#where does that come from? what does it mean

[salemlunaa]

YOU ARE ALREADY LIVING YOUR DREAM LIFE

all you are doing is moving mentally

A lot of you guys have resistance with the void and shifting because you believe it’s so far out reach? and why? well that’s because you believe that you are conjuring this reality out of thin air, which you are but not in the way you think. You have the assumption that by shifting and going to the void, the world you have created becomes real. But let me tell: you it was always real. It was real the moment you thought about it, but time doesn’t exist so it was always real, there are realities out there waiting for you, ones you haven’t even thought about yet.

So what does that mean? That means there is already another version of you living your dream life, because it’s real already. It doesn’t just become real the second you induce the void state. And this version of you ain’t separate from you, it is you. So when it comes to the body state and shifting you are only moving your awareness.

These realities exist already, in each and every one of these realities you have memories, you grew up their they existed as soon as you became conscious. I don’t care if it’s a reality based on that one show that dropped 2 years ago, you’ve BEEN living there before you knew what that show was. Maybe you’re leaving this reality for a new one? Well, i don’t care if the life you want in the void state is one that you scripted out of thin air in the past year, you were born there and have memories there up to the present day. These realities have always existed no matter the date you became aware of them or the date that you knew you wanted to go there.

And failure to understand this is where the resistance and the fear come from. You think you’re doing so much heavy lifting to get your dream life. You think you’re creating a whole new world, and that’s what makes it so unbelievable. But this world exists, it’s an alternate reality, all versions even ones living in worse realities than this one, are you.

So even as I tell you this don’t look at your desired self as this out of reach cool person you wish you were. Don’t get FOMO on all the things you’re “missing out” on. Because you aren’t. You are there, that is you.

The void is just some measly meditation that allows you to shift your awareness from you to you. It’s nothing special.

THERE IS NO EFFORT TO THIS, NOTHING TO DO OR TO CREATE. YOU ARE THERE.

[necromancer-at-abattoir]

I've seen this post before, and I wanted to argue against it.

Now, bear in mind that this is supposed to be a friendly debate and I don't want to offend you.

With that being said, let's look at the bullies that Percy's called out.

The teachers and students who bullied him at his old schools for his learning disabilities, Nancy Bobofit, Gabe, Dionysus, Tantalus, Ares, Hades (yeah he qualifies, he made Percy feel bad and Percy stood up to him. Go Percy, boss moment honestly) Clarisse, Matt Sloan and his gang.

These are people that Percy heavily dislikes (well, Clarisse is an exception, but at the time she bullied Percy, he heavily disliked her.) This makes it easier to call out their bullshit.

Annabeth is someone he likes. It's difficult to call out the bullshit of people that you like-very rarely can people can do this.

And we're forgetting that Percy's fatal flaw is loyalty. He's loyal to the people he loves and blind to their flaws, so he is the exact opposite of a person who'd be fair with both their friends and enemies.

Take Sally Jackson, for example. Sally herself admitted that she was selfish and kept Percy with an abuser so as not to be attacked by monsters instead of dropping him off at Camp where he would have been safer, especially with Poseidon's influence. Logically speaking, Percy should have resented her for this a little bit, right?

Now, for the morons who'll come to this conclusion, I am not saying that Sally Jackson is the devil incarnate. She was a struggling single mother stuck in between a rock and a hard place-there was no completely good option for her to choose here.

But she still chose to marry an abuser to keep Percy and herself safe. She knowingly married him knowing that he'd make Percy's life terrible and that Percy would be affected by this. This was definitely not a good choice on her part and it doesn't make her a good person (though she still is a good person, just not as good as one would make her out to be).

But Percy doesn't even think about this-he just idolises her (understandable, considering the circumstances, but still) and he never thinks about the situation from this point of view.

And Grover in Wrath of the Triple Goddess. Percy calls him out, but Percy later feels guilty for the stupid reason of Grover thinking he's going to be lonely when they (Percy and Annabeth) go to college, which is why Grover almost ruined the quest. Percy literally says that he should have been thinking about what Grover felt (Grover, who is responsible for his own self, Percy is not responsible for Grover) instead of, you know, thinking about himself and his future.

This is complete malarkey. It's a terrible reason for Grover's terrible actions. And what does Percy do?

He shoves it down, takes the blame, forces himself to be calm even though he should rage. This is another example of Percy not wanting to call someone's bullshit out because they're a loved one.

And Percy loves Annabeth. She's his friend, she went on his first quest with him, she's saved his life and she has a lion's share in his view of the mythological world since she was pretty much the first demigod that he really knew (discounting Luke who left after the first book).

All of this makes it pretty difficult for him to call out her bullshit-especially when she hates being called out on her bullshit, which she does.

Of course, he called out her bullshit during TLT and SOM regarding himself and Tyson respectively, but this is when they're not really friends. In the later books, where they're better friends and he likes her more, he doesn't do it.

And also, Percy has called Annabeth out on her bullshit, but she doesn't listen to him, so he becomes resigned to it.

Her calling him Seaweed Brain? He says that he's gotten used to it in TTC, meaning that he didn't like it but she didn't stop, so he just became used to it.

He says in TLO that he wanted to argue with Annabeth regarding his cabin inspection marks, but no good would come of it, so he just resigned himself to his marks.

He says that he wouldn't argue with her because she would beat him up.

Annabeth yells at Percy and blames him for leaving even though they both know that he was kidnapped. Does he call her out on this, tell her that she was wrong? No.

Annabeth pushes him off a cliff with no prior warning and he calls her out on it, but she brushes it off and so does he, because he doesn't have a choice at this point, or at least he doesn't think he does.

Annabeth makes Percy feel scared every time she brings up Rachel. This makes Percy feel bad and he does not call her out on it.

All of these are examples of Annabeth not listening to him and bulldozing her way over his protests, so he becomes resigned to it.

That's a common abusive tactic that I've experienced myself-don't listen to the victim and bulldoze your way over them until they become silent and resigned.

Now, I don't want to go so far as to call Annabeth abusive, but she is definitely pretty toxic towards Percy at times. I know that she loves him, I'm not denying that, but you can love someone and be toxic towards them.

Again, I don't want to be disrespectful and I respect your opinions. I'm just providing valid arguments as to why I think your statement was wrong.

when you say that percy is stuck in an abusive relationship with annabeth, you are not only insulting annabeth, you are erasing one of percy's best character strengths: how he is NOT afraid to call out people's nonsense and stand up against bullies no matter how bad or insecure they make him feel

[venusalexian]

solet • everything under control

barça femení x teen!reader in which the younger players are worried about a B team player and they make it Alexia’s problem, and you learn that maybe letting people care for you isn’t that bad

When Alexia finishes training, she’s looking forward to quickly showering and rushing home, where her newly-arrived-from-a-work-trip girlfriend and leftovers from dinner at her mami’s house the night before are waiting for her. Her plans are quickly derailed when she enters the locker room. In a corner, a group of the youngest members of the team are huddled, rapidly speaking over each other with concerned expressions. Yeah, she’d definitely have to do damage control before making it home.

Surprisingly, she does not even have to force one of them to confess to whatever mess they had got themselves into this time. Vicky, Jana, Kika and Sydney approach her themselves before she can move to their side.

“Hey Capi, do you have a minute?” Okay, now she really is worried. If Vicky is approaching her so bashfully, something must be really wrong.

“Always. What have you all done now?”

“Nothing! Honestly Ale, so rude to make that assumption.” Jana responds, exasperatedly.

“Okay, let’s focus here, please” redirects Kika quickly.

Alexia waits for one of them to continue, but they all seem suddenly nervous and out of words.

Unexpectedly, it is Sydney, the youngest and shiest of the group, who breaks the silence.

“Do you remember the 15-year-old girl from the B team? She was in the group that joined training on Saturday.” Alexia nods. Of course she does. After their Supercopa win, they had decided to have a joint training with the B team, looking to source for up-and-coming talents. At just a couple months away from turning 16, you had amazed her. You had a great eye for plays, reading the game perfect and providing key pass after key pass. A perfect midfielder, only still slightly too young to transition into the first team. She does not understand why her teammates are bringing you up now, though.

“Well, the girls got worried because she wasn’t there when they came to see our game this weekend.” Sydney continues. “And I told them that she has been more distracted lately and showing up late to training. Our coaching team is more angry than concerned and we all think something is going on but we have no idea what to do.”

“So, um, we were thinking you could use your position as captain to try to find out more from the club? Please, Ale?” Jana finishes Sydney’s speech.

Alexia loves to see that you have already made a mark on the other players, and she feels so proud that they are looking after a younger player like she does for them.

“Okay.” Alexia sighs. “I’m not sure how much I can do, but I’ll keep an eye on it and ask some questions. Now, all of you a la ducha. C’mon kids, you stink!” The younger players roll their eyes at Alexia’s remark, but smile at her promise. They know she means it.

When Saturday comes along, you are surprised to find so many first team players at your match, including all four captains. It makes you even more nervous for today’s game. You had left your home after making sure your grandparents were set for the day and the neighbor was staying around to keep an eye on them. You do not wanna disappoint your team for a second week straight. And you know that another absence would get you benched. You had fought hard for your starting spot during the past year, having to prove yourself twice as much due to your age. You couldn’t give it up now.

You stretch with your team try to ignore the presence of the older players. Once the game starts, though, it is just you and the game. You tune out the yelling from the stands, your worry for your grandparents and your exhaustion after your abuelo’s surgery last week had meant a couple nights of sleeping in uncomfortable hospital chairs and getting up extra early to go to school.

It is a great match, especially for you. Two goals and an assistance later, you are beaming as they declare you player of the game. You are so relieved that such a good performance would quiet the concerns over your commitment to the club in the last couple of weeks.

You rush to the locker room, wanting to make it home as soon as possible and help your grandparents with their evening routine. But before you can run out the grounds to catch the train, you feel a hand tapping your back. Sydney, one of the kindest members of your team, is smiling at you. You also really admire her and the work she had been doing with the first team.

”Hey, congrats on the goals and thanks for the assist! The girls from the first team were telling me to bring you over. You made a mark during the joint training and they wanna congratulate you too. Wanna come?” You cannot believe what you are hearing. You forget all about the train you’re supposed to catch and nod enthusiastically. “Ye-yeah, let’s go!”

She smiles at you and pushes you towards the exit. The girls are waiting around in the parking lot. Vicky and Jana are the first to approach you, as you had attached yourself more to them during the training due to your closer ages. The rest come behind them, and you try not to blush when the older players congratulate you. You probably fail. The conversation moves from talking about your game to their future duels.

By the time you realise, an hour has gone by and the chances of you making it on time for dinner are slim. Your realization must have shown in your face, as Alexia touches your arm and frowns at your expression. “All good?”

“Yeah, I just…” You are unsure whether to share your concern, why would she care? But something in the kindness she has shown during the conversation, asking for your input and making sure you felt integrated, and the openness in her expression when she asks, moves you to respond. “I was supposed to be home already, and I’m not sure when the next train that reaches my town passes.” You worry at your lip.

“Would it be okay if I drive you then? It’ll be faster.” You’re shocked at her offer.

“Ye-yeah, that would be great.”

“Good, I wouldn’t want your parents to worry.” You’re both too busy saying your goodbyes to realize your smile has faltered and the pointed glances that Alexia is receiving.

The drive to your home is mostly silent after you give Alexia your address. She is shocked at how far away from the city it is, and you’re uncomfortable at her realization of how much time you spend commuting to training using public transport. The silence is not necessarily awkward though. The soft radio music and the constant thrum of the car settle you into a warm comfort. You feel cared for by an adult, instead of being worried about them, for the first team in a while. Alexia breaks the silence mid-way though.

“What happened last weekend? You weren’t there.” She flinches at her own tactlessness, but isn’t willing to let it go.

You squirm, not sure how much you’re comfortable sharing. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t pry like this, you barely know me. The girls were worried though, so I asked your coaching team and they also didn’t know. Is everything okay?” It takes you a bit to take in her words. You feel warmth at the girls’ concern, but uncomfortable at the idea of people talking about you and trying to pry about your life. You’re used to doing everything yourself, and having other people involved is weird. Still, the kindness and concern are obvious in her voice and expression, so you decide to give a bit of information in the hopes that she will understand and leave it behind.

“Just some family things. All good though, it’s solved and I’m 110% committed to the team.”

“I never thought you weren’t. Just wanted to make sure you’ve got the support you need.” That leaves you silent again. You do, right? You don’t want to worry anyone because you don’t need it. You’ve got everything under control and things are okay.

“I do! Yeah.”

“Good, good.”

You return to silence for the rest of the drive, but both of you are stuck in the other's words.

When the car comes to a stop outside your home, you’re turning around to thank Alexia for the ride but she’s opening her own door and walking towards your door. The sight spurs you o, and you run to the door to reach her before she has a chance to ring the bell.

“You don’t have to come in!” Alexia raises an eyebrow.

“Thank you for driving me, it was so nice of you but I’m all good to go from here.” You quickly add. She frowns, and looks ready to contradict you but your conversation is interrupted by the door opening.

“Good, you’re here! I heard the car coming and was unsure but I’m glad you got someone to drive you instead of catching the train so late, mi vida.” Your grandma is smiling at you from the door, and you forget about your conversation with Alexia in favor of hugging her. When you, after a few seconds, come out of the hug, Alexia’s eyes are back to a soft expression.

“Both of you, in you go! Dinner is at the table ready.”

“Uh… Grandma, this is…”

“Oh, mi vida. I know perfectly well who she is considering how much you talk about her and her career.”

You’ve already blushed a lot today, but now surely you must be the reddest so far. Alexia practically coos at the statement, proud to be a good role model for young players like you, but she’s reluctant to take your grandma’s offer.

“Thank you for the invitation but I would not want to impose on your dinner.”

“Nonsense. It’ll take too long for you to get back to the city. Stay. Dinner is with your team’s rules on diet for mi nieta so I’m sure it’s suitable for you too.”

Alexia seems to be weighing her options. She doesn’t want to impose but she does want to get a better understanding of your situation so she can give a calming response to the girls.

“Okay, I’ll stay.”

As you all walk toward the living room, your grandma must notice your inquisitive looks and reluctance to ask.

“He’s all good, mi vida. We both had dinner an hour ago, and the neighbor came by to help me get him ready for bed. He’s sleeping now, don’t you worry.” You still feel guilty. You should have been here to help make dinner and make sure they took their meds and get them ready for bed.

“Now sit, both of you. I set another plate when I saw you came accompanied by car. I am gonna go to bed myself now. You both have a good night. And a safe trip back home for you Alexia.”

As she takes her leave up the stairs, the room is left silent until Alexia breaks it.

“Alright kid, let’s have dinner then.”

You’re on auto-pilot as you sit down at the table and start to eat, your mind still stuck on all the things you hadn’t been here for.

“So, are your parents out of town for the night?” You swallow audibly. You don’t like to talk about this, but you know she won’t let it go.

“No, um, no. It’s just us three.” You avoid her gaze, not wanting to see the usual look of pity you receive.

“Oh, I’m sorry, that sucks.” You can tell she’s flinching.

“It’s always been the three of us. I was a baby when they passed.” You shrug.

You dare look at her, and her expression surprises you. There’s still the pity you hate, but there’s also an understanding. Right, her dad. Your circumstances might be different, but she does know loss.

“So, um, you help around a lot then?”

“Ye-yeah.” You don’t want her to doubt your commitment to the club though. “But I make it work! I have a good grasp on my schedule and great discipline.”

“I don’t doubt it, you’re such a solet.” (good kid, but also literally little sun)

She smiles so kindly at you it overwhelms you. The conversation shifts to lighter topics, about your play style, both of your future games and even sharing small glimpses of each other’s lives. When you're done, she helps you clean up the table and dishes, it only takes a few minutes with her help.

“I’m gonna go home now, I don’t want my girlfriend to wait until late for me. Please tell your grandma thank you for the meal, it was delicious, and that you have a beautiful home.”

“Yeah, of course.” You smile easily now, her presence comforting.

“And you… you’re doing well. Believe it. But please also let yourself seek help when you need it. You’re not alone. Rely on your team and your coaches. You’re just a kid, let the adults take care of you, yeah?”

“Yeah. Yes, thank you again for driving me home.” You weren’t sure how much you could let go of the tight control you held in your life, but it felt nice to be told that you weren’t alone.

“Of course, my pleasure. I am happy to help. I’ll see you soon, yeah, solet?” 

And as you watch her drive out of your driveway, you cannot imagine how true that is.

~~~~~ an:

yay! thank you for reading!

first work uploaded. kinda nervous to get this out there but excited to start sharing my work. (please be nice to me)

I already have some ideas for this universe but I’ll be super happy to receive requests and asks about it, or any other universes you’d like to see from me :))

xoxo, a.c.

[muqingslover]

[ you know it ladies, it's me, the virgin Caleb truther back at it again. I added a tag just this so you can find the posts easily under "virgin Caleb agenda" ;) ]

Let's talk about how messy Caleb is when he eats you out for the first time. His mouth moving in a way that's clumsy and almost awkward, unsure of what he is allowed or should do now that he's come this far. Was he supposed to use his fingers too? Well, he can safely assume he has to use his mouth to some extent but only god knows where he's supposed to actually put his tongue on...or in. Every woman is different, or so he's heard.

Oh but don't think he's anything if not eager because he has enthusiasm to spare. The only problem is that he doesn't know what feels good for you. He has his pride too sometimes and wouldn't want to ask for your help, not at first, so he can prove he is able to do something on his own too, but honestly? That is not happening, not this time at least.

By all means push this man down and take a seat on his face. Grab him by his hair, tight enough that he'll groan at his strands being tugged, and tell him to keep his tongue out and you'll take care of the rest. Having you manhandling him despite knowing he's stronger does things to his brain cock and god when you start to ride his mouth? He's died and gone to heaven.

His dazed eyes remain trained on you, taking in every and each moan that leaves your lips, while one of his hands pump his hard, leaking cock. You taste so damn good that he just can't stop himself from wanting more— His tongue darts out to push inside your little hole, relishing the sound of your gasp and feeling his confidence growing by the sight of you trembling in pleasure. Caleb absolutely loves when you use him, depend on him, need him, and gets off on the fact that he's the one making you let out those sweet sounds even if he's not in charge this time. He fucks your cunt with his wet muscle like a starved man, both spit and your juices dripping down his chin in a delicious mess that he couldn't be more proud of.

The clenching around his tongue makes him wish it was around his cock instead, oh how heavenly it would surely be to push himself into that warm, tight pussy of yours. Your hand tugged harder on his hair when you came, pressing yourself down and further into his mouth as your thighs tensed up around his head, unintentionally cutting off the man's air for a moment too long. When you realized you immediately tried to check on him, afraid you might've killed the man, only to feel Caleb shuddering and moaning against you like a bitch, finding him in a state of absolute ecstasy after lifting your hips off of him. His eyes glazed and his cheeks flushed a dark shade of red while he grinned, licking his drenched lips and feeling his own orgasm running through his quivering body.

"Please, do that again." Is all the man would say as he tried to catch his breath. He looked forward to the next thing he would learn about your body and maybe, just maybe, he also hoped that you would let him fuck you if he was an obedient, patient boy.

[moonstruckme]

Hi Mae!!

Could I request like a really cute Remus x reader where she’s never been kissed or anything before? Like they’re all out of Hogwarts or in their last year and she’s the only one to have never had a relationship, and she’s kinda insecure and anxious about it all?

No worries if not or if you’ve already done something like this!

Thank you! - x

Thank you for requesting <3

cw: alcohol, reader is a bit tipsy

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You don’t often feel self-conscious about your lack of romance. When you’re walking home from a bar on a cold night, it’s true that sometimes you wish you had a hand to hold, or a jacket that wasn’t your own, or somebody to slip an arm around your waist and make sure you keep your footing, but generally you’d rather wait than settle. When your friends start moaning and groaning about being lovelorn, though…

“It’s just been so long,” Sirius laments. He’s three sheets to the wind and hanging heavily from James’ side, who’s nodding commiseratingly as they wind a zig-zagging course down the sidewalk. “I mean, two months, James. Two months.” 

“It’s been nearly two weeks for me,” James says glumly. “I don’t know how much more I can take.” 

“Lily will be back from her holiday in three days,” Remus reminds him. He can hold his alcohol better than any of you, and thusly he’s been tasked with carrying the things everyone worried they’d lose. The keys to your apartment are somewhere in his pocket, along with James’ wallet--confiscated after James left it lying on the bar for the second time--and a collection of Sirius’ rings which keeps growing each time Sirius becomes distressed about them somehow falling off. 

“Yeah.” Sirius looks up at James, glaring. “You’re only two weeks in, and you’ve got a lifetime of kisses ahead of you. I’ve got to take them where I can get them, ‘nd I haven’t had even one in two months!” 

“If you think two months is bad,” you say, “try going your whole life.” 

You mean for it to come out light and quippy, but there’s a vulnerability lining your words that you don’t mean to reveal. You wince, thinking everyone’s heard it. 

“Well,” Sirius says after a brief silence, “yes, that does sound worse. Thank you, dollface. You’ve made me feel a bit better.” 

You smile ruefully. “Happy to help.” 

James starts waxing poetic about the shape of Lily’s top lip, and Remus slows his stride, falling into step beside you. You glance over, and he’s giving you a soft look. 

You go sheepish. “Sorry.” 

“What? Why are you sorry?” 

“That was embarrassing.” James and Sirius are talking loudly enough that you don’t have to lower your voice much to avoid being overheard. “I don’t mean to complain.” 

“It wasn’t embarrassing,” Remus murmurs, voice a fond color. He bumps your shoulder gently. “Anyway, I don’t think either of them are likely to remember.” 

You give him a sideways smile. “Maybe, but there’s still you.” 

“I can forget, too, if it suits you.” 

“It does suit me, thanks.” 

“Right. I’ll get right on that, then. Consider it forgotten.” 

You smile down at the sidewalk. There’s something about Remus which always relaxes you. Maybe it’s that he’s so easy to talk to, or that he doesn’t make you feel like you have to talk. You just feel safe with him. You walk a ways in comfortable silence, close but not quite touching, listening to Sirius and James giggle like schoolchildren ahead of you. 

“Do you really feel that way?” Remus asks after a while. “Like it’s bad that you haven’t kissed anyone?” 

You wet your lips. Your saliva tastes like booze. “Sometimes,” you admit. “Like, it’s not as bad for me as it seems for Sirius. But I guess it also probably helps that I don’t know what I’m missing.” 

“Yeah,” he hums, seeming pensive. “That makes sense.” 

“I do wish I’d gotten it over with earlier, though.” 

You’re not sure where it comes from. You do wish that, sometimes, but it’s not the sort of thing you say aloud. Even with a friend as good as Remus, it’s humiliating to declare a want so intimate. 

He looks surprised. “You do?” 

“Yeah,” you say, voice a shade of itself. 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“It wasn’t…it wasn’t really a choice. I was never trying to wait, or anything.” You shrug, cheeks warm. “There was just never an opportunity.” 

Remus makes a sound somewhere between a hum and a laugh. “Oh, I don’t believe that.” 

You look up. “Why not?” 

With your attention off the sidewalk, you stumble slightly, the toe of your shoe catching on the uneven pavement. Remus slips an arm around your waist to help. 

“Careful,” he says, suddenly incomprehensibly close to you. “Watch your footing.” 

“Sorry.” You look back down. “Why not?” you ask again, softly. 

“I just don’t think it’s possible no one ever tried to kiss you.” Remus’ voice is quiet but genuine. Unabashed. “More likely people have tried and you haven’t noticed. Or you just haven’t been ready. That’s alright too, you know.” 

“I’m ready,” you say certainly. “I’ve been ready. It just…hasn’t happened yet.” 

He hums. “That’s alright. So long as you’re alright with it.” 

You’re quiet the rest of the way home. You live in the same building as the boys, only the floor below. James’ bedroom is right above yours. He’s not usually too terrible an upstairs neighbor, though you’re looking forward to hearing him stumbling around before bed tonight. 

Remus walks you to your door while James and Sirius wait in the stairwell, cackling and crawling their way up on their hands and knees. He unlocks your door and reaches inside to turn on the hall light. 

“Alright?” he asks as you step inside. 

You nod. 

“Okay. Drink water, and make sure to lock the door behind you.” He gives you a smile, eyes dark in the dim light of your building. “Goodnight.” 

“Goodnight,” you say back. But he hardly makes it a few steps away before you’re leaning out of the door, suddenly desperate. “Remus?” 

“Yeah?” He turns. And he’s so lovely, all softness and gentle features. You know he’s the right person to trust with this. 

You swallow. “I’ve been ready for a long time. And I don’t…I don’t know if I’m alright with it anymore.” 

Remus frowns, stepping closer. “It’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with it.” 

“I just feel so behind.” Your tone is nearly pleading. “I’m tired of not knowing what I’m missing. I’m curious. I want to know what it’s like.” 

“Y/n.” Remus says your name like a remonstrance gentled. Like he feels sorry for you. “What are you asking me?” 

You worry your hands are shaking, but you steady yourself against the doorframe, making your voice solid. “I’d rather it be with someone I’m comfortable with. Someone I trust.” 

Remus moves closer to you. He’s nearly as close as before, when he’d held you up on the sidewalk. You wonder if this is how close people get before it happens. 

“You’re drunk,” he murmurs, not unkindly. 

You shake your head. “Not that drunk. Not so much I don’t know what I want.” 

He sighs. Says your name again as though to himself, with fondness and something else you can’t place. 

“It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you say in a whisper. “I’d just feel a lot better if it was you.” 

“Oh, love.” He takes your face gently in his hands. The pads of his thumbs soothe over your cheeks. “That’s not it.” 

Your breath catches as Remus starts to lean towards you, your eyes fluttering closed. You stay perfectly still as his lips come to rest in the center of your forehead. 

It’s a tender kiss, not lingering but not overly brief. In the end, it’s so sweet you can’t even bring yourself to feel slighted. 

“Go to bed,” says Remus, pulling back with a sorry smile. “If you still want to talk about it in the morning, we will, yeah? It’s not that I don’t want to.” 

“Okay. I’ll…” Your whole face tingles as though you really have been kissed. You’re half tempted to touch your lips to see if they feel different. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow. I’m sorry, Remus.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, backing down the hallway, “please. Goodnight, y/n.” 

Your voice comes out a tad breathless. “Goodnight.”

[hottiesforhockey]

may the best brother win pt 1⎜h.brothers

pairings: jack hughes x afab!reader ⎜ luke hughes x afab!reader ⎜quinn hughes x afab!reader ⎜ genre: romance ⎜angst ⎜friends-to-lovers ⎜smut? ⎜ warnings: mentions of a bet ⎜jack is an oblivious and unsure idiot ⎜everyone is making a mutual bad decision ⎜ lots of tension between reader and the bros ⎜not much in this part tbh ⎜ synopsis: you had spent every summer with the hughes brothers since you were ten years old ... why does this summer feel so different? word count: 9k authors note:  this is a re-write of my original series - I hope I can get it to live up to the original and I hope every one enjoys!! This is more then double the original chapter 👀 and I'm hoping to add a bit more between each of the brothers with the reader cause I feel like who she was going to end up with in the original was to obvious. Who do you guys want to see next?

(unedited)

The Hughes brothers had made a name for themselves over the past few years. 

Professional athletes. 

All top ten overall draft picks. 

Captain of the Vancouver Canucks. 

Hotshot forward for the New Jersey Devils.

And the rising star defensemen in the league. 

They had certainly found a way to make every parent look at their own kid and wonder where they went wrong. 

But no one really knew what absolute imbeciles the Hughes brothers truly were. 

“Jack, I’m dead serious give me the phone.” You hiss, stopping across the counter from the middle Hughes brother, who is continuing to swipe through your - previously private - instagram page while letting out the occasional wolf whistle as he finds something interesting.  Jack doesn’t even look up, the smirk on his lips widening as he thumbs over another picture. His gaze flickers between the phone screen and you, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Oh wow,” he drawls, turning the phone toward Quinn, who sits unbothered on the couch, scrolling through his own phone. “Did you know she could clean up this well? I mean, this is—damn, I almost feel bad for Luke. He’s got no idea what he’s missing out on.” Your stomach twists at the mention of Luke. Heat creeps up your neck, but you shove it down, crossing your arms. 

“Jack,” you say, voice laced with warning. “I swear to God—” Jack merely tuts, shaking his head like you’re the one being unreasonable. 

“Relax, I’m just admiring your taste in outfits. This one? The black dress? Wow. I mean, who were you wearing this for?” He waggles his eyebrows, his entire face radiating shit-eating glee. “You sure as hell never look like this with us.” You lunge for the phone, but Jack jerks it out of reach, holding it high over his head. 

“Jack!” you snap, fingers just barely brushing against his wrist. “Give it back.”

Quinn finally looks up, arching a brow. “What are you two doing?”

Jack grins. “Just admiring our bestie boos Instagram thirst traps.” You shoot Quinn a pleading look, but all he does is sigh and shake his head, completely uninterested in intervening. Jack, however, is eating up every second of your misery.

“I mean, come on, this is valuable intel,” Jack continues, swiping again. “This is the kind of stuff Luke needs to see. I bet he’d be real interested in knowing what you look like when you’re not just hanging around in sweats at the lake house, is this you at a frat party?”

Your heart stutters at the thought of Luke seeing those pictures—of him looking at you in a way that wasn’t just friendly, wasn’t just casual. You’d spent every summer since you were ten years old with the Hughes brothers but this summer felt... different.

Luke alone had been acting different. More careful around you, his eyes lingering just a second longer than before, something was up and as the Hughes brothers tended to do — they were keeping it a secret from everyone but themselves.  Jack notices the way you freeze, and his smirk turns downright devious.

 “Oh, interesting,” he murmurs. “I think I hit a nerve.” You snap out of it and make another grab for the phone, this time managing to get a grip on his wrist. Jack yelps, twisting in an attempt to wriggle free, but you hold on. 

“Give it back, Hughes.”

He’s laughing too hard to fight back properly. “You’re gonna have to fight me for it.”

“I will. Don’t tempt me.” Just then, the front door swings open, and in walks Luke, fresh from a morning swim, hair still damp from the water. He pauses in the doorway, eyes darting between the scene in front of him—you practically wrestling Jack, who is wheezing with laughter, and Quinn, who looks deeply unamused.

“What,” Luke says slowly, “is going on?”

Jack, the menace, brightens instantly. “Oh, perfect timing, Lukey. Come look at what I found.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. “Jack, no.”

Jack grins, victorious. “Oh, yes.”

And with that, he tosses the phone straight at Luke.

Luke catches it effortlessly but doesn’t even glance at the screen. Instead, he rolls his eyes and, without hesitation, walks straight over to you — watching with amusement as you jump away from his brother and without a word, he presses the phone back into your palm, his fingers brushing against yours briefly before he pulls away, his eyes trailing over you as you whisper a soft “thank you.” 

Jack lets out an exaggerated groan. “Oh, come on! That was supposed to be fun.”

Luke shrugs, giving him an unimpressed look. “You’re just mad your entertainment got cut short.”

Jack throws his hands in the air. “Obviously!” You can’t help the smirk tugging at your lips as you clasp the phone tighter between your hands. Luke catches your eye, something unreadable in his expression, and for a moment, you swear you see the ghost of a smile before he turns away.

Jack flops onto the couch dramatically. “You guys are ruining my life.”

Quinn snorts. “You’ll live.”

“I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal. You got secrets to hide or something?” Jack continues flopping onto the couch besides his older brother with a “humph” and a cross of his arms - cue grown adult throwing a tantrum. 

“If we weren’t forced to be friends, I wouldn’t think twice about dropping you.” You hiss, pointing an accusatory finger in the thief’s direction before following his lead and taking the spot on the opposite side of Quinn, who very briefly glances away from the golf playing on his phone to glance down at the phone still tightly grasped in your hand. 

“Maybe she’s got a boyfriend and doesn’t want you to ruin it.” Quinn hints, his gaze flicking up to your face before he diverts his focus back to the sports game. 

“A boyfriend?” Jack says softly, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. Your eyes rolling at the teases you can already feel are on the tip of Jack’s tongue, but he surprises you— “You would tell us, right?” Jack’s voice carries as he turns to face you on the couch, half your body hidden by his older brother, “like if you were seeing someone, you’d tell us?” He continues - the famous Hughes pout forming on his face. “You wouldn’t hide something like that?” You frown at Jack as he presses again, tilting your head in confusion as the sounds of Luke bustling about the kitchen pulling out the extra large party pack of chips and a freshly made container of salsa turns your attention away from the middle child. 

“Why would I not hide something like that?” You question back, you gaze slowly moving away from the suddenly tempting chip Luke is hoarding at the kitchen counter, your words making Luke’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise as he shoves a chip in his mouth, “I mean you guys hide your relationships all the time - isn’t it normal at this point?” You add quickly noticing the way Jack’s face drops a little. 

“From the public.” Luke notes quickly, before dipping another chip into the salsa. 

Jack huffs, slouching even further into the couch. “So what you’re saying is… you do have a boyfriend?”

You blink at him, then scoff. “That’s not what I said.”

“But you didn’t deny it.” Jack’s grin is back, all sharp edges and mischief. He taps his fingers against the fabric of the couch like he’s waiting for you to crack under the pressure of his interrogation. “Who is he? Someone from home? One of those frat boys in your thirst trap era?”

“Oh my God,” you groan, rolling your eyes. “I do not have a thirst trap era.”

“You totally do,” Jack argues. “And I think everyone that’s seen your instagram would agree with me.” Your stomach flips, and you make the mistake of looking at Luke, who is suddenly very interested in the salsa container in front of him. His fingers drum against the side of it, his jaw tight as if he’s biting back a response. He doesn’t meet your gaze, and that alone makes your breath hitch.

“Fuck, do I have a thirst trap era?” You hiss at Quinn next to you who just shrugs, a small grimace on your face that answers all the questions you had. 

Jack, ever the instigator, narrows his eyes in suspicion. He glances between the two of you, his smirk deepening. “Wait a minute,” he drawls, tapping his fingers against the counter. “Luke, you’ve been awfully quiet. I thought for sure you’d have something to say about all this.”

Luke finally looks up, his expression carefully blank. “Nothing to say.”

Jack squints. “Nothing at all?”

Luke shrugs. “Nope.” You expect Jack to let it go, but of course, that would be too easy. He turns his attention back to you, eyes glinting. 

“Okay, so say you did have a boyfriend. Hypothetically.”

“Jack…” Quinn warns from the couch, but Jack ignores him.

“Would we know him?” Jack continues. “Is he hockey adjacent? Is he an athlete? Is he someone who’s, I don’t know, conveniently six-foot and plays as a forward for the Anaheim ducks?” he teases, the boys more then aware of the crush you had on their close friend Trevor Zegras when you were eighteen - the boy spending almost all his time at the Hughes lake house during the summer, your paths crossing more then once. 

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to keep your expression neutral. “You’re exhausting,” you mutter, as Luke joins the three of you on the couch placing his snack on the coffee table in front of you. Reaching for the chip bag that Luke has, his fingers brush against yours as he moves the bag slightly closer, and the brief contact sends a jolt up your spine. You pull your hand back quickly, but not before Jack catches the movement.

“Oh, wow,” Jack breathes, eyes going wide with realisation. “Oh, this is amazing. This is better than I ever could have imagined.”

“Shut up, Jack,” Luke says flatly, but there’s a pink tinge dusting the tips of his ears.

Jack outright cackles. “You’re blushing!” he accuses, pointing at Luke, then shifting his gaze to you. “You both are! This is insane.”

Before you can respond, Quinn speaks up from the couch. “Maybe she’s not interested in Luke,” he muses, his gaze flickering toward you, unreadable. “Maybe she prefers someone older. More mature.”

The air shifts. Jack immediately perks up, his smirk morphing into something more calculating. “Ohhh, interesting,” he murmurs. “Are you suggesting that our favourite summer guest has a thing for captains? Because if that’s the case…” He trails off, leaning forward, his voice dropping. “I wouldn’t blame you. Nico does have that whole, doe eyed Swiss man thing going for him.” You watch as Quinn rolls his eyes at Jack’s obvious tease, but your eyes catch his as he stifles a small smile at his younger brothers antics. Quinn, unlike Luke, doesn’t look away. He holds your gaze, his expression unreadable, as if he’s testing you—seeing how you’ll react.

Luke shifts beside you, arms crossing over his chest. “Can we not?” he mutters, the tension in his shoulders visible. His jaw clenches, and you swear you catch the faintest flicker of something possessive in his eyes.

Jack, of course, thrives on the chaos. “Oh, come on, Lukey,” he teases. “Are you saying you wouldn’t be a little jealous if she picked Quinn over you?”

Luke doesn’t answer. He just looks at you—really looks at you. And for a moment, the world around you fades.

Jack snaps his fingers, breaking the spell. “Or,” he continues, his grin downright devious now, “maybe it’s neither of you. Maybe it’s me.” You bark out a laugh, but Jack just winks. “I mean, I’m fun, I’m charming, I don’t take life too seriously. Plus, I’m great with my hands.” He waggles his fingers in emphasis, making you roll your eyes.

Quinn exhales sharply, running a hand down his face. “You’re unbelievable.” Luke mutters something under his breath that you don’t quite catch, but whatever it is makes Jack snicker. 

“Oh, this is way better than I expected,” Jack muses. “We’ve got a real conundrum on our hands, don’t we?”

“Not a conundrum,” you correct, grabbing your phone and standing. “Because I’m leaving.”

But before you can make it out of the lounge room, Quinn speaks again, low and steady. “You don’t have to leave.” Your breath hitches. It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says them, quiet yet certain. Like he doesn’t want you to go.

Jack watches you closely, grinning like he knows something you don’t. Luke’s still staring, silent but intense.

Something has definitely shifted. And you’re not sure you’re ready for what comes next.

“We could make a bet out of it.” 

“Huh?” 

“Yeah, something to determine which one of us is more your type?” Jack explains, your body frozen in its spot by the doorway as all three sets of eyes turn towards you. 

Silence blankets the room, thick and charged, as Jack’s words settle over you. Your grip tightens around your phone, the only thing tethering you to reality as your heart pounds against your ribs.

“A bet?” You echo, your voice barely above a whisper. Jack, the absolute menace that he is, grins like he’s just uncovered the secret to the universe.

“Yeah. A competition, if you will.”

You blink at him, stunned. “A competition for what, exactly?”

“To see which one of us you like best.”

You choke on air. “Excuse me?”

Quinn sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jack—”

“No, no, hear me out,” Jack insists, holding up a hand. “It’s obvious there’s some… interest here.” His gaze flickers between you and his brothers, and you swear you catch Luke shift uncomfortably on the couch, his chips and salsa long forgotten. “We’re just figuring out who’s got the upper hand.”

You scoff, heat rising in your cheeks. “That’s insane.”

“What’s insane,” Jack corrects, “is pretending like there’s not something going on here.” His smirk widens as he leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Think about it. You’ve been hanging around us for years. Summers at the lake house, road trips, late-night conversations. We’ve all seen you at your best and your worst. You’ve seen us the same way. There’s history here.” Your mouth opens, then closes. Damn him for making sense.

Luke finally speaks, his voice low and measured. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Jack shrugs. “Maybe. But tell me I’m wrong.” Luke doesn’t respond. He just clenches his jaw, his gaze flickering toward you before darting away. You swear his fingers tighten into a fist for half a second before he forces them to relax.

Quinn exhales sharply, eyes scanning your face. “You don’t have to entertain this.”

Jack ignores him, grinning like the devil himself. “Come on, wouldn’t it be fun? Just a little friendly competition.” He tilts his head, considering. “Three Dates and the winner gets…” He pauses, then smirks. “Bragging rights.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “Bragging rights?”

Jack shrugs. “What, you want us to wager something else?” You glance at Luke and Quinn. Luke’s staring at Jack like he wants to strangle him. Quinn’s lips are pressed into a thin line, unreadable.

It’s absolutely ridiculous.

And yet… The thought sends a thrill down your spine, something equal parts terrifying and exhilarating. The idea of them competing for your attention? The tension that’s already been simmering under the surface bubbling over into something real?

Jack sees the way you hesitate, the tiny flicker of consideration in your eyes, and pounces. “You’re thinking about it.”

“I am not.”

“You so are.”

You glare at him. “And what exactly would this ‘date’ be?”

Jack beams, clearly delighted that you’re engaging. “Oh, I’m thinking a mix of skill, charm, and, you know, just generally proving who’s the best fit for you, it can be anything we can think of.”

Luke snorts. “This is so stupid.”

Jack ignores him. “Give us all one date to try to convince you on who's the better brother”

“Absolutely not,” you say flatly. “I refuse to be the prize in some pissing contest.”

"It's not a pissing contest." Jack defends, "It's more of a show on who knows you better - who can please you the best." 

Luke rolls his eyes. “We all know her the same.”

Jack raises a brow. “Do we?” Your stomach twists. You think of late-night talks with Quinn, quiet and deep. The way Luke watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Jack’s easy, teasing familiarity. The way they each know pieces of you—different, overlapping pieces.

“And it would just be a date?” You ask before you can stop yourself.

Jack grins, eyes dancing with mischief. “One date each. That's it. ” You inhale sharply. Luke shifts again, his body suddenly tense. Quinn’s gaze sharpens.

Jack spreads his hands. “One day, one date, one shot to impress you.”

You shake your head. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe,” Jack agrees easily. “But you haven’t said no.” You press your lips together. Every rational part of your brain is screaming at you to shut this down, to walk away, to pretend like this conversation never happened. But deep down, in the place you don’t often acknowledge, you know the truth.

You don’t want to walk away.

You want to see what happens next. You exhale slowly, rolling your shoulders back before levelling Jack with a look. “Okay. But how does this work?”

Jack’s grin stretches wider, pure delight flashing across his face. “Easy. We each get one date—our best shot to win you over.” He repeats.  Jack grins, his eyes practically sparkling with mischief as he leans back against the counter, arms folded like he’s just won the lottery. “So, do we have a deal?”

You chew on your bottom lip, glancing between the three of them. Luke looks exasperated, his arms crossed so tightly over his chest that it looks like he wants to physically restrain Jack from continuing this nonsense. Quinn’s expression is as unreadable as ever, but there’s something in the way he’s watching you—steady, assessing—that makes your skin prickle with awareness. Jack, however, is practically bouncing on the couch, barely containing his excitement.

“Fine,” you say finally, exhaling sharply. “One date. One date with each of you. And then it’s over. No bragging rights, no competition, no nonsense.” Jack whoops, pumping his fist in the air like he just scored the winning goal in overtime. 

“Hell yes! And since this was my idea, I go first.”

Luke groans loudly. “This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever agreed to.”

“Well, nobody forced you to, Lukey boy,” Jack sing-songs, spinning around and throwing an arm around your shoulders like you’re already a couple. “So, princess, you better get ready. Tomorrow, we’re going on the best date of your life.”

+

+

The next day, the weather is perfect—warm, but not too hot, with a gentle breeze ruffling the trees. Jack had insisted on planning the date himself, and you stand in front of the mirror, smoothing your hands over your jeans, a white tank top, fitted but not tight, tucked neatly into the denim. Casual, but cute. Your hair pulled away from your face with a soft white bandana—the kind of outfit that says, ‘I put in effort to look cute but not enough that one of my childhood best friends would think I have any feelings for him.��

Behind you, Quinn is perched on the edge of your bed, scrolling through his phone. His posture is relaxed, but there’s something about the way his eyes flicker up to your reflection in the mirror—just for a second—before dropping back down that makes you wonder what he’s thinking.

"Are you ever not on your phone?" you question, eyes narrowing as you catch him glancing at the screen yet again.

He barely lifts his head. "What do you even do on it all day?" you press, turning away from your mirror to fully face him.

"Read." He says it so simply that it catches you off guard.

You blink. "Read?" That was not the answer you were expecting.

He shrugs, as if this is common knowledge. "Mum convinced me to get the Kindle app, so…"

"Oh." You hesitate, eyebrows lifted slightly. You don’t know why, but the thought of Quinn Hughes spending his free time reading instead of, you know, hockey or brooding silently in a corner, surprises you. “What kind of books?”

He glances up then, something almost amused in his expression. “Why? Got some recommendations?”

You smirk. “Maybe.”

Quinn just shakes his head, setting his phone down beside him. “You done staring at yourself, or are you planning to change again?”

You cross your arms. “Should I?”

He exhales slowly, then shrugs. “Depends. Are you trying to impress Jack?”

Your stomach twists slightly at the question. “It’s just a date, Quinn.”

“Right.” His voice is even, but the way his jaw tightens doesn’t go unnoticed. He picks his phone back up, returning to his scrolling like he couldn’t care less. "Then you look fine."

You shake off the strange feeling creeping up your chest and grab your jacket. “Alright, I’m going.”

Quinn doesn’t look up, still sitting on the edge of your bed as you leave your room. “Have fun.”

When you step outside, Jack is waiting in the driveway, leaning against his car with a picnic basket in hand and an easy grin on his face. His eyes sweep over you, lingering just a second longer than usual before he clears his throat.

“Damn, princess. Didn’t know you were gonna try and outshine the sun today.”

You roll your eyes, but the compliment warms you. “Is that your way of saying I look nice?”

“Pfft, don’t fish for compliments,” he teases, opening the passenger door for you. “But yeah, you do.” The drive to the picnic spot is filled with Jack’s usual antics—singing dramatically to the radio, asking you absurd ‘would-you-rather’ questions, and throwing in the occasional flirty remark just to see if he can make you blush. By the time you reach the park, your stomach hurts from laughing.

Jack picks a spot beneath a sprawling oak tree, spreading out a blanket with a flourish. “Welcome to the Hughes five-star dining experience,” he announces, pulling out sandwiches, fresh fruit, and a ice cold jug of lemonade. “I even packed dessert. Prepare to be impressed.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Did you actually make this yourself?”

He scoffs. “Okay, first of all, rude. Second of all, I helped Mum make it, so that totally counts.”

You smirk, plucking a grape from the container. “I’ll allow it.” For a while, the two of you eat in comfortable silence, enjoying the scenery. Jack watches you between bites, something softer in his gaze now. It’s different from the playful energy he usually exudes—more contemplative, like he’s soaking in the moment.

“Hey,” he says after a pause, leaning back on his elbows. “You ever think about… I don’t know, what it’d be like if things were different?”

You glance at him. “Different how?”

Jack exhales, tilting his head back to look at the sky. “Like, if I met you under different circumstances. If I wasn’t, y’know, me—Would you look at me differently?” The question catches you off guard. You don’t know how to answer it, not when there’s something so vulnerable in his voice, hidden beneath the usual bravado.

“Jack,” you start carefully. “I don’t—”

“Never mind,” he interrupts quickly, sitting up and flashing you his usual grin. “Just forget I said anything. Let’s focus on the important stuff—like proving I can totally beat you at cloud spotting.” You let it slide, even as your heart beats a little faster in your chest. Jack doesn’t often let his guard down like that, and part of you wonders if he regrets doing so. But for now, you let him change the subject, watching as he dramatically points out a cloud shaped like a ‘hockey stick’ that looks nothing like a hockey stick.

“That looks more like an elephant to me.” You disagree as you lie back on the picnic blanket, pulling the tray of chocolate covered strawberries with you as you grimace up at the sky, the sun far past it’s highest point making the sky only just bearable to look at with the softening rays of late afternoon. 

“Agree to disagree.” Jack huffs as he joins you, sprawling against the blanket, his hand snatching a strawberry from your container, popping it into his mouth with a hum of delight.  You watch as Jack chews the strawberry, his jaw flexing slightly as he savours the taste. There's something about the way his lips part, the tip of his tongue swiping over them to catch any lingering sweetness, that makes your stomach flutter.

“Good, huh?” you remark, trying to sound casual. You pop one into your own mouth, but suddenly, the fruit feels heavier on your tongue, the sensation too intimate as you become hyperaware of his gaze on you. Jack hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head. 

“See, I told you. Five-star Hughes dining experience.” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s something else there, lingering beneath the surface. He’s watching you again, not quite the same way he usually does when he’s trying to rile you up. This is quieter, more observant.

You shift slightly, trying to shake the feeling creeping up your spine. “You never explained your question earlier.”

Jack lifts a brow. “Which one?”

“The one about looking at you differently.” You turn onto your side, resting your weight on your elbow so you can properly see him. “You asked if I would see you differently if we met under different circumstances.”

Jack stiffens, just for a second, before covering it up with a lopsided grin. “Ah, so you were paying attention.”

“I always pay attention to you.” The words leave your mouth before you can think better of them. Jack stills, his eyes flicking to yours, something unreadable flickering through them, something distinctly surprised. You clear your throat, pressing forward before the moment stretches into something too heavy. “So? What did you mean by that?”

Jack exhales through his nose, like he’s debating something internally. Then he sits up, resting his forearms on his knees, gaze locked onto the picnic blanket. “I don’t know,” he says finally. “I guess I just wonder sometimes if you ever think of me as more than… I don’t know. Just Jack.”

Your breath catches slightly. “Just Jack…” You repeat under your breath, as you follow his movements sitting up onto your knees.

He shakes his head, chuckling under his breath, though it sounds a little forced. “Forget it. I’m being stupid.”

You reach out before you can second-guess yourself, your fingers grazing his forearm. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and his muscles tense slightly before relaxing. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

Jack turns to you then, really looks at you. His brown eyes are dark, searching, filled with something that makes your heart beat a little too fast.

“You’re one of my best friends,” you say softly. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t see you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows, his gaze flickering down—to your lips, to your hand still resting on his arm—before he quickly looks away. “Yeah?” 

You nod, your own pulse thrumming in your ears. There’s an energy between you now, something simmering just below the surface. The air feels warmer, the space between you charged. Jack shifts slightly, his knee knocking against yours. He doesn’t move away. Instead, he lets the silence stretch, his fingers twitching where they rest on his thigh, like he’s fighting the urge to reach for you. And suddenly, all the teasing, all the playful flirting over the years—it doesn’t feel so innocent anymore.

You wonder if it ever really was.

Jack swallows hard, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “So… if I kissed you right now, what would you do?” His voice is quiet, almost testing the waters, but there’s an unmistakable intensity in his gaze. Your breath hitches. You could play it off, laugh it away like you always do, but something in you refuses to back down this time. Instead, you tilt your head slightly, letting your fingers trace absentminded circles on his forearm. 

“Why don’t you find out?” A slow smirk tugs at the corner of Jack’s lips, but it doesn’t quite mask the nervous energy crackling between you. He leans in, hesitating for just a second, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind.

You don’t.

Then his lips brush against yours, a whisper of contact that sends a shiver down your spine, he pulls away after barely a touch, his blue eyes locked with yours as he lets out a shuddered breath. “You call that a kiss, Hughes?” You can see the corner of his lips tilt upwards, his eyes searching yours one more time as he lifts himself onto his knees, one hand lifting to cup the underside of your jaw, his thumb tracing against the curve of your cheekbone. 

“No.” He exhales softly, like he’s been holding his breath, and then he’s kissing you fully—tentative at first, but quickly deepening when he realises you’re not pulling away.  The world around you fades, the picnic, the warm sun, everything—it’s just him, just the way he tastes, the way he feels pressed against you.

His lips are warm, softer than you expected, and they move against yours with a careful tenderness that makes your chest ache. His hand on your jaw is steady, his thumb still tracing small, soothing circles against your cheekbone, but you can feel the faint tremor in his fingers, the way his breath hitches ever so slightly when you lean into him. It’s as if he’s holding himself back, like he’s afraid of breaking something fragile between you.

You don’t want him to hold back.

Your hand finds its way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. He responds immediately, his other arm sliding around your waist to anchor you against him. The kiss deepens, his lips parting slightly, and you feel the faintest brush of his tongue against yours. It’s electric, the kind of kiss that makes your head spin and your heart race, and for a moment, you forget everything else—the park, the picnic, the years of friendship that led to this. All that exists is the heat of his mouth on yours, the way his body feels pressed against you, the way he smells like sunshine and something faintly sweet, like the strawberries you’d been sharing. But then, just as quickly as it started, Jack pulls away.

His breath is uneven, his chest rising and falling as he stares at you, his eyes wide and searching. There’s a flicker of something in his expression—doubt, maybe, or fear—and it makes your stomach twist. He doesn’t let go of you completely, his hand still resting lightly on your jaw, but the distance between you feels like a chasm.

“Jack…” you start, your voice barely above a whisper. You don’t know what you’re going to say, but you need to say something, anything, to fill the silence that’s suddenly too heavy.

He shakes his head, cutting you off before you can finish. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. His hand drops from your face, and he shifts back, putting even more space between you. He runs a hand through his hair, his gaze darting away from yours, like he can’t bear to look at you. “I—I’m sorry. That was… I shouldn’t have.” The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, your mind racing, trying to make sense of what just happened. One second, he was kissing you like you were the only thing that mattered, and the next, he’s pulling away like he regrets it. Like he regrets you.

“Jack,” you say again, your voice firmer this time. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to apologise.”

He lets out a shaky laugh, but there’s no humour in it. “Yeah, I do. That was… I don’t know what that was, but it wasn’t fair to you.” He finally looks at you, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and something else you can’t quite place. “You’re my best friend. I shouldn’t have crossed that line.”

Your heart sinks. “You didn’t cross anything,” you argue, your voice rising slightly. “It was spur of the moment.”

He shakes his head again, his jaw tightening. “It doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have let it happen. I just—” He cuts himself off, exhaling sharply. “I don’t want to mess this up. You’re too important to me, to us. ” The words sting more than you want to admit. You want to tell him that he’s not messing anything up, that this was a mutually agreed upon ‘platonic’ kiss but you know you’d be lying and by the way he’s looking at you, like he’s already made up his mind, makes the words catch in your throat.

“Jack,” you say softly, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away completely. “You’re not messing anything up.”

He looks at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighs, running a hand over his face. “I just… I need to think, okay? This is… a lot.”

You nod, even though it feels like your chest is cracking open. The motion is automatic, a reflex to keep the fragile pieces of yourself together, but inside, you’re falling apart. The weight of his words presses down on you, heavy and suffocating, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve just lost something irreplaceable.

“Okay,” you whisper, the word barely audible over the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. It’s a small word, a simple word, but it feels like a surrender, like you’re giving up something you didn’t even know you were fighting for. The sharp feeling of rejection settles deep in the pit of your stomach, a cold, gnawing ache that spreads through you like poison.

Jack stands up, brushing off his jeans like he’s trying to erase the moment, and you follow suit, your movements stiff and mechanical. You help him pack up the picnic basket, your hands brushing against his occasionally, but the contact doesn’t feel the same anymore. It’s like the spark between you has been snuffed out, leaving only a hollow emptiness in its place. “We should probably head back,” he says, his voice carefully neutral. “It’s getting late.”

You don’t argue and the drive back to the house is quiet, the easy banter from earlier replaced by an awkward silence that feels suffocating. Jack keeps his eyes on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly, and you can’t help but wonder if he’s replaying the kiss in his head, just like you are.

“Jack,” you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. “Are we okay?”

He doesn’t look at you. “Yeah,” he says after a pause. “We’re okay.” 

“Okay” you reply because that the only thing your stupid brain can think of - sliding out of the car as soon as he pulls it into the lake house driveway, not wasting time in saying anything to him as you push open the front door surprised to see Quinn sitting in the small blue armchair in the entryway, a book in his lap. 

“Oh, you’re back early.” Quinn says as he looks over you. You swallow hard, your emotions still tangled from the car ride home, from the way Jack’s kiss had felt like everything and then suddenly, nothing at all. You take a slow breath, trying to steady yourself before forcing a smile that feels brittle at the edges.

“Yeah,” you murmur, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes. “Guess the sun got to us.” Quinn watches you carefully, his expression unreadable. He doesn’t say anything right away, just flips the book in his hands closed, his fingers resting lightly on the cover. You glance at it absentmindedly, but your mind is too foggy to make out the title.

Jack walks in behind you, his presence heavy even though he doesn’t say anything. He rubs the back of his neck, shifting on his feet before muttering a quiet, “I’m gonna head upstairs.”

You don’t turn around. You don’t trust yourself to. Quinn’s eyes flicker between you and Jack, something tightening in his expression before settling on your face again. The sharpness of his gaze makes you feel exposed, but there’s something else there, something simmering just beneath the surface. Jack’s footsteps fade as he disappears up the stairs, leaving just the two of you in the entryway. The silence stretches, thick and almost unbearable, before Quinn finally tilts his head slightly, studying you.

“So,” he says, voice even, but there’s an edge to it now. “Are we pretending everything’s fine, or are you actually going to tell me what happened?” You hesitate, your fingers curling into the hem of your tank top. Part of you wants to brush it off, to tell him you’re just tired, but you know better. 

Quinn knows better.

“Nothing happened,” you say anyway, but it comes out weaker than you intended.

Quinn’s brow lifts, but there’s no amusement in his expression. “Right.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “And yet, you look like you just walked off the set of a dramatic coming-of-age movie.”

You huff out a laugh, but there’s no real amusement behind it. “You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Comes with the territory.” He leans back again, stretching his legs out. “So. Jack?”

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Jack.” Quinn waits, patient as ever, but there’s something tighter about his posture now. And when you finally meet his gaze, something in you cracks. You sink onto the chair across from him, hugging a pillow to your chest like it’ll somehow keep your emotions from spilling over.

“We kissed,” you admit, voice barely above a whisper.

Quinn’s expression stills, but you see the way his fingers flex slightly around the edge of his book. “Huh.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

He exhales slowly, considering you. “Do you want me to say more?” You hesitate.

Do you?

“It was… it was nice,” you say, your voice quieter now, like you’re admitting something too fragile to say out loud. “And then it wasn’t.”

Quinn’s jaw tightens, his grip on the book whitening his knuckles. “What do you mean?”

You shake your head, staring at the pattern of the couch cushion like it holds the answers. “It was like… for a second, it felt like he wanted it. Like he wanted me. But then he pulled away, and suddenly it was like it never happened. Like he regretted it.” Quinn’s silence stretches, but this time, there’s no unreadable neutrality to it. There’s tension in the air now, something sharp and unspoken between you. His gaze drags over your face, lingering a second too long on your lips before he looks away, jaw working like he’s biting something back.

You sigh, rubbing at your temples. “And I don’t know what to do with that. Because he’s Jack, you know? He’s my best friend, and I never really expected something like this to happen and now everything feels weird, and this whole stupid date thing was his idea anyway and I—I don’t know.”Quinn watches you for a long moment, his expression carefully composed, but his fingers drum against the book’s spine, a restless tell you’ve come to recognise over the years.

“Did you want him to?” he finally asks, voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

Your throat tightens. “Yeah,” you admit. “I think so.” Something flickers in Quinn’s expression—something darker, something unreadable—but it’s gone before you can place it. But then he nods, leaning back once more, like he’s forcing himself to relax.

“Okay,” he says simply.

You blink. “Okay?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, but there’s something stiff in the way his shoulders move. “You both wanted it. He freaked out. Now you’re left here, overthinking it.”

You scowl. “Wow. Thanks for that groundbreaking analysis.”

Quinn lets out a short breath that might have been a laugh, but there’s something off about it. “Look,” he says, shifting in his seat. “Jack’s an idiot, but you already knew that. If he kissed you, it means something. Even if he doesn’t know what to do with it yet.”

You chew on your lip, considering that. “And if he decides it didn’t mean anything?” Quinn’s jaw tightens, his eyes darkening, and for the first time, there’s no mistaking it—the way his fingers dig into the book, the way his posture has gone rigid, the way his gaze lingers a second too long. It’s something plain and unguarded, flashing through his expression before he schools it into something steadier.

“Then he’s an even bigger idiot,” he says, but there’s an edge to it now, something sharp and unspoken.

A small, shaky laugh escapes you. “What would I do without you, Quintin?”

Quinn smirks, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Crash and burn, probably.” You roll your eyes but feel a little lighter.

“Go get ready for movie night” he says, already heading for the stairs. “And stop overthinking. Jack’s got enough of that covered for the both of you.” You snort, watching as he disappears down the hall, leaving you alone in the quiet of the lake house. You exhale, leaning back against the couch, your mind still tangled with too many emotions. But for the first time since that kiss, it doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

+

+

A few hours later, the lake house is dimly lit, the TV flickering with the start of some comedy movie no one had really agreed on. Luke had insisted on picking, and after a brief argument about horror versus comedy, he’d won out—typical. Now, he’s stretched out across half the couch, his feet obnoxiously nudging your thigh every time he shifts.

“Move your feet, Luke,” you grumble, swatting at his shin.

Luke just grins, not bothering to budge. “I’m comfortable.”

“You’re intolerable.”

“I’m your favourite, so it's okay.” You roll your eyes but don’t bother fighting it. If there’s one thing you’ve learned over the years, it’s that Luke operates on pure chaos, and the more you argue, the more he doubles down. So you settle for grabbing a throw pillow and chucking it at his face. He yelps, laughing as he catches it, and the sound is enough to make something in your chest loosen.

“Actually my favourite is Quinn.” You snip back, trying to fight the urge to glance over at the oldest for any kind of approval, the most you get is the small snuff of a breathy laugh from his spot in the solo love seat on the edge of the room. 

When you had taken Quinn in earlier as you shuffled into the room with your very worn down and oversized pyjamas thrown on, you could tell he was still thinking about your conversation from earlier. His arms still crossed, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say anything. But as Luke shuffles up the couch, using the throw pillow you had just thrown at him as a cuddle buddy, his head falling on your lap you just barely see Quinn shift out of the corner of your eye. 

“You always smell so good." Luke hums, his voice muffled as he nestles his head more comfortably against your lap. You stiffen, just slightly, caught between exasperation and something warmer, something softer. Luke has never been the type to hide how he feels—about anything. Least of all you. It’s been that way since you met him, he was twelve the first time he had outwardly professed his love to you. 

"I think I love you." He had said as you both sat at the end of the boat dock, after a day of fun in the sun on the boat with your families, feet dipped in the water as the sun sets softly on the horizon. 

"I love you too, Lukey." You had mumbled back, of course you loved him, he was one of your best - maybe only - friends. 

"No, not like that." he had corrected, "I mean the way that my parents love each other." He had sounded so sure of himself, setting his resolve with a nod of his head, "Yep, you're it for me... my mum said it's like were two halves of the same person sometimes." Since then Luke had made it his mission to profess his undying devotion to you annually - usually towards the end of summer, when the air was crisper and just a little cold, it was an endless push and pull where he teases and flirts with absolutely no shame, and you pretend it doesn’t get to you.

Sometimes it doesn’t.

Sometimes it does.

“Like fabric softener and regret?” you quip, reaching down to flick the side of his forehead. He grins, lazy and content, shifting just enough so that his hair tickles against your fingers, the oversized man making it clear what he wants.

“Nah,” he murmurs. “Like… I don’t know. Something sweet. Something very… you.” You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters anyway. 

“That’s the worst description I’ve ever heard.” Luke snickers, turning onto his side so he’s half-curled against you now, pillow still tucked to his chest, but his warmth radiating through the thin fabric of your pyjama pants.

“You like it,” he says, and it’s not even a question.

“How about no.”

“You love me.”

“Debatable.” Luke just grins wider, as if he knows something you don’t. Maybe he does. The flickering glow from the TV casts a golden hue over his face, highlighting the sharp line of his jaw, the very slight dimple on his smile lines that only ever appears when he’s truly pleased with himself. The worst part is you can’t even deny it. Not really. You’ve known about his crush on you for as long as he’s had it, and maybe some part of you has always liked the way he never hides it, never shies away from making it obvious. Even when you pretend not to notice, even when you let it roll off your back like it doesn’t make something in your chest tighten just a little too much. Out of the corner of your eye, Quinn shifts in his seat. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t react beyond the subtle way his fingers tighten over his arm where they’re crossed. 

Still, you notice.

You always notice when it comes to Quinn. 

The same way you notice everything about the brothers. 

“Are you gonna let me watch the movie, or do I need to suffocate you with your pillow?” you ask, fingers digging into the soft curls on top of his head, brushing ever so lightly you can see the moment a shiver runs down his spine. Luke huffs dramatically, as if the mere suggestion is the greatest injustice he’s ever suffered. 

“If I die, just know I go out as your favourite.”

“That’s literally not what I said.”

“Not what you said, but what you meant.” He smirks up at you, pushing it just far enough, just to the edge of that unspoken line between you. The one you’ve both toed for so long it’s become second nature.

You open your mouth to argue, but before you can, Quinn finally speaks up. “Luke, shut up and watch the movie.” It’s not sharp, not irritated. But it carries weight, enough to make Luke’s smirk falter just slightly. He doesn’t sit up, doesn’t move away from you, but he does shift just enough to glance toward Quinn. You do, too. Quinn’s eyes are still on the screen, but his fingers drum against his arm now, as if he’s trying very hard not to look over.

Luke exhales, a low chuckle leaving him as he turns his attention back to you. “Guess I’m being silenced.”

“Long overdue,” you murmur, but your fingers don’t move from where they’re still running through his hair. Luke notices. Of course, he does. And judging by the way his grin returns, slow and knowing, he doesn’t mind at all.

The movie wraps up with Luke fast asleep against your leg, his hand has shifted from holding tight to his pillow to sliding under the hem of your pyjama pants, grabbing tight hold of your ankle in some weird attempt at getting closer to you.  Jack had never come down to join the three of you, despite Wednesdays always being movie night. 

The credits roll, the blue glow of the TV casting shadows across the room. You stretch your arms over your head, careful not to jostle Luke too much, though it’s hard when he’s all but latched onto you. His grip on your ankle is warm, his hand encompassing the whole ankle, grounding in a way you don’t really want to think too hard about.

Quinn shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. “You gonna wake him up or just drag him to bed?” His voice is light, teasing, but there’s an edge there, something unreadable that makes you glance over at him. He’s finally looking at you now, instead of at the screen or the floor. His arms are still crossed, but his fingers continue to drum lightly against his bicep, the only indication that he’s not as relaxed as he pretends to be.

You huff a laugh. “Yeah, like I’m carrying him anywhere.” You prod at Luke’s shoulder. “Lukey Pookie, time to go to bed.” Luke groans dramatically but doesn’t move. Instead, he tightens his grip on your ankle, mumbling something incoherent into your lap.

Quinn sighs, pushing himself up and stretching, muscles shifting under his thin T-shirt. “Come on, Luke, up.” He nudges Luke’s leg with his foot, a little less gentle than necessary. Luke finally stirs, cracking one eye open to squint at Quinn.

“No need to be jealous,” Luke murmurs sleepily, but the smirk on his lips is unmistakable. "I'm sure she'd let you hold her ankle if you asked nicely."

Quinn’s jaw tightens. “You wish.” You watch the exchange, something in your chest twisting at the way Luke grins, knowing and a little mischievous, while Quinn pointedly avoids your gaze. It’s not the first time they’ve had these little moments, not the first time Quinn has stepped in when Luke pushed just a little too far. But it’s the way Quinn looks at you after, as if he wants to say something but never does, that lingers longer than it should. Luke finally sits up, stretching his arms over his head before flopping sideways against the couch, boneless and lazy. 

“Alright, fine, I’m up. So who’s next?”

You blink. “Next?” 

Luke grins, rubbing a hand through his messy curls. “The next date, obviously. Since we’re doing this whole ‘take turns’ thing. Who’s up?” Your stomach flips. You hadn’t really thought that far ahead. The first date had been a whirlwind, fun until it wasn't. But now… now the reality of the situation settles over you. You glance between them, both waiting, both watching.

Quinn leans against the arm of the couch, feigning nonchalance. “Doesn’t really matter who’s next.”

Luke scoffs. “Yeah, it does. Jack bombed his date so whoever is next needs to make theirs worth her while.” He looks at you again, head tilting. “What do you think? Got anyone in mind?” You hesitate. You know what he’s asking, you know he's hinting that he wants to go next. But your gaze drifts, just for a second, to Quinn. He’s watching you carefully, waiting.

Not pushing, not teasing, just… waiting, like he always does.

Luke notices. Of course, he does. His grin widens, slow and knowing. “Oh I see how it is,” he hums.

“Shut up,” you mutter, but your face feels warm. Instead of laughing it off, though, Luke leans back against the couch, studying you. 

“You know, it’s okay if you pick me,” he says, quieter this time, more serious. “I mean, I know I joke a lot, but…” He shrugs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’d make it a good one.” Something about the way he says it makes your heart skip. You’ve always brushed off his flirting, treated it as something easy, something playful. But this? The soft sincerity in his voice, the way he doesn’t look away—this is different.

You open your mouth, unsure what to say, but before you can, he flashes you a grin, easy and warm. “Just think about it, okay?”

Then he stands, stretching again. “Well, if it’s not me next, I better get my beauty sleep.” He winks before sauntering off down the hall, leaving you alone with Quinn. The air between you shifts, something quieter, something heavier. You look over at him again, but he’s already looking at the screen, where the movie menu is looping on repeat. His fingers drum against his arm again, thoughtful, as if he’s debating something.

Finally, he exhales, glancing at you. “If you want it to be me next… just say so.” His voice is steady, careful, but there’s something behind it, something that makes your breath catch.

You swallow hard. “We’ll see.” 

His lips twitch, the barest hint of a smirk, but he doesn’t press. He just nods once, then pushes off the couch. “Goodnight.”

“Night, Quinn.” He hesitates, just for a second, then turns and disappears down the hall, leaving you alone with a racing heart and too many thoughts to sort through.

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

Where Home Is

You more or less trick Jason into moving into your apartment ~850 words

For the longest time, Jason didn't have a place to call home. Sure, he had more safehouses than he could count on both hands, but none of them were a home.

He was lucky half the time if his closest place of refuge had a box spring mattress and running water. It never bothered him, not really. It was a side effect of the whole vigilante career, a price he was willing to pay to just get under a roof without having to hike across the city.

And yeah, maybe it would be nicer to have clean, soft blankets to come back to. Maybe it would ease the constant, set tension in his jaw to know what's in his fridge. Maybe not having to guess which safehouse had electricity that week would make his life easier.

But all of that was a luxury he didn't need. Jason didn't need a home, he just needed a place to crash and stitch his wounds until the sky darkened and he could do what he was meant for. Fight the battles that need to be won.

Jason Todd did not need a home.

You've managed to convince him otherwise.

It starts small– you're just the closest place, you have a stocked first aid kit, it made sense to go to you. (He shouldn't have fallen asleep on your couch once he's bandaged and stable, but he doesn't think his nearest safehouse has heat, anyway. So staying had to be the right call that night)

But then he starts to find himself at your window more and more frequently at the end of his patrol, for no particular reason at all.

He doesn't know how or why you do it, how you even manage to convince him, but he goes to you nonetheless, unties his boots at the window and drops his jacket on the back of your arm chair.

At first, it's because you had cookies you wanted him to try, and then it's because you have a book he should pick up tonight because it's just easier if he comes over then.

(It's not, it's four in the morning and he's exhausted and he knows you know that, but he comes anyway and you always get him fall asleep on your couch, again and again)

Logically, Jason shouldn't be so comfortable in your space. Realistically, he shouldn't be sleeping in your apartment, and he most certainly shouldn't be letting you corral him from the couch to your spare bedroom. And he definitely shouldn't be nodding along because you said 'he might as well use it tonight, since no one else is'.

He shouldn't. But he does. And he gets the best night's sleep he's had in years.

Even if sleeping on a mattress that's on a frame and not covered in whatever threadbare blanket he has laying around his safe house means he wakes up without a crick in his back, he shouldn't be indulging in it.

He's taking up your space and your time. Jason tries to make up for it by making breakfast (and restocking your fridge for the trouble), but he doesn't think it exactly evens out.

He reprimands himself every time he leaves the warmth care safety- every time he leaves your home. Yet he always finds himself back in the comfort of your apartment when the sun starts to rise.

It makes him feel guilty. Really, he has so many other places to go, he could camp out nearly anywhere if he had to, but he prefers going to you.

And that's dangerous. That's desperate. And despite his better judgment, he doesn't hate it.

He likes that– no matter how quiet he is– you sleepily pad out of your bedroom to greet him. (How you know he's back, he's never gotten a straight answer)

He likes that you check him over for wounds. He likes that you sit with him if he needs to eat. He likes that you make sure he ends up in the spare bedroom and not the couch. He likes that you pat his arm before wandering, half-awake back to your own bed.

He likes coming home.

The thought startles him, the first time he thinks it, after weeks of letting you convince him to come over for the most mundane reasons– to stay once he caves to your pleas.

And suddenly it's not just your spare bedroom, but his bedroom. It's not just your apartment, but your- and his- home. And the feeling in his chest nearly overwhelms him.

It's the one place he can let his defenses down. The one place where his smiles come freely. The only place he wants to return to when the night ends.

Home. You. (It's synonymous in his mind, and he doesn't quite know what to do with that)

He still has more safehouses than he could ever really use. But Jason Todd only has one home. And it's where his fuzzy red blanket lays thrown haphazardly at the edge of his bed. It's where dinner sits waiting to be reheated in the fridge. It's where a closet has an empty hanger for his jacket to rest.

It's where you wait for him to come back, where you're ready to give him a place to fall, and where he knows he'll land safely if he jumps– or stumbles. (And no amount of distance would ever keep him from making it home, back to you)

[cafeleningrad]

@elodieunderglass Note on Walldorf-Steiner-parenting: It's not a neutral field attracting reactionary minded people. It was since it's conception averse to scientific evidence, prioritizing nature romanticism, not to mention how the teaching methodology is just a pendulum of teaching one set beliefs as "accurate" and "free", all other scholar forms are wrong. (i.e. in art classes children aren't allowed to draw with outlines since outlines are considered un-natural/something that does not occur in nature. And weirdly, all Anthroposophic art looks eerily similar...)

I get why Walldorf-Steiner parenting, or even social models are attractive in claming individuality, and anti-authoritarianism. I did work in medical care facility for people with intellectual dissabilites, and it was a super intergrative community. But holy heck, looking back, many residents were lucky that Steiner ideas on medicine and disability were overruled by national medical standarts. There is a reason why reformist Steiner-fans get associated with a proximity to anti-vaccination mindsets. Steiner did believe sickness, dissability, and illness were results of karmic comeback, even karma for misdeeds commited in a previous life. The only cure is by mentally combatting and admitting to one's fault. So every illment is the primarily the patients fault and responsibility. And that's not to mention how highly averse Anthroposophy is to scientifc method in general, prioritizing effect (or imagined effect) over proof. This line of thinking has been adopted by the "new Germanic medicine" which is unquestionably a right-wing new age movement. To say, It's no coincidence how beliefs from theosophy and Anthroposophy are adapted within right-wing ideologies. (Among many other aspects of anthroposophical philosophy... hanging the christmas tree with astrology signs in a strict constellation might seem a bit absurd, but then also comes the point where he summises that all religions and philosophies are actually the same. Yet,somehow the essence of his barely baked understanding is weirdly Christian...)

Rudolf Steiner was one figure of many movements reacting to the anxieties about industrialisation, the rigid social structures of imperial Austria, and/or Wilheminian Germany, overlapping with popular nationalist myticism inventions; Such as the belief that lunar calendars are totally old true and tested Germanic tribes traditions to grow better, organis vegetables. In truth is just made up bollocks to invent a myth about "shared Germanic" heritage where there actually wasn't one before. It's not a question of "bad" and "good" ideology but what I want to get at is: The Anthroposophical movement was appealing because it did answer to legitimate worries, and concerns of living standarts of it's time. Yet it's up to question how legitimate these answers were. As I can attest anecdotally, there're many good ideas for communal living in Steiner's philosophy but also many highly questionable ideas on human nature, and nature itself which seep through his models for social structures. I get why in times of hypercapitalism, income inequality, the erosion of state institutions, global warming etc. a philosphy which also has developed structural life models based on nature AND also a cosmology which claims to freed of Christian religious doctrine (spoiler: it's not) is appealing. But it also can appealing already on it's own. And yet. like everything in life, utopias are never going to be real, and no philosophy or ideology is without it's fallacies. And that's not to mention how Steiner talked about a lot of things he was neither trained, qualitfied, or had any deeper knowledge about in the first place. Sometimes he just made stuff up one night, or even one hour before giving a lecture in agriculture, by example.

And by all means, keep in mind that Steiner slipt from Helen Blavatsky's theosophical circle. Blavatsky herself is an... let's call it illustrous figure of new age occult beliefs. Not only was she a successful grifter and scéance scammer, her worldview was deeply, deeply racist (paralles you can find in Magré's Anastasia-cult). And most all... it's all made up with no basis but popular pseudo-philosophical beliefs in 19th century Europe and then the US East coast.

Steiner and Montessori often get thrown together as models of anti-authoritarian parenting and school models. And yes both were prominetn figures in theosophical and anthroposophical circles. But it's worth noting how Montessori actively worked for better treatment for neglected children in psychiatric care, and children of low income families. (And still her works become complicated withing the confines of her time, and her not so short involvement with the Italian fascist regime.) This blending of their works has as a result that Montessori's teachings lost many of her socially reformist ambition.

So no, Steiner-parenting and school models are by no means neutral.

There’s certain hobbies and interests that aren’t inherently conservative or regressive but do attract a lot of people who are those things or worse and when you’re a progressive person involved in those hobbies hearing that someone else is interested in your hobby usually has to involve some “But are you normal about it?” conversations before you get too excited

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 16

Hi! Ch 17 is done and will refocus back on Batsis 🙃idk when ch 18 will be done because I feel like I'll rewrite a lot of it over and over again until I either like it or get tired of it :))) so, ENJOY!

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 16 >>next(TBC)

Jason was the first to walk into your room. Not like he hasn’t memorized every little detail. He enjoyed sneaking in to look at your drawings, seeing what he had missed while he was dead, the trinkets you had. Unlike the others who were afraid to touch stuff, to even look around, he walked around like he owned the place. And then his foot fully broke through the already brittle floorboard you broke.

The crime lord pulled his foot out, cussing and swatting away at Bruce’s worried words and helping hand. “Huh.” Jason furrowed his brows, crouching and pulling out two shoe boxes and a few dusty drawings. “Never saw these.” He said while sitting down with one box, the drawings were quickly snatched by Damian and the other box was opened by Duke, everyone taking a journal from it.

Jason’s box was full of sketchbooks and newspaper clippings of her achievements. These sketchbooks seemed to be focused on the family and their bat counterparts. He snorts at a drawing of a Robin where you wrote “Booty shorts are a terrible choice for fighting crime” immediately showing it to Dick. “That’s your robin.” The acrobat mutters, pouting. “What?!” Jason pulls the sketchbook back to squint at it. “Nuh-uh! And even if it was, it’s still your fault! I was trying to imitate and impress you.”

Dick in any other situation would have teased him for the slip, but he couldn’t. He remembers how angry he was at being essentially fired and replaced, not for being unable to continue, but because Bruce felt guilt at how close Dick was to death. And then Jason came, and then he died. Dick remembers how mean he was to both Jason and you, just because he was afraid. Afraid of getting attached, afraid of letting someone in just for them to end up like his parents, and afraid of being replaced and brushed off.

But that’s what he did to you. He and Jason learned to get along, but to you, he was still distant, he brushed you off despite how he was afraid of that happening to him. He remembers always glancing over his shoulder at you after finding an excuse to not interact with you and how it always hurt seeing how sad and defeated you looked, how one day you just stopped even acknowledging him unless he talked to you.

The journals didn’t help his guilt. “I always wanted a big brother. Richard doesn’t seem to like me, but he has started getting along with Jason. I think it’s because I’m a girl and Jason is into gymnastics like him. Maybe he'll spare me some glances if I show interest in that too.” Ignoring how many times you misspelled gymnastics, his fingers traced the words a few rows below simply stating that he refused and yelled at you for getting in the way.

Stephanie and Duke were raking the little books for a mention of them besides “Bruce took in another kid.” They both felt guilty for not trying to get to know you, but while Duke was fixated on him being older and knowing he should have tried, Stephanie thought it was weird how you didn’t come to either. You were still a kid, still young, still curious- so why didn’t you go out of your way to greet them to get to know them, even Damian asked them questions. “Stephanie and Duke do seem nice, friendly. But so did the others. It’ll be another rejection.” Oh- you had given up trying to fit in their lives by then.

Cassandra felt a lot of emotions, sadness mainly. She didn’t mean to come off as rude and mean, like she didn’t care because she did. She cared. She still does- it’s just the anxiety you displayed, the sadness that slipped through- she didn’t know how to deal with it, it was overwhelming to her, so she ran, hid, and watched you from the shadows. Cassandra loved watching you paint and take care of the garden, it was her favorite activity. She handed the diary she finished to Bruce. She has many regrets, but this one she’ll fight to fix.

Barbara and Tim didn’t want to read what you had to say about them, they knew. So, they stuck to Alfred to see the many trophies you had. They brushed you off, brushed off anything you tried to do to impress them, Tim going the extra mile by belittling you. Barbara wasn’t present much, she wasn’t Bruce’s kid. But Tim, like the other, was. He saw how heartbroken you were when they’d have family nights and nobody bothered inviting you, how after Cassandra came and they welcomed her with open arms you just stopped bothering, ignoring everyone, doing your own thing. He didn’t say anything, didn’t fight for you, he saw everyone ignore and brush you off, so he did the same, finding you annoying for no other reason than you simply existed. You existed and were the only person he could be mean with without anyone saying anything. The only person he could express his anger on. Tim cringed at the memories. You were just a child.

Alfred knew he mostly gave you attention out of pity rather than a pure need to take care of a kid who needed reassurance and love. His loyalty and care stood with Bruce, first and foremost- and yet it hurt to see himself through your eyes. Cold, only doing his job, just another shadow, were some of the words you used. He couldn’t read more, it reminded him too much of the words he used to refer to his own father once upon a time, so he carried on with cleaning. His hands shook as he wiped medals, trophies, shelves, dusty paintings, anything he could.

“Why are the science and sports medals hidden behind the others? They’re still first place.”  Tim couldn’t help but mutter out loud. “She didn’t do those because she liked or wanted to. She won those to impress us, specifically, you two.” Jason muttered as his eyes skimmed through the diary in his hand, skipping things about him. He changed, he isn’t running after Dick anymore, there’s no need for him to read what he knows he messed up. You already told him, anyway.

Damian is honestly happy you left before he came to the manor. Seeing the drawing for more than just lines, the subtle way you drew hints that the family were barely strangers to you, always in their shadows, their back always turned to you, their faces always devoid of features, just blank voids- he knew what you were trying to depict, he saw the anger and sadness and despair in every stroke. To him, these were as good as words written in your diaries. He is happy because he didn’t want to see how you would have drawn him, what kind of feeling you’d attribute to him because he knew he wouldn’t have been kind. Damian would have seen you as a threat, an obstacle to his place as the rightful heir. He would have been mean, throwing insults, he would have tried to kill you. He also knows better now, they have lost their chance, he was sure of it, but not him.

Bruce had been clutching the same journal for a while, his eyes unable to leave the little throwaway comment in a long paragraph. “Officer Gordon lied to me. He lied when he said Bruce Wayne is my father, he lied when he said Bruce would love me.” He’s been afraid to see more, but what else could he do? He wasn’t stupid. Emotionally constipated, sure, but he knew his indifference and coldness hurt you, especially at a time when he knew all you needed was warmth and hugs, but he was so scared of the whispers in the back of his head. He was sure keeping his distance would have kept you safer than him being close to you.

His eyes continued reading, and reading, and reading, until he couldn’t anymore, the tears making everything too blurry for him to make out. The younger you blamed herself, deemed herself inadequate for his love and attention, but as you grew you realized that you’re not to blame, you were the child, and he was the adult. “He’s supposed to be my dad but he doesn’t even act like my legal guardian. If it wasn’t for him being a public figure, I would have forgotten how he looks.” And “He publicly recognized everyone else. Everyone but me. Is he so ashamed of me that he just wants me to rot locked away in this hell he calls home?” just kept flashing in his mind as he buried his face in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He was relieved that he didn’t remember how you sounded... He just cries harder at the traitorous thought.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and you know, getting used to the dorms and all of that.” Mark shrugs. Before you could tell Debbie about your day, you covered your mouth, sneezing into your elbow. “Bless you.” Debbie and Mark said after your third sneeze in a row. “Thank you. That was weird.” You hummed while sending Jason a text to stop talking about you. Lately, superstitions have grabbed a hold of you. “Um, anyway- I spent my day like usual, helping around, uh, spent quite a long time at the altar meditating- John taught me how to summon stuff.”

Your smile matched Debbie’s once she complimented you for doing so much in one day, chest puffing at her attention. Your eyes went back to your phone only when the conversation changed, being met with two photos, one of Bruce curled on your bed, clutching one of your plushies to his chest while reading and crying, the second was of Dick in a similar state, but on the ground clutching at your drawing and paintings. “Couldn’t catch the others.” Jay texted after. You cringed and swiped your thumb to text back. “Fuck that’s pathetic. Weirdos. Tell Bruce to stop touching my plushies.”

Your brows furrowed, your other hand immediately zooming in on the picture of the man. “That mother- mmm.” You stopped before you could cuss, texting the crime lord again. “And stop reading my shit! They’re supposed to be private!!!” Jason didn’t respond back.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Damian’s eyes tracked over every single letter his mother wrote, memorizing every word, every phrase, skipping over her displeasure with how his father had treated you, over her questions on how the man had been treating him.

From how effortlessly his mother deemed that his sister had moved cars, buildings, and people, to how Talia had called her a lovely young woman but starved for praise and love, mentions of her lip trembling at the genuine compliment Talia had given to how willing his sister was to help with even mundane stuff such as carrying bags for the elderly- he took it all in.  

He memorized everything and then let the letters about the few days Talia had observed you go through the flame of the little candle he had lit, the fire slowly eating the paper as he set it in a tray. His eyes moved to the papers branded with Gotham High’s emblem. Damian doesn’t need the letters, not when he’ll crawl his way into your life soon enough.

Tag list: @bat1212 @trashlanternfish360 @shycreatorreview @syrooo @a-lurking-fae @alittletiredcry @kittzu @plsfckmedxddy @blackhood1229 @nxdxsworld @leeiasure @dandelion-delusion @lovebug-apple @sillysealsies @tsxukikami @enchantingarcadecreation @alishii @d3nnji @itsberrydreemurstuff @yuyuzi-ling @welpthisisboring @1abi @mxvoid26 @persephone-kore-law @bluevenus19 @ryuushou @asillysimp @aalunar @cxcilla @sirenetheblogger @pinkluv29 @br33zy-blizzardz @victoria1676

[plaidcowboy]

hey pretty could u write a lil smth for me 　cosy!reader forcing rafe to cuddle with her?

rafe forcing ꒰!COSY꒱ to cuddle him ⅏ ⅏

rafe pushed the book out of your hands, causing it to land on the bed next to you. you gasped, turning to see him with his brows furrowed, staring at you, “what was that for?”

“you’re done reading ‘cause i’m bored and ‘cause i said so,” he murmured against your arm where his head was resting. you two were simply lying in bed, you sitting up reading with rafe covering you, “okay . . well, i’m almost done. can i just finish these few pages . . ”

“no. let me hold you, please,” he stared up at you with the puppiest of puppy dog eyes, making it hard to say no to him. but you were really into your book. it’d be quick, you finishing it. “of course, just let me . . ” you went to grab the book, rafe taking it from your hands and tossing it across the room, “i’m not letting you up to go get it, so you don’t have a choice.”

you looked down to rafe, taken aback. “well now you’re definitely not,” you went to cross your arms, rafe sitting up quickly, grabbing your arm and tugging, “no, alright, fine, sorry. don’t do that. i got to have you in my arms, please. please, baby?”

you huffed, “mm hm,” you responded, shaking your head. rafe frowned. “what d’you mean ‘mm mh?’”

you shrugged, turning your head away, “i mean no. i won’t cuddle you,” rafe titled his head at you, perplexed you were denying him, “baby . . you can’t be serious. i said please,” he actually was confused where your defiance was coming from. he used the magic word.

you scoffed, “that doesn’t get you anything you want,” you turned back to face him. “it got me you . . ” he reminded you, “ . . okay, what do you want me to do?” he tugged your arm again when he felt you pull away, “i jus’ wanna hold you. i like you in my arms. i don’t like it when i’m not touching you in some way. please. i said it four times now.”

you pretended to ponder, “just an apology to the book . . that you bought me, by the way,” you responded. rafe rose a brow, “and i’ll buy you even more, what’s the matter?”

“you hurt it. apologize,” rafe frowned at you, “you want me to apologize to a book?” you nodded defiantly. “baby . . it’s a book, can i just hold you now . . ” he shuffled closer.

“apologize,” you halted him. rafe sighed, “sorry . . book,” he couldn’t believe what he said. the things he does for you. “can we now?” he whined.

“hold on,” you held up a finger, cupping your hand over your ear. rafe stared at you. “hm . . okay. book accepts your apology.”

rafe continued to stare . . “c’mere, weirdo,” he grabbed you, pulling you against his chest. you giggled, causing him to laugh as well, “freaking book,” he grumbled.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Hiiii love your work <3

Was having a bad day so I was wondering if u could write a headcanon about Simon or any of the 141 comforting you because college is difficult 🙇🏾‍♀️

If you don’t feel like it or don’t wanna write about this prompt, no worries <3 hope u have a great day :)

Hello! I can absolutely do a few headcanons about this!

@/desert-fern also requested this so I’m going to combine yours with theirs. I’ll also be covering all the 141 in this! Thanks for sending it in!!

written w/ gn!reader

John Price

Incredibly supportive but keeps a respectful distance.

Does not have your schedule save in his phone but he has it memorized.

He knows not to bother you during class (or lab or technical, etc.) and keeps to the promise until you’re available again.

He won’t force you to take breaks, but he will heavily suggest that you do until it become an annoying pestering that you can’t ignore.

If the two of you are married, John is happy to carry the financial load as well as pick up some of the domestic labor if it alleviates stress.

If you’re working on your PhD, John will insist on introducing you as “Doctor” to everyone.

If you’re going to school for something more hands on, John is happy to be your guinea pig. Need to practice a blood draw for nursing school? John will offer his arm with zero hesitation.

If college is starting to feel incredibly overwhelming and like you can’t handle it, he’s the reassuring voice that calms you down and emphasizes how important this journey means to you.

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Has your schedule saved in his phone.

Goes out of his way to bring you breakfast and coffee (or matcha or chai) in the morning because he understands the importance of starting the day with a fueled body.

If you’re someone who is sometimes disorganized, Kyle doesn’t mind dropping in a reminder about when you need to go to class or when something needs to be completed.

Will hold you accountable if you think you need someone else to keep you committed.

Doesn’t care if he has to rearrange plans last minute or cancel plans entirely if you have a last-minute assignment or exam to study for.

Forces you to take breaks and will physically remove you from what you’re working on if you don’t.

If everything feels a bit too overwhelming, Kyle is right there with a warm embrace and comforting words to help soothe the stress and anxiety.

John “Soap” MacTavish

Supportive but is a bit hopeless about how to help you.

Doesn’t have your schedule in his phone and doesn’t have your schedule memorized.

Absolutely calls and texts during class/lab/clinicals/etc. because he knows you’ll see it eventually. You’ve had to put your phone on Do Not Disturb because it’s nearly nonstop.

Never tells you to take a break because he’s so used to just pushing through stress that he doesn’t always recognize it in you.

Confuses bachelors, masters, and doctorate, but absolutely knows what you’re majoring in. Same goes for technical school.

Will take up the financial burden if married. Won’t even blink or bat an eye over it.

Absolutely treats you to gifts, dinner, or something special after a test, exam, or practical. He enjoys celebrating each accomplishment.

When it comes to feeling overwhelmed, Johnny doesn’t see the breakdown coming. One moment you’re fine, and the next you’re not. At first, he’s surprised, and not sure how to help.

If anything, Johnny is reassuring and gentle with you if you’re struggling with the responsibility that comes with college life. Lots of hugging and affirmations.

Simon “Ghost” Riley

Has your schedule memorized and has it in his phone. Simon knows where you are at all times.

Completely supportive of your desire for pursuing higher education or even a technical trade. He joined the military as soon as he could and never had the opportunity to try out either.

Whether you’re dating or married, Simon is covering the financial cost of life while you take care of business. Now, he’s not paying for your schooling (unless married), but he’s covering the mortgage/rent, groceries, and everything else so that you can completely focus on getting your degree or certification.

While he’s not always one to give compliments, he does brag endlessly at work about you and how proud he is.

Absolutely forces you to take breaks while studying. If he’s not there, or away because of work, bet on the fact that he’s texting or calling or something to make sure you’re taking care of yourself.

Sometimes he’s blunt or overly honest, and when you complain about stress or feeling overwhelmed, he might offer you a suggestion about how to manage it instead of simply listening.

When he’s off work, he will insist on driving you to and from campus.

If things prove too much, and you breakdown over the stress, Simon will completely shift gears. If all you need is to be held, he’ll hold you, and if you need to talk, he’ll listen. After the tears have dried, Simon will do his best to cheer you up, having an evening with just the two of you.

main masterlist

[navyiera]

[requested] how would flirty!vi treat reader who is insecure of their thick thighs? (req pinned below)

all of you are perfect! keep that in mind. era loves y'all 💖 [also very short. Im having a block but i still wanted to do this incase any of you needed it. And please do not hesitate to send requests, I'm more than happy to write them! Or two vent to me. Im a good listener!]

Vi, Who Knows You Are Insecure About Your Thighs, But She Thinks They're Perfect. That you're perfect.

It starts like it always does—with you fidgeting. Hands gripping at the fabric of your shorts, tugging them lower like it'll change anything. Like it'll shrink the way your thighs press together when you sit, the way they spill over the edge of Vi’s bed just a little too much for your liking.

She sees it. She always sees it.

“Babe,” Vi murmurs from her spot beside you, where she’s been leaning back against the headboard, arms folded like she’s been waiting for this moment. And she has.

You refuse to look at her, but that doesn’t stop her from moving, doesn’t stop the way she shifts onto her knees, crowding into your space. Fingers slip beneath your chin, tilting your face toward hers. "What did I tell you about that?"

You open your mouth, but she beats you to it. "No hiding from me." Her voice gentle with a tinge of something you can't put a finger on. Assertiveness? Protectiveness? Or perhaps love.

It’s unfair, really, the way she says it like it’s a rule she expects you to follow, like the shape of you is something you should be flaunting rather than something to tuck away. But Vi doesn't just like your thighs—she worships them. She fixates.

And you know what’s coming next.

Her hands, rough and calloused, slide down your arms, then lower. She palms at the meat of your thigh, gripping, squeezing, before sinking her fingers in like she means to leave marks. Like she wants you to feel her there long after she’s gone.

A quiet sound escapes your lips, and she smirks. “See? Feels good, huh?”

You roll your eyes, shoving weakly at her shoulder, but she just laughs. It’s low, husky, the kind that sends heat curling up your spine. "Nah, you don't get it," Vi says, voice dipping as she leans in, forehead brushing yours. "These thighs, babe? They’re perfect. And not in some half-assed 'oh, you should love yourself' kinda way. I mean it. I need them."

She proves her point by ducking lower, pressing her face to them, mouth ghosting over your skin in something between reverence and hunger. And then she bites—just enough to make you twitch.

"Fuck, you drive me insane," she mutters, dragging her tongue over the spot she just claimed. "D'you know how much I think about these? How much I wanna be between them, under them, pinned 'til I can't fucking move?"

Your face burns. "Vi—"

"Mm-mm." She cuts you off, nosing at your inner thigh, voice thick with something raw. "You're gonna sit there and let me appreciate you. All of you. Especially this." Another squeeze, another kiss, her breath hot against your skin. "So, if you're still thinkin’ about hiding from me? You better unlearn that real quick."

And with the way she’s looking at you—like you’re something to be adored, to be devoured—you think maybe, just maybe, she’s right. (she is)

[allfearstofallto]

"Bye bye, I love you!"

Wanderer flinched at your words. His back that was facing you tensed and his hand that was reaching out to twist the doorknob was trembling as it was essentially hanging in midair. The air was thick and quiet as you eyed him in curiosity, waiting for his response, or what you would've assumed would've been lack there of. Typically when you said sweet things to the man, he'd brush you off with little grunts piercing glares.

"What'd you just say?" He asked cautiously, still facing the door. His voice sounded strange. Weaker. Softer. Possibly the nicest you'd ever heard him sound.

"I said goodbye and I love you," you repeated. And his reaction was the exact same, with him flinching like you'd tried to hurt him, "Is something wrong with that?"

A shrug was his answer. Trying and failing to play the entire ordeal off as nonchalant, but it was clear that those three words had caused him a bit of distress. A hint of guilt passed over you. You didn't want to pressure him to do or say anything he didn't want to.

"I didn't mean it like that if that's what you think. It's just a habit-"

"-no." He cut you off with a trembling, breathy whisper. He finally turned to face you, cheeks flushed and eyes glossy. He was wearing an expression that you couldn't quite decipher. A mixture of sorrow and adoration, "I-i love you too. Plenty."

He seemed to be testing the words on his tongue, almost as if he'd never said them before. There wasn't much time for you to be able to even register that he'd said it back. He tipped his hat to cover the raging blush that now spread across his face and walked out the door with even another glance back.

AN: I come from a family where we always say: "I love you," whenever we leave. As I've learned from doing it to people outside my family, apparently, it's not common. So I decided to write Wanderer's reaction to a reader who does the same :)

[giddyfatherchris]

📝 skz reaction - you're being a clingy baby

pairing. ot8!skz x gn!reader (individually)

type. fluff fluff fluffff, requested <3

warnings. gender neutral reader, curse words (thats how i show my enthusiasm okay)

a/n. i know last time i was like "meh sue me for not putting the boys in the 'right' order" but you know what, i actually like it like that. my boy jeongin is always last, he deserve to be first so i think i'm just gonna keep it like that when it comes to skz reactions :)

jeongin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he would tease you like hell about it until one day you actually start crying and he feels so fucking bad he never does it again. (to be fair he probably laughed when you first started crying but when he realized they were real tears? he is panicking). after that he never denies you again and makes sure to give you attention whenever you need it. you're the only person he allows to be clingy and needy with him. which the boys are kinda petty about because they sure aren't allowed to be clingy with their maknae they love so much lol. they'd tease him sooo bad about it but every time he says it's different for you. you get special privileges.

seungmin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he would def be annoyed when you're being clingy, not because he actually minds it but mostly because he knows you sometimes push it JUST to annoy him lmao. so in return he would deny you just for fun or when you ask him cute stuff he'd purposely answer seriously or act like he doesn't understand your request until you start wailing like a lost cat and then he can't resist anymore. oh and also, he loves to act that way when you're in public but behind closed doors? he can be just as clingy, it's different from when you are but still. he's not necessarily needy, but he wants. you. close. to him. he'd be the type to constantly want to be around you and get pouty when you can't.

felix ⊹ ࣪ ˖ honestly being clingy with felix only means one thing... you're spoiled rotten. you need hugs and cuddles? he will RUN to give them to you. you just want to stick to him like glue? 'sure baby come here'. you want to lay on his lap while he's playing games? not a problem. you don't even understand how you're feeling but you know you need to be with him? he will be there, arms wide open for you no questions asked. all your wishes will be executed because its just how it works between you two. and thing is, the treatment he gives you? you give it right back. so at this point, it's not even a question or a thought. it's simply second nature.

han ⊹ ࣪ ˖ getting han's attention when you're feeling clingy? it's tough. either because he will get side tracked by any little thing, despite his good intentions, so you'll have to remind him to stay with you or to give you a hug. orrrr he will goof off like crazy and will not leave you alone. until the point where you're physically trying to get as far away from him as possible. oh and he'd chase you, no worries "but babyyyy you said you needed love and attention. stop running." with the scariest most mischievous smile in the world until you actually start running away and hide from him because he will smother you with love. (but let's be honest you always end up letting him catch you because come on... you'll take all the love he'll give you)

hyunjin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ he does not mind at all when you're being clingy. in fact he LOVES it. in skz, there is a holy trinity of baby talker and you can bet your ass he's one of them. he will baby talk (to the other boys utmost horror) and repeat your requests with the baby voice until everyone in the room physically cringe. oh and he's mean, he's a real lil bitch, so he will deny you cuddles just so you can pout harder. his heart melts at the sight of it and he can't help but want more. still, it'd only take you to give him the eyes before he'd giggle and pull you in for a big big hug while he digs in nose in the crook of your neck where you just smell so so good.

changbin ⊹ ࣪ ˖ being clingy with binnie can go one of two ways. first, he's just just not gonna mind at all. he'd notice you seem more clingy than usual and just signal for you to come next to him. he'd keep babbling or doing whatever it is he's doing but he'd put his arms around you mindlessly stroking your back and giving you little kisses on your forehead... OR he would return it ten times worse. i'm talking full on baby voice (member number 2 of the holy trinity), pinching your cheeks, exagerating your requests, jumping on your lap and he'd act clingy just to make you laugh. "aw my little baby needs cuddles? you feeling clingy? you want to sit on my lap? what if I sit on your lap instead?" "what no bin that's not- BIN YOU'RE SO HEAVY IM GONNA DIE"

minho ⊹ ࣪ ˖ honestly, he does not care. like at all, the teasing would be minimal but all in all he'd let you do whatever it is you want to do, give you whatever it is you need. because fine he likes to tease ppl, but he also loves cuddles and physical touch even if he would never admit it. often ppl won't dare to be clingy with him because of his black cat personality, but you've always been able to see behind that façade and to never let it scare you. so you do not hesitate to latch on his arm or rest your head in the crook of his neck while he's doing something. and it always feel like a sweet sweet reward when he simply drapes his arms around you, not even reacting to your touch like it's the most normal thing and second nature thing in the world for him.

bangchan ⊹ ࣪ ˖ uhm yeah bangchan? absolutely adores when you're clingy. in fact, he would get whiny if you're not constantly requesting cuddles and hugs and little kisses. he would also be a master of the baby voice and obliging to your every demand. he just loves to be needed and the way you need him makes him feel light as a feather. he'd come up to you "what is you need babe?" and you'd pout and ask whatever it is you want wether its a hug or cuddles or some time with him "i don't think i heard you well the first time. want to repeat that?" but right before you'd say it again he'd squish your cheeks together so you have the cutest pout on your mouth and you'd mumble than you can't exactly talk like that but he'd insist "no no you can, go ahead baby" you'd sigh and oblige "mhm-want-mhug?" and this man would squeal like a toddler because he thinks youre so cute he’s going to explode. chan does have the profile of someone with love aggresion and so he'd lovingly and agressively give you anything you want :)

[khionefr0st]

I already reblogged this with a novel’s worth of tags but just hold up. Cos this makes so much sense that it’s making me think

TLDR I changed my interpretation of Omelas and totally agree w/ OP

This analysis is actually so good that I have completely restructured my own interpretation of the Omelas. Prior to this post my sole interpretation was that Le Guin was trying to make commentary on certain different real world issues, issues like how we all use phones that were made with cobalt stained by the blood of deadly labor by black children on the other side of the world. But OP’s right, this isn’t exactly the case. Because the text actually presents its most fundamental premise in its most quoted paragraph - Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting, the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain, etc. which is to say that the issue the text is directly addressing is the fact that people cannot imagine a better world, a happy world, without the existence of a system that hurts others. It tells you right there in the fucking text but every single interpretation I’ve seen thus far has missed it. Hell, I missed it. I have never ever seen Omelas be interpreted this way before.

And I actually went to read Omelas again after this because the more I read it, the more it makes sense. It answers all my questions I had when I first read it. Like – if Omelas is supposed to be commentary on capitalism and the bliss of the Global North built on the suffering of the Global South, why did Le Guin insist on making the city of Omelas as ideal as possible? Why didn’t she make the city more akin to a society that is actually a product of capitalism? A society that comes with puritanism and a military if that was really the point she wanted to make? Because not only does she include the most ideal, happy utopia (and Le Guin is clearly very educated in terms of politics/socioeconomics because she knows what a Utopia looks like, with drugs and sex as part of society) she insists the audience imagine it on their own. She encourages the viewer to supplement the Utopia with their own ideas of what an ideal world looks like to them.

She explicitly tells the audience to imagine an ideal city that “suits” us. So not necessarily a capitalist society. But why?

It’s because her point isn’t about utilitarianism or whether it’s worth it to make someone suffer if it means lots of people get to be happy. It’s because her point is that we have to reject the idea that a world where nobody suffers is impossible. The people who walk away from the omelas – there are many ways to interpret them still, and now that I’ve recontextualized the whole story in this perspective there are so many other passages I want to dissect but anyway – the people who walk away from the omelas could possibly represent the people who walk away from that idea, that the child must suffer for their happiness. You can’t imagine where they’re going, because you can’t even fathom abandoning the idea that a world exists where nobody suffers and everybody can be happy. That’s the message of The Ones Who Walk Away from Omelas.

(also obviously im not saying this is the only correct interpretation or anything just this is the one that personally makes the most sense to me so I have now adapted it lol)

i have to say i think its kind of baffling when omelas is taken as a very literal trolley problem about a tortured kid instead of, like, pointedly making fun of the common idea that a positive world, social change, pleasure itself, must come with some sort of painful caveat in order for that happiness to hold meaning or exist in the first place... so many interpretations treat the idea of people walking away from a (very obviously hypothetical) utopia with an even more hypothetical evil underbelly as them lazily giving up on reforming Omelas the Real City, rather than them philosophically abandoning the idea that the (again, entirely theoretical) Omelas represents (that pleasure cannot exist without pain).

what is even the relevance of this to the "I would save the kid instead of abandoning it because I actually believe in changing the world" interpretations.

The trouble is that we have a bad habit, encouraged by pedants and sophisticates, of considering happiness as something rather stupid. Only pain is intellectual, only evil interesting. This is the treason of the artist: a refusal to admit the banality of evil and the terrible boredom of pain. If you can't lick 'em, join 'em. If it hurts, repeat it. But to praise despair is to condemn delight, to embrace violence is to lose hold of everything else. We have almost lost hold; we can no longer describe happy man, nor make any celebration of joy. (...) Do you believe? Do you accept the festival, the city, the joy? No? Then let me describe one more thing.

[woso-dreamzzz]

New Girlfriend V

Lucy Bronze x Ona Batlle x Teen!Reader

Summary: You drop a mug

You could feel the blood.

There was more of it than you thought.

You hadn't really felt the pain, not exactly.

Your hands had been shaking for hours now. You'd probably had too many energy drinks in a twenty-four hour period and the shaking was probably a combination of that and the serious sleep deprivation you were feeling.

It was almost inevitable that you would drop your mug of tea. It was almost inevitable that the sound of the impact of the ceramic on the floor had you knock your bowl of dry cereal off the counter as well. It was almost inevitable that you would scramble around in the darkness trying to clean up. It was almost inevitable that you would end with cuts.

You hadn't exactly felt the pain, not really anyway. It was more like you felt the initial slice but then there were more slices and too much pain for your brain to keep up with and your shaking limbs was too much.

You just couldn't grab things without the shaking making everything worse.

You don't know how long you spent on the kitchen floor, numb and confused. It was still dark, still the middle of the night and you could barely see anything.

"Nar-Narla?" You manage to croak out as the familiar warm body of your childhood dog nosed at your body.

You grip her fur, trying to bring yourself back to the present but you can feel the blood drip down your arm.

Maybe there were cuts on your arm. You're not really sure but you can't close your hand without bursting into tears at the intense pain that seems to echo around your body.

Narla tries to nose at you again but you can't bring yourself to touch her anymore and she skitters off, finding her way into Lucy's room where she and Ona remain blissfully asleep.

"Nar-Narla?" Lucy croaks as the dog insistently barks from the floor," What is it?"

Narla, of course, can't speak so responds in another high pitched, yappy bark.

"Narla, man," Lucy groans," Go back to bed. Bed! Go!"

But Narla doesn't go and Lucy switches on her lamp to properly look at her but all she can see is the red stains on Narla's fur and sits bolt upright.

She reaches for the dog but Narla is too quick, scampering away briefly before waiting for Lucy to catch up.

"Narla, it's too early to play these games, come here. I mean-"

Lucy flicks on the light to the kitchen.

She spots you first, sitting down with a glazed over look in your eyes are you cradle one of your arms close to your body.

She can see the blood too and the shattered mug and bowl on the floor, the blood and the tea and the dry cereal all mixing with each other.

"Ona!" Lucy yells," Ona! Get up! We-We need to get in the car! Ona!"

She grabs a stray tea towel, wrapping it tightly around your arm to stem the blood flow as she does the same with another one for your hand, pulling the limb up above your head.

"Hey, hey," She coos at you, lightly tapping you on the cheek," Are you with me, y/n? I'm here."

Your eyes are still glazed over and it's like you don't have control of your own body as you shake and Lucy can smell the overly sweet scent of one of your energy drinks in your breath.

"Mu-Mummy?"

You don't call her that often, not unless you're angling to get something that you wouldn't usually receive. Or, unless you were hurt to the point you weren't thinking straight.

"Yeah," Lucy says," Yeah, it's Mummy. Come on, stay with me, alight? We're going to get you some help. Just hang in there....Ona! Come on!"

Ona comes skidding down the stairs, hand covering her mouth as her eyes try to make sense of the trail of carnage in the kitchen.

"The nearest hospital is a twenty minute drive," She says," We'll get there quicker than if we call an ambulance."

"Can you stand?" Lucy asks softly but you give no response apart from your shaking," Let's try."

It's easy work to lift you to your feet but the shaking clearly isn't localised to your arms because you can barely stand up straight and Lucy isn't sure if it's because of the energy drinks or the blood loss but she hefts you up onto her back on the walk to the car.

"My-My girlfriend..." Ona chokes out to the nurse in charge of triage. "Her daughter...There's...There's a lot of blood."

The nurse types something on her computer. "Well, if you all have a seat and we'll-"

You're still on Lucy's back when she comes in. The towels she's tried to use to stem the blood flow have all been bled through and you barely look conscious, your skin pale to the point of concern and the nurse grabs at the phone on her desk.

"Go straight through," The nurse says," I'll have someone come to you immediately."

The rest of the night is a blur to you.

You go in and out of consciousness, moments of complete clarity and moments where you can barely recognise where you are.

You get flashes that you're not sure you even lived through.

Like Lucy holding you in her lap while someone strange holds your arm down against a table or like Ona lightly talking to you, soothing words in a language you can only half hear or like a hanging bag of blood connected to your uninjured arm.

"M-Mummy?" You ask weakly as you blink back into full consciousness in the car, your head pillowed against her shoulder.

"Hey," Lucy says softly," You with us again?"

You blink a few more times, to clear your head and vision.

Ona's in the front seat of the car, stealing a few looks at you in the rear view mirror.

"I...I feel weird."

Your voice sounds strange even to your own ears as you hear yourself, all slurred and strange.

"You're on some pretty hardcore medication right now," Lucy tells you gently, fingers carding through your hair," You bled out a lot. A blood transfusion too."

"I...Really? I didn't...I didn't mean to."

"It's okay," Ona says," We know. It's alright."

"I..." You stare down at your arm.

A long bandage is wound from your elbow down to your hand and the skin feels oddly tight under it. Your other arm had a tiny little plaster stuck onto it from where you assume the needle from your blood transfusion went in.

"It's alright," Lucy says softly," You're tried. It's late. We'll talk more in the morning."

"The...My mice..." You manage to croak out," I wasn't meant to leave them out for so long. They're still in the playpen."

That shocks a laugh out of Lucy.

"The mice will be fine," She says," Let's get you to bed first and then me and Ona will sort out the mice."

You nod, the energy feeling like it's been sapped from you as quickly as it'd arrived. Your eyelids droop down and you snuggle more firmly against Lucy's shoulder.

"That's...That's good. Just-Just be wary of Princess Zelda. She's started biting."