eyed, struck with wonder at the fact that he’s saying it to you and not to some other beautiful girl, one more deserving of the kind of love that he has to offer. He’s so pretty, you think. Pretty eyes, pretty smile – pretty boy – your mind spouts out at your gazing. 

“Let’s have a good day, yeah?” 

He asks, bringing you back to earth. Your breath is caught in your throat, so you only manage a nod in response to him. 

“Almost forgot.” 

He said smiling, leaning into the passenger seat of his truck and grabbing a blanket before placing it over your legs and closing the doors of his vehicle. You were thankful. 

— 

The surprise couldn’t have been better, in fact, you’re glad you hadn’t known prior to this moment that Rafe had scored two tickets for a tour at a museum you’d only dreamt of seeing in person; the metropolitan museum of art. You’d meant to go so many times since you moved to New York, but sadly between your busy schedule as a teacher and your inability to time manage, you’d never made it. But, this – now, you’d managed it with a hunky boy at your side. You felt like you were dreaming as Rafe pushed you up the handicapped ramp. You admired the columns at the front of the entrance, its architecture something you’d seen photographs of for so many years, yet now, you realized they were truly larger than life, larger than you’d ever imagined. It made you feel uniquely human to gawk at the stone as it stood and as you smiled to yourself in reverence and awe at this day just as it began, Rafe knew he had done the right thing by bringing you here. You needed this — you needed joy. 

You’d made it through admission quickly, the foyer of the building as beautiful as you had dreamed of. There were people bustling all around you as Rafe pushed you even further and further into the room. Your senses were almost lost underneath the bucket of chaos, but you looked up and for the first time saw the beautiful architecture of the foyer ceiling. It was something that again, you’d seen hundreds of photos of, but the beauty of seeing it in person was truly overwhelming. You were jolted from the thought as Rafe parked your wheelchair near the center of the room where a giant plant played the role of a centerpiece and benches sat just below it. He locked the wheels before kneeling in front of you. 

“How’s your leg feeling, sweetheart? Do you need any medicine before we get started?” 

He questioned, removing the blanket from your left leg to take a look at the swelling himself. 

“The pain isn’t bad, I think the ice helped on the way over.” 

You spoke, giving him a hopeful smile. 

“How about some ibuprofen, then? Just to keep the swelling down.” 

He questioned, his doctor mind working in overdrive even outside of the hospital to ensure your safety. 

“Okay.” 

You agreed, accepting the pills from his hand as he reached into the bag Jenny packed that lay draped across the bars of your chair and pulled out a water bottle for you to swallow it down with. You swallowed them smoothly, watching as Rafe gave your leg one more once over and fluffed the pillow it sat on before covering you with the blanket once again. 

“Good girl. You ready?” 

He asked, his smile meeting his eyes in excitement and you nodded, hoping you’d never forget what he looked like when he did that. When all this was over and you were no longer under his care, you hoped you’d never forget that smile. 

—

Rafe pushed your chair forward into the first exhibit in your path, Van Gogh’s Cypresses, with a map of the museum in his hand. It was quiet between the two of you, uncertainty looming in the air of what the day would bring, if you’d let the other in. You didn’t make much of it, observing your surroundings as you were rolled forward. You’d heard about this exhibit coming to the museum in the form of an email newsletter from the met and you’d thought about coming so many times, but again, time got away from you. You were sure never to let that happen again once you were healed and the initial fear of living dissipated just as you knew it would. Your eyes traced over the painting; the stark contrast of the evergreen trees the exhibit was based around paired with the night sky sent chills down your spine. 

“Do you know what Van Gogh found so remarkable about the cypress trees?” 

You finally questioned him, breaking the silence as he parked your chair in front of a giant painting. Your eyes traced over it; the stark contrast of the evergreen trees the exhibit was based around paired with the night sky sent chills down your spine. 

“Why don’t you tell me?” 

He smirked, locking your wheels and kneeling down beside you, seeing it through your lens. He wanted to see everything through your lens. He looked to you with a pure smile, one you were sure that only he was capable of and you aren’t sure but you felt immense peace. 

“Well, he found the trees beautiful and eternal and ethereal and much like most artists do, he looked to other art. But, noticed that no one had captured them quite the way he saw them. So, he set out on a mission to do it himself.” 

He smiled at your analysis, knowing that your years of reading and teaching must’ve led you to this conclusion. 

“I didn’t know that, thank you for teaching me something new.” 

He replied and as sweet as his words were, you couldn’t help the shrill of embarrassment crawl up your spine, its force so strong, your body seemed to curl into itself where you sat. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” 

He asked, afraid you were in more pain than you were letting on. For a brief moment, he wondered if this outing was a mistake, if he was hurting you, rather than helping you for his own selfish motives. 

“Nothing, I'm sorry if I sounded like a know-it-all. I have a bad habit of doing that. I’m sure you know lots about Van Gogh, you have a fucking medical degree for crying out loud.” 

You stuttered out quickly and he couldn’t help but smile at how flustered you’d become. 

“Hey — look at me.” 

His voice is soft as he commands your attention and you follow his instructions. 

“I might have a medical degree, but I don't know everything. In fact, there’s a lot I don’t fucking know – like an absurd amount. If it doesn’t have to do with bones or a joint, it’s actually quite foreign to me.” 

He uttered, watching as your eyes moved back and forth over his face, like you were committing it to memory. Little did he know, you were. 

“Listen to me. You and I, we’re both separate people with faults and quirks. We met by the brutality of the universe, right? I want you to forget about all of that. Today, I want you to forget about the accident, forget about our relationship, forget about the hospital. Today, we’re a girl and a guy at a museum. I know the contents of your medical chart, but I want to know what makes you laugh so hard that your stomach hurts, y/n. I want to know you. So, I’m gonna walk away for five minutes and when I come back, we’re going to start over, yeah?” 

His words made a lump form in your throat, its width as big as a beach ball. 

“Yeah.”

You whispered in response. You didn’t hear Rafe walk away but you knew that he had by the quiet amidst you in a room full of chatting people. The next thing that gave him away was the fact that his presence gave you a warmth that you couldn’t describe and in the short stent that he was away from you, you longed for it. You wondered if he’d come back at all. 

“So, do you come here often?” 

Your favorite voice boomed over your shoulder. 

“U-Uh no, it’s actually my first time. You?” 

You replied, a smile hiding behind your plump lips. 

“I come about once a year. Can’t say I’ve ever seen the likes of your beauty here, though.” 

He spoke and you giggled at the cheesy one-liner that he pulled out of his docket. For the first time since he’d returned you met his blue eyes. 

“Are your pick-up lines that bad with everyone or am I getting special treatment?”

You asked him, chuckling. He wore a sly grin at your giggle. It was the first time he’d really seen you laugh and he was sure that he wanted it to keep happening – for forever. 

“You’re getting celebrity treatment. I pulled that one from the deluxe package.” 

You laugh boisterously in unison. 

“So – very cheesy stranger, can I ask who you are?” 

You questioned him. 

“That’s a loaded question, pretty girl. But, here goes nothing. I’m the guy who smiles when it rains, thunderstorms help me sleep. Libraries are my safe haven. I went to college at UNC and moved here with my college sweetheart. My favorite author is John Steinbeck. I’m a doctor, I came from a broken home, my sister is my best friend, I hate anchovies, and I broke my hip in a motorcycle accident when I was fifteen.” 

He replied. 

“You had me at the anchovies. Nice to meet you, very-cute stranger boy. I’m y/n and I feel like I've known you my whole life.” 

The words you uttered were like music to his ears. 

“Tell me, y/n, who are you?” 

He asks and your mouth tips up in a smirk. 

“I'll tell you what, show me around your favorite places here and I'll tell you everything you want to know.” 

You said with a smirk. 

“Negotiator and briber. I love it. You got yourself a deal, beautiful girl.”

He replied, placing a chaste kiss on your forehead, pushing your chair away from the Van Gogh exhibit and into the direction of art that was unknown to you. You were sure that no matter what, you never wanted to forget this moment, this purity, this bliss — no hospital rooms or surgeries or medicine, just you and the man you were falling in love with. Together. 

— 

taglist:

as always, if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist, please shoot me an ask or comment on this post so i can keep track <3

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[midnightfict]

A Star in the Making.

— 𓆩𓆪 —

𓆩 Lee Byung-Hun x F!reader 𓆪

Summary — Co-stars were caught in a whirlwind of off-screen chemistry.

A/N — this is a request that i rewrote the draft multiple times. the story request itself is sooo good but i feel this didn't live up to my expectations. hopefully, it's an enjoyable read though.

anon's request post

— 𓆩𓆪 —

Lee Byung-hun sat at the long, polished table across from Kim Tae-ri and the production team, a script resting unopened in front of him. The meeting room buzzed with quiet anticipation as the director leaned forward, clearing his throat.

“So,” the director began, looking between Byung-hun and Tae-ri, “we’re finalizing casting for Our Fading Days. Ji-ho and Min-ji are set, but we’re still struggling with Ha-yoon.”

Kim Tae-ri, who got cast as Min-ji tilted her head. “Isn’t the screen test next week? I thought you had a shortlist already.”

The director sighed. “We do, but none of them quite fit. Ha-yoon is vital to the story. We need someone who embodies her hopeful, cheerful energy, but also has depth. Someone who can hold her own against Ji-ho’s quieter nature and make the audience feel that emotional connection.”

Byung-hun listened quietly, his fingers lightly drumming the table. “What’s the issue with the shortlist?” he asked.

“Either they have great chemistry with you but lack the character,” the director explained, “or have the character but can’t create the platonic bond Ji-ho and Ha-yoon need. We’re considering holding another round of auditions, but…”

The producer chimed in. “We’re running out of time. If either of you has recommendations, please send them our way.”

Kim Tae-ri raised a brow at Byung-hun. “Any ideas?”

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

That evening, Byung-hun walked home under the dim city lights. The meeting lingered in his mind. Casting Ha-yoon was proving difficult, and he wasn’t sure they’d find someone who could balance the character’s charm and vulnerability.

As he passed a local theater, he noticed the soft glow of lights through the windows. Something pulled at him—curiosity, maybe. Without thinking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The auditorium was nearly empty, save for a handful of people rehearsing on stage. Byung-hun’s gaze locked on a young woman, her. She stood at the center, pouring raw emotion into a heartfelt scene. Her voice carried across the room, weaving between desperation and hope. The intensity in her eyes made the dialogue feel alive like she wasn’t just acting but being.

He didn’t know the play or her name, but he felt a pang of admiration. The way she transitioned from lighthearted to deeply emotional reminded him of Ha-yoon’s complexity.

When the scene ended, her laughter rang out as she joked with the cast. The shift was so effortless that it startled him. This wasn’t just an actress—this was Ha-yoon.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a stage crew member approached him. “Sorry, sir, rehearsals aren’t open to the public.”

Byung-hun nodded apologetically. “My mistake.”

As he walked out, he pulled out his phone and called the director. “I think I found the perfect Ha-yoon. Contact the Arko Arts Theater. You’ll know her when you see her.”

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Months passed, and filming for Our Fading Days was in full swing. You, cast as Ha-yoon, had been a bundle of nerves during your first few days on set. Transitioning from theater to television was daunting, but Byung-hun made it easier.

From the start, he was supportive, sharing tips, running lines, and reassuring you when you doubted yourself. “You’re doing great,” he said one evening after a long day of filming. “Better than great. Ha-yoon feels real because of you.”

“Thanks,” you murmured, still unsure. “It just feels… unnatural sometimes. Like I’m out of place.”

He smiled softly. “If that’s unnatural, I can’t imagine what you’re like when you’re in your element.”

The two of you quickly became inseparable. Lunch breaks were spent sharing snacks, late-night text exchanges were filled with inside jokes, and off-set outings turned into a regular thing. Kim Tae-ri often teased the both of you, trying to nudge the relationship further, but you and Byung-hun were oblivious to her hints.

As filming wrapped up, you found yourself bittersweet about the end. “I’m going to miss all of this,” you admitted one day.

He glanced at you. “You mean the show or…”

“Everything,” you replied vaguely.

The promotional interviews were in full swing, and the three of you, Lee Byung-hun, Kim Tae-ri, and you, sat on a couch, microphones in hand, under the bright studio lights.

The interviewer smiled as they turned to the group. “The story of Our Fading Days is so compelling—a childhood friendship between Ji-ho and Ha-yoon drifting apart as Ji-ho falls in love with Min-ji. It’s relatable and bittersweet. But,” they continued, their tone shifting to something more playful, “fans have picked up on something surprising. Despite Ji-ho and Ha-yoon not being a romantic pair, viewers are shipping you two. What do you think about that?”

You blinked, caught off guard for a moment, and then laughed lightly. “Oh, well, I guess it’s pretty common to root for the childhood best friend to end up with the main guy, even though Ji-ho and Ha-yoon see each other as strictly platonic. But yeah, I understand them, Ha-yoon's reaction towards their deteriorating friendship might seem more than platonic to the viewers.”

Before you could say more, Kim Tae-ri let out an amused laugh, shaking her head. “I think you misunderstood. The question wasn’t about Ji-ho and Ha-yoon. They’re asking about you and Byung-hun.”

Your eyes widened as the realization hit, and heat crept up your neck. “Oh.” You let out a nervous laugh, glancing at Byung-hun for support.

Byung-hun grinned, clearly amused by your reaction. “Really?” he said, leaning into the playful tone, “Shipping us? Wow, that’s a first—I didn’t think I had the qualifications to keep up with her. She’s the real star here!”

You laughed along with him, brushing it off. “He's too nice but yeah, Let's keep the shipping between our fictional lives.”

Kim Tae-ri smiled knowingly, her tone light but deliberate. “I don't know, you guys...” She paused, then added slyly, “Min-ji might just be the third wheel around here.”

The interviewer raised their eyebrows, the audience chuckled, and you felt your face grow warmer as you exchanged a quick, sheepish glance with Byung-hun. He gave a soft laugh, shaking his head in mock defeat, and the moment moved on—though the subtle tension lingered in the air.

⋆｡𖦹° ⏾ ˚｡⋆

Even after promotions ended, Byung-hun remained a constant in your life. He came to your theater performances, always waiting backstage with flowers in hand.

“You’re spoiling me,” you joked one night after a show, hugging him tightly.

“You deserve it,” he replied.

That evening, as you both strolled under the city lights, he suddenly stopped.

“You know,” he said, his tone a little nervous.

“Hmm?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I was thinking...” He rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile playing on his lips. “Ji-ho and Ha-yoon might make a great couple. Their relationship is certainly more than some friendship, don't you think? ”

Your eyes widened, and for a moment, you were speechless. Then you laughed, the sound warm and genuine.

“Is Ji-ho trying to confess, here?” you teased.

“Maybe,” he admitted, grinning.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Well… Ha-yoon definitely can sense the adoration Ji-ho has for her. I can say that she feels the same way.”

He chuckled, his hand brushing yours. “I'm glad she feels the same. She's a star in the making and he will continue walking her way.”

As the two of you walked on, hand in hand, the city seemed brighter than ever.

[honeyhonest]

No but being in Yuu's shoes and being in a relationship with Eric can be fun to torture Vil, of course depending on the relationship between you and Vil. Vil is your ex-boyfriend who treated you badly? Fuck his dad. Vil is being a little shit to you and your friends? Fuck his dad. Vil is your enemy? I think you know what to do. He'll hate you more. Also, you can break his heart if he has a crush on you. It seems like all those scenarios are the same but they have those little differences that make them all unique in their own way. Well, the only thing that remains is that Vil has to put up with seeing you at school while you're with his dad.

Also, can we have a sugar daddy fight? I think Eric has the potential to be one of the best sugar daddies. A great rival would be Crewel. He seems to appreciate Vil too.

(By the way, I love Vil. So this isn't hate propaganda against him.)

warning for intoxication in this post lolz minors dni etc

I love vil also but sometime you have to torture the blond man a little yk

orz the possibilities... I love revenge sex in stories, I love drama, etc, my favorite of these is definitely the first except this: vil was a really good (perfect) boyfriend, but he dumped you right before/after graduating NRC so he could focus on his career. he told you he just couldn't imagine finding the time for a relationship with his schedule, and school was one thing, but now he's an ~adult~ and he needs to get serious about his career. it wouldn't be fair to stress and burden you with his work, after all

and you let him because, well, it's vil. once his mind is made up on something, it's almost impossible to dissuade him. you have friends, and you try to talk to them, but nothing really helps. not even rook can cheer you up

and one night you're really feeling it, the sadness, the loneliness, the rejection, maybe you're scrolling through vil's magicam and looking at his perfect life, how your absence meant nothing to him, and you're desperate for his comfort but you can't have that, so you have the next best thing. next thing you know, your ex's middle-aged father is taking you out for a drink and a talk to ease your worries. in the blur of alcohol and laughter, you think he almost looks like vil, but not so strict, not so stressed

he's very charming, too. how have you never noticed? before tonight he was always so cordial, friendly but distant. perhaps it's only the alcohol, perhaps you had just been so wrapped up in vil's glamor you never gave erik a second thought. but he's really quite funny, isn't he? he keeps making jokes, teasing you, it's almost friendly. and he's a flatterer, too, you're sure he's never complimented you so much in your life

but he's only trying to cheer you up, right? this was the man who was going to be your father-in-law, you thought

...but now he's just a man, and one who happens to be buying you plenty of drinks and complimenting your smile, at that

you both end up a little more tipsy than you'd meant to, but you're having fun, and for the first time in weeks, you're not thinking about... what was his name, again? you can't even bring yourself to mope, everything is a little blurry, isn't it?

and you both end up in his house, somehow, and he tells you that vil is doing a shoot in fleur city this weekend, so don't worry too much about waking him, you can make as much noise as you want, it's just you and erik

and it's you that ends up on your back, or on your hands and knees, or bent over the marble counter in the stupidly expensive kitchen, or, more likely, all three over the course of the night, getting stretched out on his cock, his grunts in your ear and his breath on your neck, telling you how good and beautiful you are, how long he's wanted this-

I think he'd like to see you, your stomach or thighs or back, covered in his cum when he's done. such a lewd position you never should have been in

and you tell yourself, in the morning, that it was just a spur of the moment thing. you were just emotional, you were both drunk, and alone, and it won't happen again

it will. it does. vil is going to have a queen-sized meltdown when he finds out, of course, but for now, y'know, being a sugar baby isn't that bad

you still find it a little ironic how erik, who is just as, if not more career-oriented than vil, still has time in his busy schedule to see you >_>

[heartburriedinvenice]

the end is undeniably near (and i keep running towards it) - steve h.

(steve harrington x hopper!reader)

a part of my phoebe challenge 🎞🪐💌🕯

based on the song "i know the end" by phoebe bridgers

in which you always wanted to escape hawkins, indiana, until you didn't anymore.

or

in which the billboard said "the end is near"

content warning post season 3 (SO SPOILERS), mild cursing (maybe), ANGST like the whole time, unhealthy coping, and hawkins being hawkins, reader is an implied theater kid (im sorry not sorry)

a / n i disappeared on y’all, I’m sorry!! you know life is getting weird when i randomly return to tumblr.  just dipping my toes back in the water of all this so i apologize if i am a little rusty. this is just a piece of a hopper!reader show rewrite that has been in the works for a while so if anyone likes it enough, lmk, I’d be be happy to start posting the whole thing,starting from season 1! any feedback would be awesome (and also requests cause I need inspo back). okay enjoy some angst!

No one ever got out of Hawkins, Indiana. Like the town was somehow enclosed within some heavy-duty bubble, only a few people ever got the nerves to squeeze through. Until you did, until you did the one thing you believed was impossible. You packed your bags, loaded up your car, and left hell. And you did it without a goodbye because the only way to do the impossible was without one. And deep down you knew you were a coward, even after fighting monsters and otherworldly creatures, you were a coward. You could not face what was left behind or allow yourself to acknowledge it.

And it ate away at you in a way you could have never imagined. Too busy pretending like it never crossed your mind, like Hawkins never existed in the first place. Still, it chipped at you piece by piece until the guilt of escaping Hawkins, Indiana finally caught up with you. Until one day that guilt would sneak up and trip you, sending you tumbling all the way back down a hill to only land right back at the gates of Hawkins, at its green sign, Welcome to Hawkins! That warm welcome, the warmest welcome, with its murders and second dimensions and its people. Those people. Those people who worked their way so deep into your heart before you could even realize it. So deep that leaving felt like removing deeply grown roots from a garden, so impossible, so hard to tell where they even stopped growing.  You weren’t sure entirely when they grew so deep, you don’t really remember at all how they got there. When you let them? Why did you let them? After everything, you should have known better. You shouldn’t have let them.

You were fifteen when you knew you could never live in Hawkins, Indiana your whole life. It never felt real, artificial, fake. Mass-produced nuclear families and white picket fence houses and stale dead-end jobs. 

And then Steve Harrington needed an extra art credit and found his way as the lead in Hawkins High’s production of Romeo and Juliet. When rehearsing turned into giving Steve girl advice and driving with him to drop off flowers. When running lines became swinging a bat of nails and finding an alien in a fridge. When the day before the play performance had turned into icing Steve's bruises on your couch as you ran lines back and forth because neither of you could sleep. When a whole group of middle schoolers sat in the front row and your dad sat center with a bouquet of flowers. They were your family. Your strange and messy family all pretending to be interested in the gibberish mess of Shakespeare on stage. Them watching with stifled laughs as Steve stumbled through lines, as the balcony scene turned into him and you having a staring contest trying to figure out whose lines were next. And though your director would have your heads later, the two of you sat giggling during intermission and had to hold the laughter again when your director asked why you didn’t have time to be memorized to perfection. Because you had all the time in the world, didn’t you?. 

Unbelievable as it was, you began to question what you at fifteen had promised you would do. Because you had found more than stale every day Hawkins. You had found their odd-balls who taught you to play Dungeons and Dragons in their basement, who reminded you so much of your sister. And you had found Steve Harrington, a pretty boy with a heart of gold, who risked his life for his Juliet that night at the mall. Who held you tight when it all got too much.

When you moved back to Hawkins, Indiana, after Sara, after your parents split, you were sure life would never be the same again. You needed a fresh start, to completely reconfigure your life and pretend none of what had happened had happened. That you never had a sister, that your dad hadn’t completely changed, burrowing himself under alcohol and late shifts. That your mom wasn’t actively trying to forget and build another life over the one that had been left abandoned in that New York apartment. You were so sure you would have to move on, cut it all out the minute you graduated from high school. You were sure you had to escape on your rickety old bike right out of town.

Then things happened and somehow you found yourself again, found your father again as you sat together for your first Christmas dinner in years. Celebrating the return of the young Will Byers and the return of something else, something more, something familiar and warm. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was yours. You saw your father again for the first time in years that night, Christmas Eve, sitting on the porch as light snow fell and hit your heads, bundled in warm jackets, pretending the coffee you made was not mediocre at best. The police chief and his daughter, a messy duo. And that was perfect to you.

And then things happened again and again and again and finally everything just shattered.

And you left. You did what you had always hoped to do. But you didn’t feel the pride you had thought you would feel when you dreamed it at fifteen. You weren’t heading towards a new life, you were sitting in a stuffy apartment in the city. You were stuck again at what felt like the beginning. Unable to go with the Byers, you immediately made other plans, back at the apartment you had spent so many nights trying to forget. 

No one ever got out of Hawkins, Indiana. Like the town was somehow enclosed within some heavy-duty bubble, only a few people ever got the nerves to squeeze through. Until you did, until you did the one thing you believed was impossible. You packed your bags, loaded up your car, and left hell. And you did it without a goodbye because the only way to do the impossible was without one. And deep down you knew you were a coward, even after fighting monsters and otherworldly creatures, you were a coward. You could not face what was left behind or allow yourself to acknowledge it.

And it ate away at you in a way you could have never imagined or wanted to imagine. Too busy pretending like it never crossed your mind, like Hawkins never existed in the first place. Still, it chipped at you piece by piece until the guilt of escaping Hawkins, Indiana finally caught up with you. Until one day that guilt would sneak up and trip you, sending you tumbling all the way back down a hill to only land right back at the gates of Hawkins, at its green sign, Welcome to Hawkins! That warm welcome, the warmest welcome, with its murders and second dimensions and its people. Those people. Those people who worked their way so deep into your heart before you could even realize it. So deep that leaving felt like removing deeply grown roots from a garden, so impossible, so hard to tell where they even stopped growing.  You weren’t sure entirely when they grew so deep, you don’t really remember at all how they got there. When you let them? Why did you let them? After everything, you should have known better. You shouldn’t have let them.

You were fifteen when you knew you could never live in Hawkins, Indiana your whole life. It never felt real, artificial, fake. Mass-produced nuclear families and white picket fence houses and stale dead-end jobs. 

And then Steve Harrington needed an extra art credit and found his way as the lead in Hawkins High’s production of Romeo and Juliet. When rehearsing turned into giving Steve girl advice and driving with him to drop off flowers. When running lines became swinging a bat of nails and finding an alien in a fridge. Or jumping into a hole in the ground and lighting up never-ending tunnels of vines straight from those horror movies you used to watch with your sister. When the day before the play performance had turned into icing Steve's bruises on your couch as you ran lines back and forth because neither of you could sleep. When a whole group of middle schoolers sat in the front row and your dad sat center with a crumble bouquet of flowers. They were your family. Your strange and messy family all pretending to be interested in the gibberish mess of Shakespeare on stage. Them watching with stifled laughs as Steve stumbled through lines, as the balcony scene turned into him and you having a staring contest trying to figure out whose lines were next. And though your director would have your heads later, the two of you sat giggling during intermission and had to hold the laughter again when your director asked why you didn’t have time to be memorized to perfection. Because you had all the time in the world, didn’t you?. 

Unbelievable as it was, you began to question what you at fifteen had promised you would do. Because you had found more than stale every day Hawkins, you had found their odd-balls who taught you to play Dungeons and Dragons in their basement who reminded you so much of your sister. And you had found Steve Harrington, a pretty boy with a heart of gold, who risked his life for his Juliet that night at the mall, pulling you up when you twisted your ankle running up a flight of stairs and getting you out to paramedics when it was over. Icing your ankle and holding you when it all got too much. When you watched everyone exit the mall but the only real family you felt like you had left. When the police told you your fathers body couldn’t be found, buried under ash and grime in the mall fire. That he was the hero, that he saved your lives sacrificing himself. 

When you moved back to Hawkins, Indiana, after Sara, after your parents split, you were sure life would never be the same again. You needed a fresh start, to completely reconfigure your life and pretend none of what had happened had happened. That you never had a sister, that your dad hadn’t completely changed, burrowing himself under alcohol and late shifts. That your mom wasn’t actively trying to forget and build another life over the past one that had been left abandoned in that New York apartment, calling only for holidays and those important life events she was so sad she had to miss. You were so sure you would have to move on, cut it all out the minute you graduated from high school. You were sure you had to escape on your rickety old bike right out of town.

Then things happened and somehow you found yourself again, found your father again as you sat together for their first Christmas dinner in years. Celebrating the return of the young Will Byers and the return of something else, something more, something familiar and warm. It wasn’t perfect, far from it, but it was steps in a direction. You saw your father again for the first time in years that night, Christmas Eve, sitting on the porch as light snow fell and hit your heads, bundled in warm jackets, pretending the coffee you made was not mediocre at best. It wasn’t perfect, but it was something for the two of you. The police chief and his daughter, a messy duo. And that was perfect to you.

And then things happened again and again and again and finally everything just shattered.

And you left. You did what you had always hoped to do. But you didn’t feel the pride you had thought you would feel when you dreamed it at fifteen. You weren’t heading towards a new life, you were sitting in a stuffy apartment in the city. You were stuck again at what felt like the beginning. Unable to go with the Byers, you immediately made other plans, back at the apartment you had spent so many nights trying to forget. 

Spring of 1986, the New York apartment was driving you insane. You felt like you might start running up the walls if you didn’t get out soon. At least that would be ten times more interesting than sitting and watching your Step-Dad watch golf—a sport you didn't understand. Seeing how bored you were, he tried to explain it, but you didn't process a single word he was saying.

You didn’t want to have something with him, you didn’t want a thing you bonded over and you especially didn’t want that thing to be golf.

You debated moving, you debated being drastic and dying your hair to make your mom upset but what good would that do other than feed the part in yourself that no longer cared, no longer wanted to care. Everything you cared about had slipped from your grasp, had disappeared, no matter how tightly you clutched it was gone.

Fuck.

You stared at the wallpaper, one you knew your mom had probably gushed over at the store and chosen. And you glanced at the patterned carpet, and the family picture you were not in. And even though they all reassured you that you were family, deep down you knew you had uprooted their whole routine. You especially saw it in your moms eyes when she looked at you a little too long, a constant reminder of what she had lost all those years ago.  

You listened to the busy city traffic below the apartment and the sound of wailing sirens you had completely become ignorant of after you lived in Hawkins so long. You glanced at the kitchen, the sink with no dishes and a fridge actually filled with food that wasn’t leftover take-out, mediocre pasta you had cooked, or boxes of Eggos. And you looked at the man beside you, silent, watching golf. It was all so different.

Every day it remained that way, your mom got home from work late, your stepfather came home before you got back from school, and then Liam, your step brother would come home.

He made it all a little more bearable. The littlest but only because he reminded you of home. He reminded you of Dungeons and Dragons in Mike Wheeler's basement, and your found sister, and the party that always had you on your toes. But even you could not warm up to the boy because he would never be them. And it was unfair. It was cruel of you to make comparisons between Hawkins and New York, to allow that to shut out the only family you now had. But it was one habit you could not seem to break no matter how hard you tried.

Hawkins, Indiana was quiet, it was small. Hawkins, Indiana was both a breath of fresh air and a tightening grip that had you gasping, clawing for a second to breathe. New York was loud, so loud that the sounds of sirens and blaring car horns became only white noise in your head. It was big, not big in the welcoming and warming way. Not big in the feeling of catching sight of a friend in a crowded room. It was big in the way you could not point out a single person at school that you had seen more than once.  It was big in a way similar to that of being alone in the middle of a large party. It was so big that being alone in a quiet, dark, empty room would feel the same as walking amidst the large crowds on the street.

And New York didn’t have Steve Harrington. New York didn’t have crazy kids and weird aliens, New York didn’t have Robin Buckley or Nancy Wheeler or Jonathan Byers, New York didn’t have comforting hugs from Joyce, and New York didn’t have your dad and it never would again. The thought of it was enough to make you sick, nausea filling every inch of your body, barely able to swallow down the fact. But you would swallow it down like you always did, like you did everything else.

Your mom would always tell you you could talk to her if you needed to, that no matter how long you were a part she still cared about you. But you still remember the look on her face when you had turned up at the apartment after all those years. Finally back together face to face, the only words she was able to muster was, “you grew up”. 

You kept busy filling the days with nothing. On a good day Liam would show you some project he did in class that day, him seemingly the most unbothered by your move-in. And your stepdad, Bill, would ask you how school was to which you would reply fine. It was fine, it would always be just fine.

And you would stare at the phone on the wall in the kitchen. Dialing and hanging up and dialing and hanging up, hearing him pick up and then slamming the phone down, falling back into the chair at the kitchen table. Sometimes he would call back, you knew he caught on, you would just listen as the phone rang, head in your hands. You couldn’t face it, it was all too much and answering that call, hearing that voice would only throw it all back at you at once. It would knock you down and hold you there as you tried to gain control of the emotions you had locked up so tight once again. You felt sick to your stomach once again and the feeling spread, it spread all throughout your body, all the way to your fingertips and toes. For the first time in your life, you begged your body to just throw up, hoping the feelings would go along with it, until the pit in your stomach was completely washed away. 

It was this sinking feeling every time you heard the phone ring and as much as you wanted to convince yourself otherwise, you weren’t sure if you would ever pick up. Maybe you would just forget about it all. But it was hard when your mind was plagued with images of creatures you could only describe as otherworldly and when every time you looked at yourself in the mirror before a shower your eyes would draw focus to the deep cut scars that littered your body. You would never truly escape Hawkins, Indiana, it was impossible, and it would follow you around until you finally gave up and went back. But you refused to allow it to have that control, until you picked up the phone…by accident.

It was late, a Saturday evening of all things. Your mother was working late that weekend, your step dad was asleep on the couch, and your step brother had abandoned his books on the table and gone to bed. And the phone kept ringing and ringing and ringing, over and over in repeated increments. One call, two minutes passed, another call, three minutes had passed, and a third call with three minutes passing and on and on and on-

“Will you turn the damn thing off!” Yelled the man on the couch, whose deep sleeping was even disturbed by your past trying to creep back in. 

And it worried you, as you apologized and turned back to the phone, head aching from the noise. It worried you because every time before, the phone would ring one, maybe two times before the line went silent. But tonight, you had lost track of just how many times you had slammed the phone down to stop the ringing.

You looked up at the phone again, quiet for much too long, longer than before and RING. RING. RING.

The grunt of your step father filled the empty room and without a second thought, not wanting another lecture from your mom about not getting along with him, you reached for the phone line. Slowly placing it against your ear, you instantly pulled it back as a voice blasted through, louder than the ringing of the phone itself. “Goddammit! please pick up the phone-”

“Hey,” was all you said, it was faint and quiet in contrast, laced with guilt that had piled up from months of avoidance and pretending Hawkins didn’t exist. But it was loud enough to stop the yelling as murmurs and whispers filled the background of wherever your caller was calling from. 

Your Steve Harrington, your Romeo who deserved answers. After everything you had been through he deserved something from you that you had failed to deliver.

“Oh thank god, you don’t know how happy I am to hear your voice,” and what you expected to be anger was anything but, rather the clearest sound of overwhelming relief. Relief that all came crashing down the minute he spoke his next words. “You need to get back here, like... like-“

The sound of struggling came from their end of the phone and your heart rate sped up in a panic, only realizing how tightly you were holding the phone to your ear.

Dustin’s voice quickly came through the line, a complaining Steve evident in the back, “like right now, like ASAP, like as soon as possible.”

Dustin’s voice, his tone did nothing to loosen your grip on the phone, nothing to ease your panic and you almost slammed the phone down again. Back home, back in the familiar, back to memories of people that haunted your every thought. You wondered if they had called the Byers, your sister, you wondered if she was there too. 

“We can pay your bus ticket, but I can’t really explain like this and we just, we need your help,” Dustin practically cried. “We all need you. We can’t let anyone get hurt again.”

That was all you needed. Hawkins had a pull on you, a force you tried to ignore but eventually pulled you back anyways. Steve was back on the line soon after, you already scribbling a note to your mom, phone pressed against your ear by your shoulder. And when you heard his voice again your breath caught in your throat…it seemed to always do that with him.

“Steve, I-”

“You don’t have to say anything.”

“No, but, Steve I really, just…I don’t know where to start,” you tried to explain, losing any of the words you had planned to say while lying awake at night, staring at the ceiling. 

“You don’t have to,” he simply said. But you knew you would, you had too many words to speak. “Just show up, just be here. We need you, even if you don’t believe me. It’s getting crazy again.”

Hawkins would never not be.

“I will be,” you reassured, really reassured. “I will be, I promise.”

And if everyone in Hawkins knew something, you never broke a promise, never. You got close sometimes, sometimes it seemed like you would, but you always met your end of the bargain. You said you would be back in Hawkins, Indiana and you would be. Setting the phone down back on it's holder with a quiet click, you jumped from your chair in the kitchen, as the wood chair quietly screeched against the floor. Open and close, open and close, the drawers in the kitchen were opening and closing until you found a tape role, cutting away a piece. Grabbing your note off the counter, you secured the piece to it and stuck it against the fridge where it would be noticed by your mom.

She would know what it meant, you knew she knew all along, that New York hadn’t been your home in a long time. That Hawkins had grown into something much deeper than you could have ever anticipated. And even then, in that kitchen, in that busy city…you knew, the end was near

[jazzdefiant]

Helly: Trauma, Resistance, and Reintegration

I have Thoughts™️ and I needed to write them down. There’s a lot of ground to cover, but I tried to make this as straightforward and organized as I could.

S2E2 spoilers below the cut:

Before Goodbye, Mrs. Selvig, I was having a hard time discerning who I thought was really down there. To me, there were a few options: 

Helena, full stop. 

Helly pre-animation and Helena post-animation (as if they’d externally switched Helly off/Helena on).

And a secret third thing that I liked most but never mentioned to anyone. 

The secret third thing is still my current front-runner:

There's a reason viewers are struggling to discern who is who right now, and I think that's because Helena is, too.

I think Helena is who we’re looking at, but Helly is also present somewhere (clawing her way to the surface, as Reghabi had put it). I think it’s possible Helly/Helena might reintegrate naturally, or that Helly has created an irreversible bleed between their psyches.

The main reason? They share a traumatic memory. One that is intrinsically tied to both of their identities.

For organization, I’ll break up the bulk of this by Hello, Ms. Cobel scenes.

ELEVATOR LOBBY:

Helly is the one who hung herself, but that elevator went up. The doors opened, and the guard’s desk was empty. Helena is the one struggling in the security footage. It’s very possible she is the one who passed out.

If this is the case, it means Helly holds the memory of being rescued. Helena does not. 

As far as we know: the last time Helena was in that elevator, she was dying. And the last time Mark S. was in that elevator, he was dying. That’s why Mark wakes up scared, and that’s why Helena runs out. 

I wonder how Helly felt every time she woke up in the elevator after returning from the hospital. I wonder if Helena’s panic and dread was in some way tangible to her.

I’m not certain of much with this show, but I do, at least, feel pretty sure we’re about to see a scene or implication of Helena having a panic attack/flashback as she descends. I also wouldn’t be surprised if they stopped the elevator momentarily, masked as a mechanical blip, to prolong it as subtle a form of psychological torture.

She ran out struggling to breathe, just like Helly had when she woke up upon returning after her attempt.

The constant between those two moments? Mark S.

Honestly, I imagine Helena wasn’t expecting anyone kind to be waiting for her at the bottom. Would she have any reason to? 

Jame Eagan: I cried in my bed when they told me what she tried to do to you. What that innie tried to do.

I don’t know what was going on for Jame when he received news of her suicide attempt — if there was a reason for him crying in bed, if they didn’t let him see her — but personally, I’m halfway out the door after news like that. Given how he talked to her during the gala, it seemed like that was the first time they’d seen each other since.

If this was the case, it’s very possible Helena was alone during her recovery. No emotional support from anyone close to her… if anyone can even be considered close to her to begin with.

Is there anyone who truly cares about her? In her mind, why would there be someone at the bottom of that elevator, waiting to see if she’s okay?

And suddenly, in the midst of what I’m guessing is sheer survival panic, she is being hugged. And the person hugging her sounds so relieved to see her physically unharmed. 

I personally think that’s why she hesitated before hugging Mark back. I think she was triggered and processing and didn't know what to make of it. I don’t know if she’s ever experienced someone genuinely caring about her safety and well-being before.

To Mark, she’s not Helena Eagan. He has no idea who the fuck that is. In that moment, she is Helly — and somehow, that innie is enough for him.

When Helly came back after the attempt, Mark already knew she was physically okay, and he wasn’t particularly comforting because he was following Milchick’s “kind eyes” advice. But when Helena returned, he was completley unfiltered and himself. There was probably some part of his outie bleeding through in that moment, too, because he has specific trauma with losing someone he cares about.

I truly think he helped ground her, and he might be the first and only person who’s ever done that.

MDR OFFICE:

I don’t have much to say here, other than I was torn on who I was looking at in this scene. 

Reason being: I just find her expression when realizes Irving is breaking down in the bathroom so sincere. Some of our most vulnerable moments with Helena so far have taken place in a bathroom, and it’s also where Helly seems to retreat when she’s stressed. I don’t think that’s by accident. To me, her expression here doesn’t seem forced or irrelevant.

If her concern is authentic on some level, maybe it’s because she didn’t expect to see MDR genuinely care for the well-being of another team member. Maybe she thought they were only united in their hate for Lumon and nothing more. Maybe some part of Helly is with her now, worried about Irving, whether she knows it or not. 

I think, maybe, MDR will show Helena what family is supposed to look like.

HALLWAY – MDR:

Helly R: They replaced us? Mark S: For a couple days. Dylan G: Who was me? Mark S: They weren't, like, specific counterparts. They were, I don't know, weird. Dylan G: Okay, well, I don’t think you should feel bad at all. Mark S: Feel bad? Dylan G: Yeah, for ending their lives. Fuck 'em. Mark S: Well, I wasn't trying to– Dylan G: No, dude, I'm saying don't feel bad. Like, I'm sure they deserved it.

This could just be my read, but Helena’s expression during this conversation looks like she’s genuinely processing the implications of what Dylan is saying. He talks about the other innie’s deaths so casually, like it’s just another day in the office. Spatially, she’s also standing at the center of this exchange. I think it’s possible Helena had never really viewed quitting/firing as innies dying or being killed by Lumon. If this is how innies perceive it, would that mean that Helly (an extension of herself) is dead? If so, who killed her?

This brings me to Ms. Huang; the new hire leading them down the hallway in that scene. 

Why is a child there?

Well, for one, Dylan fucking bit Milchick. I imagine they chose a child to help prevent something like that again. In order to physically attack his superior, Dylan will have to be okay with attacking a child. Dylan G. has met one of his children, so he's not going to hurt her. Mr. Milchick knows this and weaponizing it.

Which relates to the other reason I was having trouble discerning who Helena was in this scene: the look she exchanges with Ms. Huang. They show each innie making eye contact with her as they enter the hallway to the break room. To me, Helena’s expression seemed to match everyone else's. Surely, they all suspect Ms. Huang’s role is to be Milchick’s human shield. I think they might have been studying her, trying to figure out if she knows this, too.

Theoretically, in order to get to him, they will have to go through her. And if they ever do something to get Ms. Huang fired, she will die.

This means Lumon is not above killing children. 

Which means, maybe, Lumon is not above killing Helena.

I also think this angle makes the ring toss game Ms. Huang plays when Milchick shuts the door on her especially interesting. Kier Eagan is underwater, with his hands tied, and she…smiles. This is obviously a parallel to the pineapple bobbing, but I think it might also be a parallel to Helena. Perhaps she’s not supposed to be playing this game and saved it for when Milchick wasn’t looking. The first hint of rebellion in Ms. Huang, a child enslaved by Eagans, and a possible shift in power at some point.

LUMON IS LISTENING:

My theory about her being Helly pre-animation and Helena post-animation was based on the fact that she seems to dissociate after the animation ends. She stares off and blinks in an irregular pattern, then sort of widens her eyes at Milchick before composing herself.

But this also supported my secret third thing: that she and Helly are somehow internally at odds. So much of what Helena is experiencing right now aligns with what dissociation can feel like: watching the events of her life happen outside of herself, either through Helly’s actions on video or the consequences of them.

Mr. Milchick: Maybe I'll even buy you a drink at a bistro one day.

I’ve been so fixated on Helena’s expression when Milchick says this. Because he says it very pointedly to her, in that calm, threatening, Milkshake-y way. And she looks genuinely unsettled. Scared, even.

Helena will never really be able to leave. She will never be free. She had been Helly's lifeline, but that lifeline is gone.

It’s clear many of the new perks, if not all, are form of punishment or torture. It looks like they made a special point to animate genuine fear in Helly’s eyes during the pineapple bobbing.

Between Ms. Huang, pineapple bobbing, and Milchick’s little comment, Helena must know she’s just as much a prisoner down here as the others. Maybe pineapple bobbing targets one of her fears specifically. Like, I don’t know... not being able to breathe.

It’s also worth noting that Helly, in Helena’s body, has been psychologically tortured in this very room. I imagine that, paired with the threat of physical torture, would be triggering and could lead to dissociation. 

The setting brings me to my next point:

This might just be my read, but to me, she looked genuinely surprised when Mark said his wife was Ms. Casey. I think it’s possible she might not have known Mark’s connection to her, or that Mark’s wife and Ms. Casey are the same person. 

I can’t even begin to guess what the fuck Lumon does or what the hell Cold Harbor is meant to do (I don’t want to guess, I want to be along for the ride). But is it possible Helena doesn’t know the specifics of the file? Could knowing the details have risked hindering her own ability to refine data as Helly? Maybe Mark was presented to her as Ms. Casey’s close friend. An in-law. Something-not-husband. 

Helena knows they need Mark, but does she know exactly why? 

Dylan G: Come on, man. You can tell us. Helly R: Yeah, it's okay. Even if it's bad.

To me, there’s at least some layer to authenticity when she says this to Irving. Maybe it’s Helly bleeding through, or maybe it’s because Helena knows Irving has done something in the past (maybe something he's not supposed to or doesn’t want to remember) and feels guilty. This could also indicate why she might have genuinely sympathized with him when he was breaking down in the bathroom.

I’m not sure it matters if she’s saying “bad” as herself or acting as Helly. The point is: it needs to be said. It’s what Helly would say if she were here. Which means that, even on some superficial level, Helena is forced to voice the fact that what they’re doing at Lumon is wrong. 

I also don’t think it’s an accident that Helena says this in the break room. The room that Helly, in her body, was psychologically tortured and forced to atone in. 

Dylan G: What you gotta do is trick the machine by thinking about something you’re really sorry about...

Helena likely already carries a lot of guilt and shame for what she and her family have done to the world. I’m honestly not sure how much she’ll have to be radicalized by what she sees down there, or if she needs to be radicalized at all. I imagine anything she might potentially do in allegiance to Lumon is a guise, or self-preservation and nothing more. But I think that, as she gets to know MDR, that instinct will be overshadowed by Helly’s burning desire to help others and fuck shit up.

Helly had nothing to lose when she was down there. Now, neither does she.

All this to say, I think Helena is dissociating and struggling to stay grounded in herself after the animation ends. Her family’s company just threatened her directly, in a room she's technically already been tortured in. She knows she is not immune to whatever might happen down here. I think shit just got very, very real for her.

Irving also immediately tries to “kill himself” after this scene, not unlike Helly attempting suicide after her first trip to the break room. And he does this because he finds out the person he loves is with someone else, which Helena has just discovered about Mark. I'd say the parallels between Helly/Helena and Irving are worth keeping an eye on.

HALLWAY – MARK: 

Honestly? I don’t think Helena knows what the fuck to do with Mark at this point. Helly has kissed him, he’s married, his wife is (or was?) here, and now she is too. I’m guessing she doesn’t know how to navigate romance in a normal context, so I really don’t think that she knows how to navigate whatever the fuck this is.

It’s implied that Helena might never have experienced much romantic or physical intimacy, if any. I imagine that’s probably something that’s very controlled in her situation, either by herself or someone else (gross). Which could make Mark her first kiss. And, honestly? Her expression after seeing that footage, the way she replayed it... Well, I don’t know. We’ll see.

But I do think there’s a non-zero chance that she is reintegrating, and/or genuinely wants to be able to explore whatever Mark and Helly had.

If that’s the case, I could see her taking the comment Mark S. made about him and his outie being the same as a rejection of sorts. The implication that, like Irving, this thing she wants to experience could be over before it really gets to begin.

And that makes things, well, mushy.

This could be why she’s so adamant that she and her outie are not the same, and also a motive behind her agreeing to help Mark break Ms. Casey out. Maybe it’s Helena clinging to the distinction between herself and Helly. If Mark can get his wife back to his outie, or if she can spend time with him during that process, maybe she can still have him in some way, here, on the inside.

—————— I’m not sure if we’ll ever see Helly R. again, as the person we knew before. I think in s2, either of them will be some amalgam of both their traits. The barrier between them has been repeatedly challenged and broken from the start. 

"SVR’D THRESHOLD, RESTRICTED"

We know the stairwell is a place that helps the severed employees process the transition viscerally. Helly went back and forth multiple times, progressively more resistant. The second time Helly tried to break out, she wrote a note saying “NEVER COME BACK HERE” and did seem to effectively drop it in the stairwell before being pulled back.

Now, she has completely broken out. And as a result, Helena is back there, stuck on the other side of that door.

Since the gala, I doubt Helena can compartmentalize like she used to. She’d probably hoped Helly R. could be an escape from the symptoms of her external life, but Helly has been clawing her way back since the moment she was born. If Helena denies her resignation request, fine, she’ll do what she has to do to break out. Even if it means “killing herself” in the process (meaning: Helly never returning as the person we once knew).

Helly R: In case we don’t come back. Or, I don’t know, in case we do?

In s2, Helena is an innie, and the distinction between her and Helly is going to be much harder to maintain. Especially on the severed floor, the home of what might be her body’s first real love and most traumatic memory.

Helena Eagan: I’m committed to this company with every part of me. But I’m also human. Just like my innie.

It doesn’t matter why Helena said this in her apology video after the gala. What matters is that she can no longer internalize the conflict. She is forced to say out loud that innies and outies are both human. She is forced to hear those words in her own voice, and Helly is the reason why.

Like a body rejecting an organ, Helly has rejected severance at every possible turn. I think her constant defiance has set some sort of reintegration process in motion, maybe even before the severance could successfully take root. That, or her defiance has caused a bleed and placed Helena on a path to actively choosing reintegration somewhere down the line.

Ultimately, Helena doesn’t know who she is right now, so neither do we.

[cementcornfield]

You should post your thoughts on Ja’Marr and Kyle!! I’m so interested in their dynamic if that makes sense 😅

lmao anon i love you thank you because i was literally just typing a post up by itself. but now i get the benefit of looking like i'm not the ONLY person to care about this. (there's at least two of us!!)

ok so! too much rambling about things that i could no way actually know anything about irl BUT 

kyle and ja’marr being together in paris is VERY interesting to me. their whole relationship is really because like. okay. i have joked that kyle and ja’marr are there to pick out joe’s wardrobe for next year together lmao but like!!! the clothes saga is SUCH a thing with ja’marr. the man has a Complex about joe and fashion and his part in it. we know this. i hardly need to go over the clothes saga with y’all again. but i will because it’s fun for me. ja’marr claims in GQ that he buys clothes for joe all the time and drops them off at 'the house’ for him. which is insane enough if that’s true. then a few days after that article drops (and also joe’s appendix explodes) he says nah never mind i was lying! (“kinda”). and that’s insane too. but whatever, we let it go, there’s football to play. then that offseason tee decides to cause some chaos i guess and confirms that actually ja’marr HAS bought joe clothes ‘multiple times’ so that’s. something!!! (along with TB in that one pivot podcast with all three of them teasing ja’marr about it!!) and then SOMEHOW none of this gets brought up again until a few months ago when ja’marr is just like “yeah actually i’ve been buying him clothes since last year” which is still a year later than he first said he bought him clothes 🤔

ALL OF WHICH TO SAY that ja’marr is fucking weird about this. he may or may not buy joe clothes (i’m still leaning yes on this), and he may or may not want people to know about it. i think he realizes just how intimate of a thing that is, to repeatedly buy someone you care about clothes that you think he would like, that you’d like to see him in. and i think if we go back to my Vision of insecure at times ja’marr, it’s one way to explain his back and forth on this.

but then!! insert kyle, who i believe only became joe’s stylist within the last year. before that i don’t think joe ever really had anyone Official to help him out with specific outfits/styles/branding etc (i’m sure the joe girlies will correct me if i'm wrong on this). and now i can only imagine that ja’marr might be feeling a little…possessive of joe here (what else is new lol ‘that’s my qb not their qb’ type shit). like if we believe he’s been buying him clothes since at least 2021, that’s like…that’s ja’marr’s Thing at this point?? even if it only started happening in 2023, that’s still a long time of "oh hey i saw this and thought of you and will you wear it and when you wear it will i feel a little thrill knowing that you took my advice knowing that you value my opinion knowing that the clothes touching your skin are only doing so because i bought them for you in the first place etc etc." and now here’s joe paying someone else to do it?? and who the fuck is kyle why him why does HE get to do it he didn’t even win a national championship with him in college???? (ja’marr obviously would be more rational than that. of course joe should pay someone to help him out with style as he does events and builds his brand more. but as a fellow Emotional Person myself, the rational response is never the first or strongest one.) 

so like! there’s that. that alone could make ja’marr not inclined to LOVE Kyle, ya know? and then if we want to get really Deep and dive into internalized homophobia of Male Athlete Culture. of my version (MY VERSION JUST MY VERSION THIS IS NOT ME SAYING ANYTHING IRL ABOUT HIM) of ja’marr and how he might cope with feelings and attractions that do not neatly fall in line with what is Expected of him and Has Been Expected of him since he was a kid. like fuck. do we remember how his dad said ja’marr used to like to read with his cousins (who were girls) but then his male friends came around and made fun of him for it, so he stopped reading altogether as a child?? thinking about that still makes my heart hurt! aughhh Gender!! and then even a few weeks ago on stream when ja’marr accidentally said that kyrie was sexy and IMMEDIATELY the chat and his friends jumped on him for it!! like yeah it was all lighthearted and all that but he got all embarrassed and even fucking apologized??? just the immediate policing of language/behavior followed by the immediate apology and moving on to no longer watching kyrie clips lol. crazy!!! Male Athlete Culture is SUCH a trip!! 

and kyle is gay! very much out and proud and not hiding or ashamed of any of it (fucking good for him tbh. i know he’s not Loved in this fandom but like that does genuinely take guts to be yourself like that in a culture like this. and make a career out of it! and he seems to be thriving!) and i just have to wonder like, how many queer people ja’marr really knows well?? the nfl has their corporate pride month bullshit where they celebrate the like 1 out gay assisant coach? 1 out gay FORMER player? if there are more queer people in the nfl, they are not very public about it. so again, how much daily interaction does a typical football player like ja’marr get with queer people?? i do imagine all the connections that are growing with the fashion world help of course! like kyle! who it’s clear he’s at least friendly with, if not the best of friends. and so like, i wonder about how that could stir complicated emotions in ja’marr if we go with my (AGAIN JUST MINE I’M NOT ACTUALLY SAYING ANYTHING IRL) version of him as a guy who has Feelings about male teammates sometimes and struggles with Dealing With That. 

and throw in the fact that ja’marr primarily knows him as this guy who’s always hanging around joe lol. taking over his role as joe’s personal stylist?? being free and open and ALLOWED to be attracted to all these guys, to joe himself!! (and if he thinks too hard about that he REALLY gets in his feelings). and it’s not jealousy really because he knows how important he himself is in joe’s life. kyle’s not replacing their history, he’s certainly not replacing his value to joe on the field, their close friendship, etc. but! he occupies a space in joe’s life that ja’marr can’t touch. he can publicly and proudly buy joe clothes. something that ja’marr WANTS but keeps shying away from. he can feel any feelings and any attraction he happens to have, he’s not hiding any part of who he is. if he thinks joe’s hot, if he thinks joe looks particularly attractive in an outfit he chose for him, he can! he will! he does! and i think that that just HAS to drive ja’marr a little fucking crazy.

so yeah. he likes the guy. they’re friendly. he’ll do a goofy lil dance when prompted by him for social media. but it’s Complicated. it’s Very Complicated. (to me.) 

[keen-eye]

How do you imagine Sam and Dean would have first sex? When do you think it is most likely to happen?

i’m going to add onto what i wrote in this post with them starting in s3 and then i’ll go through how it would build up across the following seasons

i think it makes more sense for their sexual relationship to start in s3 instead of the later seasons, if you wanted to try to fit it into canon (this is probably a snoozefest for others but it’s how i like to play with spn). realistically the show making the decision/receiving network permission to introduce it after so long is highly unlikely and would alienate a vast majority of their audience. so let's just pretend that it was planned from the show’s very beginning and the actors knew what they signed up for

s3: same as what i already wrote, but this post by @28confusedthoughts reminded me of dream a little dream of me, i had forgotten that was in s3. my version is that while they’re separated inside dean’s mindscape sam sees some sort of manifestation (either a dream!dean or a dream!sam&dean) that reveals dean’s hidden feelings. i’d have dean know that sam found out but sam doesn’t know that dean knows he did. dean’s convinced himself that now that sam has finally realized exactly how twisted dean is he’ll never want anything to do with him ever again (we already know this will never happen)

dean is on edge waiting for the fallout but sam does a good job at pretending like everything is normal. he had his initial shock/revoltion but sam understands that the role john thrust upon dean and the nature of their upbringing would explain why he developed these feelings (it certainly explains a lot of his past behavior), and that it’s not dean’s fault. what sam saw is ingrained into his mind and it makes him sick, but he decides not to do anything about it because although he always tries to get dean to talk about his feelings, this time it’s just too much for sam. and dean doesn’t have a lot of time left so why put them both through it. then mystery spot is next where sam is trapped in his grief, his only purpose being to avenge dean, to do whatever it takes. after sam gets dean back and he's still bound for hell, that's when sam starts to consider what his other “whatever it takes” for dean would entail

but it isn’t until the night before no rest for the wicked when dean has just over 30 hours left and is starting to hallucinate that sam goes off on his own and prays (out-loud so the audience can get some sam introspection). sam has loved and idolized dean as long as he can remember, and he feels like he owes dean whatever he can give for always taking care of him (he doesn’t, but sam believes it). however, his struggle with his purity is at odds with this. sam asks god for some sort of sign to tell him what to do (nothing happens), then he decides that it’s worth it because dean is more important than anything to him. sam doesn’t tell dean any of this when he comes back and confesses that he knows how dean feels about him because sam doesn’t want to make dean feel like he’s taking advantage of him (any more than he already does). so sam initiates and after repeatedly reassuring dean that he wants to do this, dean takes it from there and sam lets him worship him

okay, i’m gonna leave this here and then add s4 → onwards in the reblogs when i have time :)

[rwshfordgirl]

WEDDING

all images were taken from pinterest.

where he and reader met thanks to her brother's marriage to his cousin.

paring: joão félix X reader!

a/n: i really hope you like it because i loved the result 😭

requests are open | check here my masterlist

i don't think I've ever taken a shower so quickly in all my years of life, all because i woke up bizarrely late but it's not reason enough for me to leave the house without taking a bath. and i had to make a big effort to remember where i was going today, i only remembered that it was an important event but my mind busy with college can't remember everything.

but the post-it stuck to the fridge made me eat quickly and get to the car even faster. i completely forgot that today was reserved for my brother's bride, it's the day to help her choose her wedding dress and consequently the bridesmaids' dresses.

"i hope you're already arriving." the message she sent arrived on my cell phone a few seconds after i parked the car near the wedding dress atelier. my brother was with my cousins and some men i didn't know outside, which intrigued me. "what are you doing here?" i asked, approaching. "we'll try on the suits right after you guys." he replied and i nodded. "today is going to be a long day for you guys." i smiled and entered the place most loved by all brides. i hadn't even gone up the stairs when i heard laughter from the men outside "fabio, joão wants to be your brother-in-law." an unknown male voice shouted and more laughter was heard.

i found the comment funny even though i don't know who said it, much less who joão is. i just know that single life is really cool. even though i sometimes miss sleeping cuddled up with someone, but i don't think i have any intention of meeting anyone at my brother's wedding, unless  mr. destiny has other plans.

"finally, i thought you would never arrive." i was greeted by my mother opening the door to the salon reserved for brides. her hands promptly grabbed my cheeks. "long time no see, huh?" i joked about the fact that i had spent the entire afternoon at her house yesterday. my mother just stuck out her tongue as an answer and pulled me into the room. my sister-in-law was already trying on a beautiful dress like cindelera's. she looked at me through the reflection in the mirror.

"what do you think?" she asked me. i was speechless. carol was so beautiful in that dress, she really looked like a princess. "it's already my favorite." she smiled and i could see her eyes welling up. "it's mine too." she said, wiping away the tears that had started to form. "i can't believe I've barely arrived and i'm already leaving." the other bridesmaids in the room laughed and carol rolled her eyes. "no way. i'll try on some others to make sure of my choice."

i pretended to snort as i sat on the edge of the couch. there are so many women in the room, my mother, her mother, carol's friends and cousins. i can't even imagine how many bridesmaids she will have. but my brother and she deserve a wedding worthy of royalty.

fabio is two years older than me and we have always been best friends, he knows more about my life than my mother. and i remember perfectly when he introduced us to carol, she is the sister-in-law of anyone's dreams.

"carol, may i come in?" three knocks on the door distracted my attention. most likely one of the boys sitting downstairs wants to speak to the bride. "of course joão, my favorite cousin." joão, the boy from a few minutes ago. i felt something strange when she said that. i involuntarily adjusted my posture and started to fiddle with the necklace around my neck. the door opened slowly, but soon revealed a tall, smiling male figure with brown hair. his gaze went straight to me, since i, sitting on the edge of the sofa, am the first thing anyone who opens the door will see.

he continued on his way towards the bride and i didn't try to hide the fact that i was following him with my eyes, something that my mother noticed "carol's cousin, isn't he cute?" i turned towards her with my eyes slightly widened, she nudged me and motioned for me to turn toward joão again. he was about to leave, but his eyes met mine before his fingers touched the doorknob and my mother gently motioned with her fingers for him to come to her. "mãe." i muttered.

"fabio introduced you to his sister, joão?" she pointed in my direction. "he told me when she passed by us a few minutes ago, but we haven't been introduced." he smiled at me. "nice to meet you, joão!" he extended his hand to me and i shook it. "nice to meet you joão, i'm yn." He didn't stop smiling which made me uncomfortable, he was causing me a very strange feeling "we'll see you later, your brother asked me to go get something with him." he commented "but again, it was nice to meet you." i received a wink that made me disconnect from the outside world, i didn't even see when he opened the door and left and didn't even heard what my mother just said.

it took carol three hours to make sure that the dress she tried on when she arrived was the right one. and it took us another two hours to choose the bridesmaids' dresses. the boys who were waiting for their turn to try on their suits walked past us with tired faces, but i couldn't help but notice that joão was no longer there. i believe we will only see each other again on the wedding day.

two months later.

i don't know how i ended up in a chelsea match and still sitting almost next to the  players on the bench. in fact, i don't know why i accepted my brother's invitation, seriously. there we are, me and five other friends of his, in the middle of the excited fans of the english team.

but the urge to leave disappeared from my body when the players entered the field to warm up. on the screen appeared someone i had seen only once two months ago, joão, carol's cousin. i was surprised, he doesn't look like a football player. i swore he was a student on one of those super competitive courses. joão félix, chelsea's number 14 hasn't left my head since i met him and he is definitely the reason behind my presence here today, my brother commented that he won the tickets from someone.

something that was confirmed when the game ended and the fans began to empty the stadium, but my brothers and friends didn't move a muscle "aren't we leaving?" i asked my brother who denied "let's wait for joão." i swallowed hard and settled into the seat, admiring the view of the field and thinking about joão.

"are you really mad about the game, man?" i was taken out of my thoughts by my brother's voice, when i looked at him, joão was sitting behind him. i smiled simply at the player when he looked at me, he smiled back but there was disappointment written all over his face. chelsea drew with a team i didn't know and joão missed an incredible chance to score the tiebreaker. 

"let's go home. drink and forget about this game." one of my brother's friends said and joão put his hands on his own face. "i don't wanna" he said before taking a deep breath. i stood up with the intention of saying goodbye, i felt it was time to go. "it was nice spending the night here with you guys, but I'm going now." i got up from the bench with my coat wrapped around my arm. "how are you leaving?" my brother asked. "by bus." i answered and he nodded. "don't you want me to take you?" he asked and i quickly refused. "i can take you, it's too late for you to go alone." joão surprisingly offered to take me. he said this as he got up from the bench "great idea! joão is a great driver, you'll be fine." my brother also got up and patted me twice on the shoulder.

i nodded to joão, i hate going home alone at night. even if i go from here to who knows where, i'm completely uncomfortable being in a stranger's car but even more nervous because this stranger is the portuguese player.

we both said goodbye to the guys and i followed joão to the garage. we passed some players on the way and the portuguese guy said goodbye to everyone. but i have to say that i freaked out inside when we got to his car and he opened the  door for me. my gaze went from the door to him, a slight smile appeared on his face "thank you" the thanks came out almost like a whisper.iI watched in the rearview mirror as he walked behind the car and sat in the driver's seat. "where are we going?" he asked as he opened the gps on the car's dashboard. "do you know the address of my mother's house?" he nodded. "yes, i do. i go there with fabio a lot." i smiled. "you can drop me off there then. it's closer than dropping me off at home." he nodded, "but it's okay to drop you off at home if you want, i can go there. where is it?" he questioned "no need, i don't want to bother you! and anyway i would have to go to my mother's house tomorrow, you're already going to save me from having to take the subway." i laughed "are you sure?" i nodded and he put my mother's house address into the gps.

"now i understand why i never saw you at the parties that carol organizes." the car stopped at the red light a few seconds after we left the stadium. "why?" he looked at me while resting his head on the window. "because you must always be busy with games and practices." he smiled, a wide smile this time. "yeah, most of the time i arrive late at her events." i grimaced. "you'll never see me staying late at places, i'm a person who goes home very early." green light. "really, i've never seen you at the events and if i did, i would definitely remember, your face is not at all forgettable." i turned my head towards my window, embarrassed "i'll take that as a compliment." he tapped his fingers lightly on the steering wheel. "it's a compliment."

I bit my lip after letting out a shy laugh "thank you." i thanked him awkwardly "it's a great time to say that when we met on the day of choosing the wedding clothes, i could hear someone say that you wanted my brother's brother-in-law." he laughed "i knew you heard, bruno almost grabbed a megaphone to be heard by the entire united kingdom." another red light, this time his hands went to his face "all this because i said a wow when you left."

"I liked knowing that i messed with you." i said before thinking "yeah, i was really surprised that i couldn't get it out of my head." i looked at him out of the corner of my eye "would you be disappointed if i told you that i have a boyfriend?" joão looked at me wide-eyed but i signaled for him to pay attention to the traffic, the cars in front of him had already moved. "do you have?" he became apprehensive "no, i'm just kidding." he chuckled as he placed his hand on his chin. i don't know where i got the courage to flirt like that.

my mother's house is relatively close to the blues house. we arrived quickly and i was a little disappointed, i admit. now that things were starting to happen. joão got out of the car with me and walked me to the door "thanks for the ride." i dared to kiss him on the cheek, his cheeks blushed and his gaze remained fixed on the floor for a few seconds "can we see each other again before the wedding?" he asked "yes, whenever you want." he gave me his cell phone so i could add my number and so i did "good night joão, thanks again." i put the key in the doorknob and saw the player slowly walking away "it was a pleasure! let me know when you need a ride."  he approached the car "bye, good night!" he honked at me before disappearing from my field of vision.

i walked into my house and nearly melted as i closed the door. "i think I'm going to get a new son-in-law." my mother appeared out of nowhere. "it was just a ride." she laughed at me. "today it's a ride, tomorrow a proposal." i just laughed, rolling my eyes. unfortunately, I just saw him  and i've already started counting the days until i see him again.

[vwoop-prince]

YJ S3 Dick, still in the midst of his fever dream, hides underneath the 'souvenir' instead of behind some boxes, and accidentally opens the airlock trying to take care of the Parademons. The others get it to close... but not before Nightwing is thrown into space.

There, he stares at the ship holding his friends and mentors. There, he wishes more than anything that he can, somehow, survive. There, he tries to live, if only so his family don't have to bury him like Jason.

There, Nightwing dies, wanting to save everyone, even with the cold seeping into his bones far too quickly for a regular section of space.

Then, Dick opens his eyes to... Earth? There's a little house, and grass, and trees, but there's a bubble of green over it all. Outside of that green was an entire castle, one that looked like it should have far more support beams than it does for even a hope that it stays standing.

And the sky was swirling shades of that same green. It makes him think of Lazarus.

"Well, that's something you don't see every day." He whips his head behind him, a bit too fast for Earth's atmosphere, but it doesn't hurt him. Past the bubble of green was a blue-skinned adult in purple robes, the insides of a grandfather-clock fitted inside their torso, and a black staff with a stopwatch on its top. Beside them was a man with snow white hair, glowing green eyes, a crown of frozen fire dancing above his head, and the most galaxy-like cloak Dick's ever seen clasped to his shoulders. He's wearing... a hazmat suit? Maybe? The twinkling stars and odd lighting of wherever he is were giving him a bit of a headache.

But in front of those two, within this bubble, was...

"DICK!" Wally shouted with unrestrained glee, a blur overtaking his spot for barely a heartbeat before Dick's stuck in a crushing hug that he reciprocates once his brain stops feeling like its melting.

He doesn't know how long it took for them to calm down, but the man with the crown spoke up after a time, as Wally was still wiping their faces free of tears. "Welcome to the Infinite Realms, Nightwing." Dick barely even registered that he was still wearing his suit, but now it felt suffocating. "I suppose you're the one Clockwork was holding out for; There shouldn't've been enough Ectoplasm around you to form a Ghost, and your physical body's still in space. I can see why you like this one, though, Clockie," he states flippantly, turning to his companion. Almost like he didn't expect Dick to pay too close attention to what he was saying.

"Either way, there's two options for you." The man didn't let Dick swallow his tears and question anything. Dick's not sure if he's grateful or not. "First: Stay in the Realms permanently. You'll see Kid Flash whenever you want and learn to be a Ghost with the denizens of the Realms. Maybe find your parents."

"But..." Dick pulls away from Wally, keeping him at arms length, eyes flitting between them. The two outside the bubble were distinctly... ghost-like, so the mentions of 'Ghosts' make sense. But Wally looked... alive. A bit pale, a bit thin... but alive. Dick can't see any of his own skin to see if it was blue or tinted that way, but the Nightwing symbol on his chest kept flickering between its own blue and this 'Realms' green. "But--What about the others? What about you? Why can't you come home?" The last two, he focuses on Wally, because now he can feel a heartbeat beneath his gloves. Wally's alive. He's alive.

His friend just shrugs. "Something about their portals not fit for the living? I'm meant to wait for someone to figure out a permanent portal, but they won't tell me how long that'll take." Wally glares at the... 'Ghosts'? There was a heat to it, but it also seemed like this was a well-worn argument.

"The permanent portal was always an 'if', Wallace West. And that is entirely dependent on if Richard Grayson takes the second option," the clock Ghost--Clockwork?--speaks up. But instead of the adult Dick was expecting, there was an elderly Ghost in their place. Still with the time motif. Was that... more literal than Dick took it?

"Yes, the second option..." The crowned man glares daggers at Clockwork. The temperature dips below comfortable. Dick tries to blink the spaceship and stars out of his sight, withdrawing his arms from Wally to try and warm himself. Tries to remember he's not in space. "The second option is that you return to your body... changed. You'll be able to protect Earth better, stay with your alive family, save the Lost Ones... for a price."

Dick doesn't know if he should ignore the plural in 'Lost Ones'. He doesn't know if he's reading too much into how, in this Realm, apparently only his parents were able to be found. Where's Jason? He doesn't dare hope, but...

"What's the price?"

The man smiles and a ring of blue forms around his waist. It splits in two and travels up and down his body, replacing the cloak and whatever clothes he was actually wearing with a NASA shirt, worn jeans, and red sneakers actually duct taped together. The blue tint to his otherwise tan skin fades completely. His hair turns black. His eyes turn blue.

He was like a taller, slightly slimmer, way hotter version of Bruce.

The man walks through the bubble, but doesn't disturb the grass beneath his feet. "You become the Ghost King's vassal." Dick flinches away and almost hides behind Wally. "Not my idea! But, well... it is either this, or your permanent death."

"What does becoming a vassal do to him?" Wally asks, gently trying to stop Dick from breaking his ribs with how tightly he was hugging himself. Does he even have ribs?

"He gains my powers. Ice, electricity, invisibility, intangibility, flight... He becomes a Halfa. He becomes what I was, in life. Just... needing to make offerings to me, now and then. Something like that, at least. I give him powers, he gives me a chunk of, I don't know, chocolate once a week. Like a warlock."

Wally keeps talking to the man, keeps getting information that he knows he should pay attention to, but something in his chest screams to accept this deal, and he can't focus on anything else.

Nightwing can protect. He can return to life and go back to Blüdhaven, be the Vigilante they need. He can visit Gotham every now and then, help with cases and stop criminals from harming others. He can see his brother. He can see his friends. He can eat Alfred's cookies, and have little get-togethers with Babs and the Team--hell, he can argue with Bruce.

And all he has to do is... give an offering to this guy? The Ghost King? Every once in a while?

"There's no other price?" The King turns his attention to Dick. His eyes had shifted to a blue-green that almost hypnotize him. The green swirls, the blue forms and melts like snowflakes, and he can't look away.

He takes another step forward and Wally steps to the side. There was familiarity between them. Wally deferred to him. Dick can't quite tell why. Though, with how Wally hasn't once looked at Clockwork, maybe it's because he's... grounded? Are all speedsters in trouble with, what, the Ghost of Time? That... actually makes perfect sense.

"I'll be honest, Nightwing: You've impressed me." The weight behind the King's words lifts the ones that've been on his shoulders since he was nine. "You remind me of myself. Maybe, if I wasn't a Halfa... If I had a mentor... I could've been like you.

"Despite Clockwork's insistence over the years that I get back in touch with the living, I've held off. When he eventually suggested that I help create another Halfa, I locked him in his tower for twenty years. I didn't want anyone to go through what I had. But, now... I see that you won't. You can't. Even if you hide this deal--our shared powers... You'll still have people by your side. Strong people. Smart people. You can already handle yourself. And I'd love to see what you can do--who you can save--with my help."

There was maybe two inches between their faces when the King finishes speaking. Dick roves his eyes across the other's face, trying to find the common and familiar ticks that show lies and deceit and manipulation. All he finds is sincerity and genuine care.

Wally plays with his fingers from the corner of his eye, gaze hopeful as he looks between the two of them. Wally, who was alive and breathing and able to leave if he accepts. Eventually. Somehow.

Dick Grayson sends a quiet apology to his parents and hopes they will forgive him for being a little bit selfish.

"I accept."

He flings his eyes open. Above him, domino mask too wobbly to be properly secured anymore, was Robin crying and begging him to wake up. His hands were sloppily placed over his heart. Batman was trying to drag him away, the firm set of his jaw screaming grief.

Nightwing gasps once he registers his lungs burning.

There's a large cacophony of noise, multiple bright suits and people hounding over him, and the distinct artificial taste of slightly-too-much oxygen that the ship with the Parademons had. That he flew out of and died. He was still too cold.

Someone moves their arm beneath his knees and shoulder and Dick passes out.

(Dick 'Nightwing' Grayson dies in space. Ghost King Danny Phantom likes this too-human Hero. They split their souls in half, take one piece of the others, and all they know is that Phantom is now Nightwing's Patron Deity. Danny uses ice, for electricity killed him. Dick uses electricity, for ice killed him. They are opposites, and yet so incredibly similar. Clockwork was looking forward to when Danny starts putting off his paperwork to hang out with his new 'friend'.)

[equill]

Another Otsutsuki?!

we’re messing up the timeline for this one. (I lost this crack idea but then it came back… the abyss stare back and I jumped in.)

anyways, now some kids meeting the new kid

Panel 1: There’s something wrong here.

Comic 1: Attention.

they’re both in the same boat

Comic 2: Day Off (with confusion.)

he just a little insecure,, (kakashi still told him to get it together)

back to the future now

Comic 3: What. (huh?)

Panel 2: very tiny.

[kj-beastboy]

design by Vec @ OnionPowder_ on twt

I feel like... there's smth about it. it's not all that good, bc the pose is a bit awkward, perspective is a nice attempt but a little off and I drew quickly without thinking, later couldn't fix it/was too lazy/had no time, but the colors, the shading... idk, I'm oddly a fan of it so I'm throwing it here.

see it as practice/warmup. I'll never get to smth better if I don't let myself fail a bunch of times first. don't be afraid of failing.