#which could be that she’s so wrong to think that all he wants from her is to make her want him

[y0-yo-yo]

DCxDP: Amity Park aka uncanny Valley

Who ever thought that a family road trip across the country was ever a good idea? Especially when the family concerned is the Waynes!

...plus a Brown but you can't really talk Waynes without including Stephanie Brown

Bruce had a gala to attend in Chicago during the summer vacation Dick jumped at the opportunity to do a family road trip and try his newest car/van

was putting a Damian Wayne in an enclosed space with a Tim Drake a good idea? No. Was Dick going to argue with Bruce at least thrice a day? Maybe Will Jason be even remotely happy to be part of this trip? Probably not and will all the kids fight to choose who is in charge of the radio? Most definitely, but it'll be fun!

At first everything was awful,Bruce made them wake up terribly early, for once that Tim had slept that night! (albeit for only three hours which was plenty if you asked him) to leave even before the sun was up

Then it became alright, the eight seat car was spacy enough to not get into each other's personal space, everyone started to sing along to music and exchanging playlists

Dick had an awful amount of dico and 80's music, Bruce played his dad rock while Steph and Jason talked white girl music

They started their trip by going through Pennsylvania, taking pictures and joking on how Batman should be a local super hero there instead than in new Jersey,then they headed for Washington DC, it was fun visiting the hall of justice as tourist even tho they all knew the place better than the guides,then they went through Kentucky where Dick really wanted to visit the 'longest cave in the world' and comparing it to the bat cave (Bruce was unimpressed)

And finally they'll drive right through Illinois to get Bruce to Chicago and escape before he tries to get them to join the Gala

And then the car broke down in the middle of nowhere.

The sun would set soon but it was still really hot as we were in early August.

"the GPS say the closest city is a fourty five minutes walk" Annonce Duke while Dick,Tim and Bruce tried to find what's wrong with the car

"We could easily do the journey" Damian says placing a draw two making Steph, too invested in this game of uno with Cass and the demon brat frown

"in this heat!? Do you want us to die of a stroke?" The blond replied placing a plus two as well

"It looks like it's our only choice guys...the car won't start anytime soon better get to a town and buy some new parts" The eldest said from the front of the car

"can't we just call a cab or something?"

Asked Stephanie

"privileged behavior" Duke replied back to back "plus I don't think there's cabs in bumfuck nowhere...I ain't never even heard of 'Amity Park', plus, if they did they wouldn't have eight seat"

"wait Amity Park?" Asked Tim who was swiping grease on a now ruined travel towel "I have family who lives there..." He said thoughtfully

"maybe you can ask them if they have a place to stay for the night? There's only cheap motels in this town and I don't really wanna catch bed bugs" Duke says still on his phone

"oh wow now look who has privileged behavior!" Stephanie snort a smirk on her lips as she add a plus four to Cass's

"uhm can we go back to the part of Tim having living family members? That own a house? Why would you make up one if you had family in the state?" Dick ask "and why do you live with us?" Added Damian because, of course he would

"well... it's not like we talked a lot, I saw them...maybe two times in my life? And they were definitely my parents type of neglectful so going to them wouldn't have changed much"

"...do they also have a kid?" Bruce ask and before he got the chance to talk more he got shut down with a "no you can't adopt more kids!" From all his children

"but yes they do have a kid, we got along great from what I remember...but except sparkly pink dress I don't remember much..." Tim clarified

"I vote we still ask them for a place to stay or at least a ride, if they're Drake's family they should at least have a limousine or mansion no?" Steph asked eager to find a good bed once more

"I don't know...I haven't talked to them much... especially not after my mother's passing...I don't even know if I still have their number" Tim think his voice a little lower, he did think about his mother's sister and her family when he was still living alone in the Drake mansion but thinking back on the blurry memories of being forgotten for hours on end with his cousin didn't really make him want to reach out

"it's okay if you don't want to Timothy, we can find another way" Bruce says in his paternal voice placing a reassuring hand on Tim's shoulder

"no,no it's okay, a call won't hurt right?"

Tim looked through his phone and he, in fact, did have his cousin's number saved, he stepped away from the car to make the call. He was a bit nervous and a bit ashamed, he had a cousin his age that lived in similar conditions as him and he never thought to check up or call,and now that he did it was for a favour, they hadn't talked in over ten years and he couldn't really remember what they were like, hopefully they hadn't grown up like their parents as a stuck up asshole

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

Samantha Manson wasn't a family person,

She didn't care for them,they didn't care for her.

She labeled all her extended family members under "family" as contact names and usually wouldn't pick up when they'd call, not that they did regularly

Yet,she was in a good mood today so when her phone light up and her ringtone rung she picked up

"uhm Hi Sam...antha?... it's Tim- Timothy drake?Wayne? I uhm- our moms are sisters?"

Was the anxious voice that waited for her on the other side of the phone

Huh...

Huh.... Timothy ? Oh fuck Timothy ! Was she a bad cousin to have forgotten one of the only kids her age that she got along with in her family?

Well got along is a big word they just stuck around each other the two times their families were attending the same galla but it was fun for once...if she remembered correctly

It was still a time where he mother was the one dressing her up in those awful sparkly or floral dresses with cutesy hairdo...a goth's nightmare Sam got shivers just thinking back on it

"Yes I remember you Tim Drake...what can I do to help?"

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

"okay so, my cousin say she can come pick us up as long as we don't care for basic road safety?"

Tim said coming back to his family who had all migrated to sit at a picnic table near the car

Jason Dick and Damian who had left for a gas station a few minutes ago to grab some snacks and see if they had anything to fix the car came back at the same time dropping bags of chips, candy and other bar chocolate

The comment about road safety made Bruce frown (hypocrite) but all the other kids could not care less

"so...we're not getting picked up by a limousine? Or is it more of a bus bar type of thing?"

Stephanie ask resulting on her head being bonked by Dick

"no the real question is what's your cousin like?"

"I am not spending a car ride with a snobbyer version of Tim"

Jason added making Damian nod in agreement and Tim roll his eyes

"To be honest, I don't remember much? She didn't sound snobby on the phone?"

Tim guess trying to make a mental image of what Samantha may look now, she probably let her dark chocolate brown hair grow? Or maybe she cut them? Would she still wear floral prints and sparkles? Probably not she hated them as a kid

"and how are her parents?"

Bruce inquired not without warning glares from his kids

"I remember even less! But Sam said they weren't home so..."

"hn"

Bruce narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything

"really all I remember about them is the fakest laugh and sparkly pink dresses"

Tim sighed

"sparkly pink dress? Are you trying to kill my rep?"

A new voice joined in the conversation making everyone at the table jump save from cass who had noticed the presence long ago

All but turned to see this goth girl wearing an all black dress with at least three layers of clothes and even more in accessoires

She smiled at them with teeth a little too sharp for comfort

"hi I'm Samantha Manson, but please call me sam! I hope you won't mind but my car might me a little cramped"

She said in a friendly voice beeping her car key bringing her car, a hearse, back to life radio blasting the latest song she was listening to and making her headlights bath them in light really tieing the whole spooky vibes together

Yeah...the kids are gonna like this girl.

[helenoftroydidnothingwrong]

Ok I'm gonna go through this because, while i think it comes from a good place, some of this is misleading (my qualifications is that I have a bachelors in classics and am currently getting my masters, focusing on making classics more accessible to the general public). I want to be so so clear, I am NOT coming for OP, their heart is in the right place obviously, this subject just happens to be what I have devoted my entire life to. If I say something here that is incredibly wrong and you have evidence, PLEASE tell me. Just be nice. Disagreements and wanting to prove someone wrong is the backbone of scholarship. If anyone wants specific sources for what I'm saying, just hit me up.

- this is true, though that doesn't mean that the actual myths will be non-recognizable or anything. The themes you enjoyed from that media will likely still be present. Just remember that Greek mythology was (and still is in some cases) a religion, not a story, and that it was first attested during the bronze age (3300 BCE)

- No myth you know is 100% accurate to Greek mythology, because there is no canon. There is no "original" myth that is the correct one. Ovid did do what he wanted (during the roman republic) with the stories he wrote, but that does not mean none of those elements were present in certain aspects of ancient Greek culture. I could say the same thing about the idea that Perseus killed Medusa.

- It is not a "tumblr invention." This idea is much older than tumblr and also grafts a modern view of morality onto ancient religious figures. Absolutely read the homeric hymn to demeter, as the modern perception of Demeter within the Hades and Persephone story is absolutely sexist. But also consider that there are theories that Persephone (or Kore, to be more specific) went to the underworld and became the queen of the underworld before Hades as a god existed (this is not confirmed; it's a theory, like much of our understanding of Greek mythology). The story has much more depth than "sheltered girl escapes overbearing mother to be with cool bad boy death god" OR "Evil patriarchal god of death kidnaps young girl to be his bride in hell"

- this one's completely right. there's some idea that it is a cognate with a sanskrit word, but there's no definitive evidence

- yeah that's true, but remember that it is often unhelpful to view ancient cultures and stories through a modern moral lens. Not always, but often

- this one too.

- yep. They did often have things that were their "main thing" (Hera and marriage) but also had many aspects that they were worshipped under (Hera Alexandros: Hera protector of heroes). Again, they aren't characters, they are figures in a religion that was practiced for thousands of years.

- Saying Apollo and Artemis' main thing was music and the hunt is misleading. It's true their sun and moon god stuff came in pretty late, but Apollo's connection to prophecy was as strong if not stronger than music, same for Artemis with her patron of young women thing.

- There is some level of difference, but in general yeah. The nuances are pretty small in the grand scheme of things, but also know that Titans didn't just disappear from myths and worship with the olympians showing up. Again, it's a religion, not a novel.

- I mean, yeah? Do people make Hector out to be a villain? Even in Song of Achilles, he wasn't particularly villainous. I might just not have the context for this one

- Wild way to put this, sorry. I once again will hammer home, THERE IS NO GREEK MYTHOLOGY CANON. I don't care what Hesiod says, he is not the be all end all of Ancient Greek religion. There is no Greek Mythology bible. Also the Wikipedia article linked is not entirely accurate when it comes to divorce. It says that divorce was not looked down upon in ancient Greece, which 1. not how ancient Greece worked, it wasn't a single country, it was a bunch of city states linked by common language and culture, with different laws and values. In Medea, she talks about how it was shameful to be divorced because men didn't want a divorced woman. Maybe it was different for men, but yeah. Also, I could find no evidence for a divorce between Hephaestus and Aphrodite. He is said in the Iliad and in the Theogany to be married to Algaia, but the Odyssey says Aphrodite. (this isn't the most reliable source, but it does give line numbers). This could mean about a million things, tbh. It could mean that Aphrodite was syncretized with Algaia, it could mean that an earlier tradition had Algaia as Hephaestus' wife, and Aphrodite was a later one (based on the estimated dates of the Iliad vs Odyssey). It could also mean that there were two different traditions at once. It is near impossible to make a timeline of greek myth that makes sense, but saying that Algaia was Hephaestus' wife after he divorced Aphrodite is misleading at best. Also I know that the google ai thing says that but it is wrong all the time. If you have ancient sources that actually mention a divorce between Hephaestus and Aphrodite, PLEASE send it to me that sounds really interesting.

- sure, that's true. But also do whatever you want. It's more accurate to say asexual, but remember that THEY AREN'T REAL PEOPLE THEY'RE RELIGIOUS FIGURES. Different stories have Artemis falling in love with men and women sometimes. It always ends tragically but it does exist. These aspects were not worshipped everywhere. Do what you want with a modern interpretation, just remember that modern labels for sexuality/gender/etc (and race but we don't have time for that) didn't exist, but can be helpful when looking at ancient figures.

- Ok, yeah, this is what I've been saying. But also "greek and roman versions" imply that they are completely distinct. The end of the Ancient Greece as we think of it overlapped heavily with the beginning of the Roman Republic (and i mean hundreds of years overlap). We can TRY to distinguish older and newer versions but it's not typically helpful. the timeline is long, and the changes are blurred at best, if not completely obscured. If you're interested in seeing how some gods evolved, check out some of Overly Sarcastic Productions vids on youtube. I like the Aphrodite one.

- Sure I guess? So is what you know about Athens, Crete, Corinth, etc. Idk why Sparta is called out here. I guess yeah, don't use 300 as your basis for understanding historical spartan culture?

- I mean yeah, definitely. But also there's a million translations, and everyone is fighting over them all the time. Don't feel bad about choosing an "accessible" or "easy to read" translation. I like the Emily Wilson ones, they sound good and are less sexist in their translation. But also if you're looking at Greek plays (I'm partial to Euripides) watching a production can go a long way to understanding them.

We all go into things with preconceived notions, it's inevitable, but don't let them stop you. Greek mythology and its study are incredibly complex; there are a ton of contradictions, and the experts rarely completely agree with one another. Be open to being wrong, be open to changing your mind, and be open to new evidence being found and wrecking your whole idea of something.

a quick psa to anyone recently getting into greek mythology and is a victim of tumblr and/or tiktok misconceptions:

-there is no shame in being introduced to mytholgy from something like percy jackson, epic the musical or anything like that, but keep in mind that actual myths are going to be VERY different from modern retellings

-the myth of medusa you probably know (her being a victim of poseidon and being cursed by athena) isn't 100% accurate to GREEK mythology (look up ovid)

-there is no version of persephone's abduction in which persephone willingly stays with hades, that's a tumblr invention (look up homeric hymn to demeter)

-as much as i would like it, no, cerberus' name does not mean "spot" (probably a misunderstanding from this wikipedia article)

-zeus isn't the only god who does terrible things to women, your fav male god probably has done the same

-on that note, your fav greek hero has probably done some heinous shit as well

-gods are more complicated than simply being "god of [insert thing]", many titles overlap between gods and some may even change depending on where they were worshipped

-also, apollo and artemis being the gods of the sun and the moon isn't 100% accurate, their main aspects as deities originally were music and the hunt

-titans and gods aren't two wholly different concepts, titan is just the word used to decribe the generation of gods before the olympians

-hector isn't the villain some people make him out to be

-hephaestus WAS married to aphrodite. they divorced. yes, divorce was a thing in ancient greece. hephaestus' wife is aglaia

-ancient greek society didn't have the same concepts of sexuality that we have now, it's incorrect to describe virgin goddesses like artemis and athena as lesbians, BUT it's also not wholly accurate to describe them as aromantic/asexual, it's more complex than that

-you can never fully understand certain myths if you don't understand the societal context in which they were told

-myths have lots and lots of retellings, there isn't one singular "canon", but we can try to distinguish between older and newer versions and bewteen greek and roman versions

-most of what you know about sparta is probably incorrect

-reading/waching retellings is not a substitute to reading the original myths, read the iliad! read the odyssey! i know they may seem intimidating, but they're much more entertaining than you may think

greek mythology is so complex and interesting, don't go into it with preconcieved notions! try to be open to learn!

[slutoru1207]

Variants!Invincible x Variants!Reader imagine

just a short fun imagine

The battlefield was already a mess before they showed up.

Mark barely had time to react before he heard the rip of dimensions being torn open, followed by an ungodly amount of shouting. He turned just in time to see not one, not two, but an entire squadron of himself stumbling through glowing portals, their expressions ranging from confused to deeply irritated.

“Oh, hell no,” Mark muttered. “Not this again.”

And then, because the universe hated him, the next portal opened—

And they arrived.

All of them. So many versions of you.

Mark’s stomach dropped as he locked eyes with his you, who was watching with wide, amused eyes. Then she turned to him, smiling so sweetly that he knew she was about to enjoy every second of this train wreck.

“This is gonna be so good,” she whispered gleefully.

Before he could respond, one of the Invincible variants groaned. “Oh, great. You’re here, too?”

One of the Reader variants put a hand over her heart, gasping dramatically. “Babe, don’t act like you’re not thrilled to see me.”

“I��d rather take a beating from Omni-Man.”

“Oh, honey.” She stepped closer, tilting her head. “That’s exactly what happened last time, and who was the one patching you up and kissing you better?”

Mark—original Mark—choked on air.

One of the other Invincible variants groaned, rubbing his temples. “Can we not do this right now?”

A different Reader variant scoffed. “Oh, I’m sorry, are we interrupting your little multiversal tantrum?” She waved a hand at the destroyed city behind them. “Because it really looks like you guys are making a mess.”

“Yeah, babe, not a great look,” another Reader chimed in, hands on her hips as she eyed her Mark up and down. “Honestly, I expected better.”

“Wait, you’re disappointed in me?” her Mark shot back incredulously.

“I love you, but also? Get your shit together.”

Mark buried his face in his hands. “I hate this. I hate all of this.”

Meanwhile, his reader was laughing herself sick.

—

The Guardians of the Globe arrived twenty minutes later and immediately regretted it.

“Uh,” Rex whispered, elbowing Eve. “Are we sure we need to be here?”

Eve was staring at the massive group of Invincibles, all arguing with their respective Readers. “I… I don’t know.”

“You think if we just, like… back away slowly, they won’t notice?”

Before Eve could answer, one of the Reader variants sprinted past them, leaped onto an Invincible’s back, and bit his ear.

“YOU LITTLE—” That Mark immediately started spinning in the air to try and shake her off, but she held on like a demon.

“Oh my God,” Eve whispered. “They’re feral.”

Rex looked at Original Mark, who was standing off to the side, looking like he wanted to die. “Dude. What is happening?”

Mark just let out a long sigh. “I don’t know, man. I just don’t know.”

—

After an entire hour of fighting, flirting, and general multiversal nonsense, they finally managed to somewhat settle down.

Which only meant that the chaos took a different form.

“Okay, okay,” one of the Invincibles—who wore a black suit instead of Mark’s usual yellow—leaned forward. “Hypothetically speaking—”

“No,” Original Mark said immediately.

Black-Suit Mark ignored him. “If one of us dated a Reader from a different universe—”

“NO.”

“—would it be cheating, or just dating the same person?”

Original Mark groaned. “What is wrong with you?!”

One of the Reader variants smirked. “I think it depends.”

“Don’t encourage this,” Mark pleaded.

Black-Suit Mark grinned. “I like this version of you.”

“Oh, I bet you do,” his Reader counterpart shot back, winking.

Across the room, another Invincible sighed deeply. “God, this is why I never date.”

His Reader rolled her eyes. “Oh please, you love me.”

“No, I tolerate you.”

She just beamed. “That’s practically a love confession coming from you.”

Original Mark stared at the sheer disaster in front of him and turned to his Reader with a desperate look. “This is my hell.”

She just smiled sweetly, kissed his cheek, and whispered, “You love me.”

Mark groaned, dropping his head onto her shoulder. “I do. And that’s the worst part.”

And with that, the multiversal chaos continued.

[cheol-e-kat]

Hiii, I just wanted to start by saying that I recently found your blog and am in love! <3 <3 For your special 3-3-3 bingo I wanted to ask for bodyguard with drunk confession and brave x Scaredy cat, NSFW is praise kink with Seungcheol? Like maybe her dad hired him, they're at a gathering and something goes wrong or she's scared so he has to take her back at her parents place, where she drunk confession? But if you have any better ideas, which I think you may have seeing from your writing, then just change it, I don't mind at all! <3

I hope you have a great day and keep writing, you're so amazing at it!

first, omggg anon you're too sweet & i'm so glad you like my writing ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ㅤ♡ weirdly i have had this banner hanging around and idk it seems like it fits your ask, soooo anyway let's see if i can come up with something you like - oh but i think i failed a little on 'scaredy cat', oops

♡ kat

bingo squares: bodyguard + drunk confession + brave x scardey cat + praise kink

Pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary:  y/n has had a bodyguard for some time - and she’s had feelings for him for almost just as long, even if he thinks she’s a brat. But what happens when he goes to a party with her and there’s gunshots?

word count:  1.4 k

genre: fake dating, bodyguard!seungcheol, forced proximity, 

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

Warnings: mentions of guns and shooting, drinking, penetrative sex, explicit language

“so how much is my dad paying you to babysit me?” y/n asked, sipping her drink.

he shrugged, “enough to put up with you,” he sipped his mineral water. 

she arched a brow, “‘put up with me’?” she asked, incredulous, “me? i’m the problem in this equation?”

he pursed his lips, as though he were giving consideration to what she had asked, “you’re…” he trailed off. 

she was ready to punch him in the arm.

he smiled, “you’re more complicated than the kinds of jobs i usually have,” he swigged his mineral water like it would give him some reprieve from the conversation.

she gave a heavy sigh, “complicated how exactly?”

he glanced at her, “you’re kidding, right? where are we right now?” he waved his hand around to demonstrate the location, “you’ve brought me along as your ‘date’ to some friend’s engagement party - never have i ever had that happen before,” he whispered, with a small smile, knowing he had gotten under your skin by pointing out the situation.

“look, if i can’t leave the house without you, why not put you to good use?” she pouted. 

“my ‘good use’ is making sure you don’t get hurt, y/n.”

he had at least stopped calling her by her family name, which had been acutely obnoxious - to her anyway. he’d been virtually living with her for eight months. to her, living with anyone for eight months, meant dispensing with formalities. 

not to mention she had seen him in his underwear. she had been up late grabbing some water and staring into her fridge, thinking about a snack, but she had been eating healthy at the time, which meant she was light on snacks. so she had gone scrounging - and she screamed when she thought she saw a mouse. 

and her screaming meant seungcheol came out of his room to check on her, wearing boxerbriefs and carrying a handgun, which was oddly sexy. 

also, she had pegged him as a ‘boxers-only’ guy. but no, she had definitely gotten a very good idea of what equipment he was packing and the mental picture of his very perky ass seared into her brain. 

she glanced at him, knowing he looked painfully good in the suit he had picked - it went along with her outfit well. 

“you could have just stayed home then, or you could have outed me to everyone here - you certainly know enough about me to make them all at least call me ‘eccentric’,” she leaned on the railing, looking out over the massive party. 

everyone was ‘someone’ or related to ‘someone’. and she was mostly just bored. if seungcheol weren’t there, she would have probably been a nuisance just for fun, reminding the groom that he had slept with half the bridesmaids. something like that anyway. 

but no, for some reason she felt like if she caused even just a tiny scene while he was there, then maybe he would get blamed, or he would go back to thinking she was childish. 

that’s what he had called her initially, a “bored, childish, rich girl” with no clue about the real world. he said it so vehemently that she had slammed her door in his face, and told him to fuck off when he tried to apologize. 

she hadn’t talked to him for a week - she would only communicate via text, even if they were in the same room and alone. which may have proved his point, but he had hurt her feelings. and maybe she had been feeling petty. 

she stole a glance at him - she liked his profile more than she should. she probably liked him more than she should, not just his profile. she liked everything about him. but she was fairly certain he still considered her a tolerable idiot, at best.

which depressed her. and required that she grab another drink from the waiter who came around. maybe several more. and when she was a bit more lubricated and still considering making some trouble, the thin thread of seungcheol approving of her maybe wasn’t quite enough to tether her to reality. 

if anything, it was almost better if she just settled for his disapproval, she reasoned, then she wasn’t chasing some fragile illusion. 

she must have been on the verge of something great though because he suddenly grabbed her and pulled her towards a door. she had no idea where they were headed - they went through offices until they hit a stairwell. she couldn’t have been doing anything so offensive that they were taking the stairs. but when she pulled out of his grip, he was quick to grab her back. 

“for once, just do what i’m asking without arguing,” he said, voice low and sharp. 

she tried to pull away, but he had her in a vice-like grip. and then she heard the sounds - gun shots. and she was frozen for a moment, but she felt the tug on her wrist. seungcheol pulling her, trying to keep her safe. she stopped to pull off her heels and then she was running with him. 

her head swam violently as they exited out into the underground car park. until he grabbed her waist and pulled her close, kissing her, backing her into a wall. she felt the rough cement against her naked shoulders, as his hands rushed to touch her and his mouth rushed equally to kiss her. she wound her fingers in his hair, pulling him close, not caring how needy and desperate she seemed. 

it took several, long minutes for him to break their kiss. he pulled away so slowly, his fingers still gingerly resting on her skin. she watched him for a moment, and she could see it - if she didn’t pull him back, he would talk himself out of it and make an even higher wall between them. 

“don’t stop, seungcheol, you don’t know how much i want you,” she whispered, voice tender and urgent. 

he stayed close, but glanced at the door they had just come through, “we need to go,” he whispered, his fingers still played gently across her skin. 

she didn’t budge. 

“y/n,” he stared, “this - we have to leave,” he stepped closer to her, pressing his body flush against hers, “let’s go home?” he asked softly.

she finally nodded, following him out to the street, walking down a few blocks before grabbing a cab. he didn’t give the driver her exact address. they took a winding way back to her house, going through the back gate and the side door. he didn’t let go of her hand, not even when they were inside, the doors locked and the alarms set. 

he kept her close. when she started to turn on the lights, he stopped her - his hand grasping hers gently and pulling it away from the light switches. 

and suddenly he was near again, pulling her close, kissing her softly, “come put me to bed?” she asked in a hurried whisper. 

he nodded, “anything you want, princess.”

she loved that they both rushed to undress one another, all just to feel skin on skin. he pushed her back gently onto the bed - his fingertips grazed gently against her thigh, as he looked at her. 

“so perfect for me,” he murmured, “so beautiful.”

she flushed brightly, reaching for him, “need you,” she pouted.

he nodded, with a smirk, “i know.”

she bit her lip softly, “we were having a moment,” she caught his hand and pulled him down roughly to join her on the bed. she moved so she straddled his hips - she pressed her hands flat on his stomach, loving his smooth skin. 

she stared at him before leaning down, she kissed him gently, “you’re perfect too, gorgeous, even,” she breathed against his lips, “you’re all i want, all i think about.”

she kissed him again, leaning forward, and reaching down between them, pumping his already hard cock, she lined it up with her dripping pussy and pressed herself back, taking him all the way in.

she moaned against his lips. she sat up slowly, adjusting to the stretch and the feeling of being so full. she rolled her hips slowly before she started riding him the way she had imagined a thousand times. 

she could hear him, the way he breathed hard and urged her own. his hands tracing over her stomach and hips, reaching up for her breasts. 

she didn’t care when they changed positions - when he was behind her, fucking into her, pulling her back towards him, she knew she was arching back towards him. and she came undone, falling back against him - his orgasm following hers - his cum filling her, dripping down her thighs. she gasped softly as they came apart. he pulled her close, falling back onto the bed. 

“please don’t leave,” she whispered into the soft darkness. 

soooo, dearest anon, i hope this is as good as you wanted it to be...it maybe got a little more serious than i meant, but oh well - here we are

♡ kat

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[gojoidyll]

MYDEI GETS ANGRY AT YOU, or when Mydei says something to you that's hurtful when all you're trying to do is show that you care.

angst, mydei x fem!reader, arguments, mydei is kind of mean here, fluff at the end, etc.

“I- I’m sorry Mydei, I really didn’t mean anything wrong by-“

He silenced you by taking a step forward, that lone action striking fear in you as you took a step back, the back your thighs hitting the bed as you lost your balance and ended up falling into the mattress, but you were quick to sit up as Mydei looked down at you.

“You’re always sorry,” he bit, “but you don’t understand at all. You do not understand the choices I have to make or the responsibilities that I bear, and yet you preach about how I need rest or need to take a break when you don’t even know what I do to keep you and everyone else safe,” he snapped at you, barred his teeth, lashed out.

You knew he was stressed, and all you wanted to do was to help…

“I- I’m sorry,” you managed to choke out as tears began to bubble up at the corners of your eyes before cascading down your cheeks. Your lips doing that quivering thing they always do when you start to cry ugly tears.

“Tch, and now you’re crying,” he turned away from you, “if you stopped nagging at me and stopped being so damn clingy and acting like you know what’s best for me then you wouldn’t be crying so damn much.”

He went to leave and you called after him, asking him where he was going.

“Out, your crying is annoying. I need some peace and quiet since you talk so much.”

You bit back anything you had left in your mouth in fear that he would turn around and have even more to share with you. And when you couldn’t hear his footsteps echoing any longer and even a loud slam of a door, you fell back into the bed, your tears coming out faster and harder than before.

When you see him again, you’ll apologize. You didn’t want him to be angry at you for long.

You curled up on his side of the bed, your hands reaching for the covers as you pulled them over you in a mock embrace. You sniffled as you closed your eyes in hopes that sleep could put your mind at ease…

Meanwhile, Mydei was taking his frustration out on multiple training dummys which didn’t go unnoticed by a certain deliverer.

“Don’t you think they had enough,” Phainon mused as he watched Mydei hack yet another head off. The straw made head falling a little away from them due to how much force Mydei had used to cut it off.

“Not now deliverer. I’m not in the mood.”

Phainon watched as Mydei cut off another dummy’s head, his eyes scanning the man carefully – he observed Mydei’s body language, saw how his fist would punch a hole into a dummy’s stomach straight through before moving onto the next. Only one person could get Mydei so worked up.

“Did you fight with your wife again?”

Phainon had to hold back a laugh at the way Mydei so visibly tensed. It was just too easy to read the kremnoan man.

“Well,” Phainon pressed, “you should make up with her soon, fighting with her will do you no good.”

Mydei unclenched his fists before sighing heavily, “I do not believe she wishes to see me.”

“Why is that?”

Mydei glanced to Phainon and weighed his options, but decided to talk to the man anyway as he was … the closest person he could talk to about this. So he recounted the argument with Phainon, and much to his displeasure, by just looking at Phainon’s face he could see just how much he messed up.

“Friend, I am going to say this as kindly as possible… you messed up.”

“Tch,” Mydei crossed his arms over his chest as he looked away, “I already know that.”

Phainon sighed, “how long has it been since the argument?”

“This morning.”

It was already well passed noon.

Phainon shook his head as he gestured to the exit of the training grounds, “you better hurry on back to her.”

Mydei didn’t even need anymore convincing as he rushed home. Many in the streets wondered what at the kremnoan prince in such a rush, but he paid them no mind as he ran home to you.

Bursting through the doors, he went into each room he came across, but you were nowhere in sight. It wasn’t until he reached your shared room did he find you under the covers and curled up on his side of the bed, right where he had left you. Were you waiting for him to come back?

Swallowing the lump in his throat, he went up to you and kneeled beside the bed. He reached for your face as he brushed the stray hair from your face, your eyes were puffy and cheeks dried with tears. Regret was filled inside of him.

“Y/n,” he called for your gently as he ran his fingers along your cheek, the cool metal of his gloves waking you up as you groggily opened your eyes.

“Mydei?”

When you saw his face, your eyes were immediately started to fill with tears again, he was quick to wrap you up in a hug as he pulled you close into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he tried not to strain those words as he apologized, tried to even make it sound soothing as he held you, “please do not cry. I was a cruel man with what I said to you, all because you were worrying about my well-being.”

You sat up a little and wrapped your arms around his waist, “I’m sorry too,” you said quietly, “I knew you were stressed and tried to help instead of giving you space.”

Mydei shook his head, “I don’t ever want you to give me space. I should have listened to you, please forgive me.”

He knew words alone would not fix what he had said and done. He knew that he scared you today, he could see it in your eyes earlier that morning when you were trying to back away from him. You were … afraid … of him.

“I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

[tokyo-daaaamn-ji-gang]

Is there any official explanation as to why shinichiro has the worst luck when it comes to love (worst luck when it comes to live too tbh)? Boy got rejected for 20 times 😭

I actually have some hc about the reason behind:

While he is attractive both in the manga/anime/live action, if I remember correctly the characters who are canonically described as good-looking are kazutora (being told handsome and sweet-looking by several characters), hakkai (told handsome and also works as a model), and haruchiyo-senju (while youtubers don't always need to look attractive, appearance does have a huge factor to boost the popularity). So MAYBE if the events of tokrev happened in real life, shinichiro would look like a plain guy whose face doesn't attract many ladies lol

He is chasing the wrong girls. I read a book titled Yakuza Moon and it's an autobiography of a gangster's daughter, how in her teenage years she was involved in ladies gang and hung around with boys from biker gangs. So basically the kind of girls who are attracted to gang members will be those who are familiar with the environment too. Someone like emma, yuzuha, and senju would love to be with a powerful gang leader. In the earlier chapters, emma was shown at Toman meet-up with several girls who dress in gyaru fashion. These girls, as told in Yakuza Moon, tend accompany the biker gangs riding throughout the town and even have sex with them. So shinichiro's taste might be similar to takemichi, falling for a good girl like hinata. But unfortunately all the good girls he crushed on don't want to have any involvement with a gang leader lol

There is no official explanation unfortunately! I actually do think his gang affiliation could be the problem too though. Because of how gangs are typically seen in Japan a lot if girls may just not have wanted to associate with him, fearing their own reputation would go down. It could also be possible that some of the girls were scared of him, when Mikey goes to Takemichi's school we see a lot of fear from the students because he's a gang leader (tbf he did cause a lot of trouble too though), we also know from Emma's character book that the kids at school were scared of her when she started because of her affiliation to Mikey too. So it's possible that people were scared of Shinichiro too, despite his personality they just saw "gang leader".

Could also see it being just because he's really bad with girls, he get's nervous or is just a bit too cheesy with them. We also see him playing about with Emma when they first meet and he comes across as being a bit too confident, also implying that he thinks knows girls well, which is then immediately disproven. If he tries to flirt in a similar way with girls he's actually interested in then I can see why they might be a bit off put by it.

[whimsyfinny]

I’m Not Your F*cking Maid

Chapter 15 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: a bit angsty, a bit fluffy

Chapter Word Count: 3995

—-MDNI—-

A/N: WELL. It’s been a hot minute since I updated THIS fic, and for that I’m really fucking sorry. It lost its direction for a little while, but now I know for sure where I want to take it. Also apologies if Dean seems a little out of character, but I needed this from him ahhhhhh. ALSO I’m changing for formatting slightly so it matches the rest of my fics lol. I hope you enjoy it! As usual, it’s only proof read by meeeeeee so pls pls let me know of any errors.

Photos from Pinterest

Previous Chapter: Chapter 14

——————————————————————————

It had been a couple of weeks since the incident at the bar, which meant that it had also been a couple of weeks since I’d given Dean the treatment of his dreams in the back of the Impala. Sam didn’t talk to us for two whole days after that, and Dean was only able to win him back over by offering to be on ‘lore duty’ for their next few cases. Dean on lore duty also meant that I was on lore duty, because that man complained more than a middle aged woman in Walmart. Things had been relatively steady, with nothing too out of the ordinary occurring - I continued cleaning up after the boys as they somehow still couldn’t figure out how to get bloodstains out of cotton, and they’d concluded that they would live a far longer life if they let me do the cooking. To be honest, I was happy with that arrangement, considering that they were the ones going out and making the world a less shitty place. 

Evening had crept in and I was tidying the dishes from dinner, Sam sweetly offering to wash and dry everything since all he’d done was read books all day - not lore books for once. Dean had popped to the shops after we’d finished eating, muttering something about beer and pie on his way out. Despite nothing out of the ordinary happening, things between Dean and I had slowed dramatically. Considering we were jumping each others bones at every available opportunity, since the bar we’ve only had sex once, and that was the day straight after. Since then, Dean had been… gentle. Too gentle that it seemed out of character for him. He no longer threw me against the wall and ravaged me senseless; instead, he would kiss me softly outside of my room before retiring to his own across the hall. If I tried to instigate anything more, he’d simply give me one last, lingering kiss before finding a reason to excuse himself. It was weird. Really fucking weird. And now that I was finally on my own with Sam, maybe I could get to the bottom of it once and for all.

“Is everything ok with Dean?” I asked, breaking the peaceful silence that was blanketing us. Sam turned his head to look at me, not halting what he was doing.

“Yeah of course, why?” His voice seemed genuinely curious as he replied. I sighed.

“He’s just been… distant, that’s all. I wasn’t sure if he’d spoken to you about anything, as he’s not said anything to me.”

“Distant?” Sam almost scoffed, “I see you two together all the time. What makes you think he’s being distant?”

“Well..” I sighed. He’s not wrong, Dean and I still spend a lot of time together, but I don’t really want to go down the rabbit hole of my sex life with his brother. That would be uncomfortable for everyone. “I’m not sure,” I said eventually, “something just seems… off. I can’t put my finger on it.” Sam was quiet for a few moments, contemplating his response before finally answering.

“Why not just ask him?”

It was my turn to scoff.

“You seriously think that I’m going to get a decent answer from him if I do?” I asked, causing the taller Winchester to finally stop what he was doing and turn to look at me. His brows pinched together as he dried his hands on the fraying towel, searching his mind for the right words. Deep down he knew I was right; Dean was the king of evading conversations that he didn’t want to have, and both of us knew that he would do the same thing here. 

Before Sam could find the right words, we were interrupted by the main topic of our conversation entering the bunker, slamming the large door behind him with a loud creak and SLAM that echoed through the whole building. From how quickly he appeared in the kitchen, it wouldn’t be far-fetched to assume that he ran through the halls to get here. Dean waltzed in, placing two large bags on the table before shrugging off his jacket and looking between us, the smile he was wearing fading slightly.

“Everything ok?” He asked in a tone that made it hard to believe that he actually wanted to know the answer. I looked up at him and smiled.

“Just great, thanks,” I said, but the turn on my lips felt forced after my short conversation with Sam. Dean seemed to notice this too. 

“You sure?” He asked before reaching for a third bag that I didn’t see him bring in. It was different from the others, which were just plain gas station bags made of plastic. This third one was made of thick brown paper, a pretty logo stamped on the side that I couldn’t quite make out from where I stood. Dean had caught me staring at it as he dipped his hand inside, his expression turning slightly bashful as his eyes locked with mine. He seemed to pause for a moment, debating something with himself before he flashed me a smile. Not the usual ‘Dean’ smile that was full of confidence and charm, but a smile I’d never seen on his lips before; one of hesitation and nervousness. Before I had the chance to ask him what was going on, he pulled his hand out and held it towards me in one swift swoop. I gasped, the sound small and oddly soft for myself, for in his grasp was a beautiful, pastel-palette bouquet of flowers. They were delicate, like the wildflowers that grew in a glade. The petals were in the softest shades of pink, blue, yellow and purple. Even the stems and leaves were a gentle green. These were not supermarket flowers, as they’d been wrapped with a similar brown parcel paper to that of the bag they came in, and they were finished off with a bow. I stared at them for a little while longer, the surprise from seeing something so fragile and beautiful in the rough, scarred grip of Dean Winchester was enough to make my heart flip.

“There was a lady selling these on the side of the road. I thought… I thought you might like them,” Deans voice held a tenderness to it that I was unfamiliar with, his tone slightly husky from the softness of it. I took the flowers gently, my fingers brushing over his as I held them, unable to tear my gaze away from the gift. He stood watching quietly, and I realised I hadn’t said anything at all since he pulled them from the bag.

“You… you bought me flowers,” I said quietly, looking up at him. Deans complexion pinkened slightly.

“I did,” he said, “Is that…ok?”

It was my time to blush slightly.

“Of course it is. They’re beautiful - thank you, Dean,” I smiled up at him, a smile that he returned in kind. Looking up into his evergreen eyes, I saw a side of him that I was incredibly unfamiliar with, but that wasn’t to say that I didn’t want to know more. 

“I should probably get these into some water before they start to wilt,” I said, tearing my eyes away from his before I did something to ruin the moment. Dean cleared his throat, scratching the back of his neck.

“Good idea,” he said, before helping me search the cupboards.

“Do you guys even own a vase?” I asked, shooting him a raised brow. He paused for a moment, broad shoulders hunched over as he searched a cupboard at floor level.

“Good fucking question,” he laughed, his usual demeanour returning. We searched for a moment longer before he pulled out a pint glass.

“Will this work?” He looked between the glass and the flowers, almost as though he was waiting for the plants to respond themselves.

“Yeah, that should be fine,” I smiled at him as I took the glass and filled it with water, taking the paper off the flowers before carefully placing them in. Dean and I both stood back and admired how pretty they were, especially in contrast to the harsh metals in the bunkers kitchen. 

“You know, I think you’re supposed to cut the bottoms off the stems.”

“HOLY FUCK.”

“SAM! SERIOUSLY?!”

I almost collapsed from the shock of Sam suddenly reminding us that he was somehow still in the room. I don’t know how, but the moment that Dean had walked in, I’d completely forgotten that he was even standing over by the sink. Dean obviously hadn’t realised either, judging from the way he had his hand over heart, like he was trying to stop it from escaping his rib cage.

“You guys seriously forgot that I was here, didn’t you?” He gawped at us, throwing his arms up. Offering him a sheepish look, I glanced at Dean who did the same. He also threw in a nervous shrug for good measure. “You’re both ridiculous,” Sam’s words were exasperated as he dumped the towel he was holding on the dinner table and paced out of the room. Dean and I locked eyes for a moment, both reading the silence before we erupted into giggles.

“You’ve been here with him the whole time - how’d you forget he was there?” Dean questioned, starting to empty the other bags he’d brought home.

“I don’t know. I was talking to him about-” I paused, suddenly remembering the conversation we were having before. My eyes quickly flicked to Dean.

“About…?” He turned to face me from where he stood at the fridge, wearing a curious glint in his eye. I shook my head.

“I can’t even remember,” I lied, flashing him a quick grin to keep him unsuspecting. It seemed to work, as he turned back to what he was doing - loading a months worth of beer into the only fridge we had, apparently. “You distracted me. With flowers. Of course I was going to forget he was there,” I winced as the words tumbled out a little bitchier than I’d hoped for, yet Dean didn’t seem to care; if anything he chuckled as he turned around.

“You make it sound like no one has ever bought you flowers before,” he smiled as he walked over to me, and when I didn’t say anything, his smile dropped slightly. “You have been bought flowers before, right?” I looked up at him and bit my lip, shaking my head slightly. 

“Bobby used to buy them for me on my birthdays, but that was it. No one has ever handed me flowers and said what you said though,” I felt warm again simply remembering his words. They were simple. An honest statement not shrouded with ulterior motives. I thought you might like them. He had thought of me when he saw something as beautiful and soft as the wildflowers on our kitchen table. I always thought he might have likened me more to a hand grenade than anything else, considering how we first met.

“He didn’t- I mean, ex-boyfriends never bought you some for anniversaries or Valentine’s Day?” I knew who he was thinking of, and I was glad he didn’t mention his name. I shook my head.

“Nope, we were either too young for me to care about flowers, or I dated total douchebags who’d buy me a cheap dinner and pack of condoms,” I shrugged nonchalantly, yet I couldn’t stop the bitterness bubble in my gut a little. Dean wasn’t oblivious to this.

“I mean, It’ll be a lot of flowers, but I can make up for it.”

A whole day had passed since Dean bought me flowers, and the conversation I’d had with Sam was still fresh in my mind. I hadn’t slept well, overthinking every which way to strike up that particular conversation with the eldest Winchester. It wasn’t that big of a deal - I just wanted to know why he’d gone from, well, Dean, to some celibate nice-guy who brought me gifts. The only thing I could think was that I’d done something wrong to make him back away, yet I couldn't for the life of me pinpoint where I’d gone wrong. It was weird. Weird as fuck, and the concept of Dean having been replaced by an alien sounded entirely plausable. Then there was Sam, who, for a very intelligent and observant guy, seemed absolutely none the wiser. By the time 3AM had ticked by, I felt like I was still at square one, and even though it took almost another hour, a restless sleep eventually overcame me.

We sat in the library an hour or so after dinner, the silence thick except for the occasional turning of a page and the quiet hum of the vents. Dean was pretending to read whilst he sipped his beer, Sam was reading, but at an alarming rate, and I was doing my damndest to not self-destruct. The tiredness was catching up with me - to be honest it had been clawing at me for a good few hours now - and my mind kept darting back to how to instigate my conversation with Dean. It was all I could think about. I didn’t want to have to talk to him about this, but my self-sabotaging self conscience was screaming at me that it was my fault, therefore I had to fix it. Plus I was in no position to lose any more sleep over the whole thing, especially since everyone else seemed none the wiser. 

Eventually, after reading and then re-reading the same page over a dozen times I stood up, my chair scraping against the floor. Turning the only two heads that were in the room, I wearily announced that I was going for a walk. 

“I’ll go with you,” Dean stood quickly, sliding into the jacket he retrieved from the back of his chair.

“No it’s ok, I kinda need to clear my head,” I started walking towards the door, hoping he’d change his mind. He only laughed.

“Sweetheart, you attract trouble like a moth to a flame. I’m coming with you,” and with that, I lost that battle before it had even begun. He strode past me, heading for the garage. I frowned.

“I wanted to go for a walk,” I sighed, protesting.

“I know,” Dean replied casually, looking over his shoulder at me without halting, “but I thought of something better. Come on let's go” His tone left no room for negotiation so I followed him, albeit reluctantly. 

As we entered the garage and climbed into the car, the doors squeaking before slamming shut, I finally released the tension from my lungs in an exasperated sigh.

“Dean, just tell me what your plan is,” I slumped into the seat as he pulled away and out of the bunker, leaving it behind. He didn’t respond until we were on the road.

“Do you like sunsets?” He asked, the question out of the blue.

“What?”

“Do you like sunsets?” He asked again, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. I looked at him for a moment, wondering where he was going with this before I finally answered.

“Yes, of course I like fucking sunsets. Dean what the fuck-”

“Just sit tight and see, ok?” 

And with that, he turned the music up and I folded my hands in my lap, watching as the world passed by through the window.

It wasn’t a long car ride, perhaps half an hour or so, but we were far enough away that I had no idea where we were. He pulled the car onto a grassy bank, the area relatively quiet considering the pleasant evening, and I sat quietly, waiting for him to say or do anything. When he turned the engine off, followed by the music, the sudden silence felt deafening; the only sound being the soft pat pat pat of his fingers on the steering wheel.

“Where are we?” I finally broke the silence, unable to sit in it for much longer.

“Waconda Lake,” he said calmly, opening his door and hoping out. 

“And do, pray tell, explain why you’ve brought me here?” I followed suit, slamming the door as I made my way around the front of the car. He threw a confused expression my way.

“You said you wanted to clear your head.”

I laughed, the sound a little false and disbelieving.

“My head is more muddled than it was before, Dean. You’re confusing the shit out of me.”

He held my gaze for a moment as he stepped closer, finally coming to stand beside me. We both leant on the hood of Baby, the warmth from the engine seeping through the metal and my jeans, bringing an odd sort of comfort. We both looked out over the expanse of water, watching quietly how the ripples lapped at the shore, the sound gentle on the ears. Moments passed, and when he didn’t say anything, I took a deep breath before carrying on - now was as good a time as any.

“Dean… has something happened between us? Because one minute I’m giving you head in the back of the impala and the next, you…. You barely touch me. Have I done something? Because I wracked my brain over and over and I can’t think for the life of me where I went wrong, but this-” I gestured to him and then myself, “doesn’t feel normal. It doesn’t feel like us.”

Dean took some time to gather his thoughts, his tongue poking through his lips to wet them, almost nervously.

“(Y/n), when I first met you, you were a bitch,” I blinked at his unexpectedly harsh words, but waited for him to continue without biting back. “You infuriated me to no end. But then, we had sex whilst working that case - probably the best sex I’d ever had up until that point to be honest - and then after a while… then you softened slightly. You let me in, let me know you, and I realised pretty damn quickly that actually, you were fucking awesome,” he paused, looking down at his boots for a moment before looking back up; that piercing gaze locking onto mine. “We had the best sex I think I’ve ever had, like… ever. Over and over, and I realised that, shit. I was obsessed with you. I noticed everything you did, and everything you said. I memorised what your footsteps sounded like coming down the hall whilst I laid in bed at night. Hell, I even shared pie with you. But then, after we’d finished watching all of those Lord of the Rings movies you said something that felt like a punch to my gut.”

Shit.

It was my fault that he’d been so distant, I fucking knew it. What was it? I watched a slight sadness cast over Deans features as my mind spun out of control - what the fuck did I say to him? Everything felt hazy; we’d gotten drunk that night and not every memory felt clear cut, but if Dean had remembered it then it must have been shitty. I looked up at him expectantly, urging him to continue and put me out of my misery.

“You said that we were just fuck buddies.”

I sucked a sharp breath in through my teeth. I remember that. I remember those words leaving my lips. I remember pushing him out of my room so I could shower and get dressed. I was oblivious - not a fucking clue that it affected him. I mean come on, it was Dean. I didn't think… I didn't think he would have wanted anything more. At least not from me. I looked back up at him, finally seeing the turmoil swimming in his eyes. He huffed out a shaky breath before carrying on.

“I didn't think it would have such a hold over me like it did. It was all I could hear when I went to bed that night; your words just playing around in my head. Then it fucking hit me - I didn't want that. I didn't want to be fuck buddies. Not with you.”

Now it was my turn to feel like I'd been punched in the gut. Was he breaking things off? Had he finally had enough of me and decided that I wasn't worth it? Was he… bored of me? I felt the hot tears well up in my eyes, blurring my vision and obscuring my view of him. I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t. I feared my voice would croak and my words would sound like a garbled mess. I thought he liked what we were doing. I thought he was happy. I guess I was wrong. 

Deans brows knit together as he noticed my tears, one escaping and leaving a quickly-cooling trail down my cheek. He reached forward, lifting my chin with his finger and wiped my sadness away with the rough pad of his thumb. His chest rose and fell with his breathing, slightly quicker than normal as he looked down at me, his finger lingering on my skin.

“Why are you crying?” He asked softly, the sun beginning to lower in the sky, ribbons of amber and gold settling over the surface of the lake and glowing against Deans skin. I sniffled.

“Because… I thought you liked what we were doing. I thought you enjoyed our intimacy. I’m sorry - I guess I was wrong. That’s my fault, I’m sorry-”

“What?” Deans eyes widened, “of course I did. Shit, I still do. I do. I love it, and I don’t want it to stop, but I want to do this right. With you,” he jumped up to stand in front of me, his hands had moved to the tops of my arms, his large palms gripping my biceps as though he was stopping me from flying away. 

“Do it right?” I was puzzled, having no idea what he meant. He straightened, releasing me and wiping a hand over his face. 

“Yeah. Do it right. I’m not the kind of guy that does this shit. I’m a hunter; by nature I fuck things up. I piss people off because I always do the wrong thing, and then they leave,” he paused, the break in his words heavy with apprehension. “I can’t fuck things up with you. I can’t have you leave because I’ve left you feeling used and given you nothing in return, or I’ve stood by and let someone else come along and sweep you off your feet. I can’t fucking do that.”

My breath felt like it was caught in my throat. What was he saying? Why does he look so nervous? What the fuck is going on?

“Dean- what’s going on? I don’t feel like that, and I don’t want to leave. Why are you so worried that I will?”

“Because it would fucking destroy me, (Y/n), and with you, for you, I need to do things right.”

He looked at me with more vulnerability than I’d ever expected to see from a man like him. Someone so rugged and hardened to the darkest parts of the world, who built impenetrable walls to protect himself because life had chewed him up and spat him out over and over and over again. He’d literally been to Hell, yet here he was, wearing a heart of glass on his sleeve, preparing to have it irreversibly shattered. I was about to step forward, to embrace him and reassure him that I wasn't going anywhere. That I couldn’t, not without him. He held his hands up slightly, like he was protecting himself from something that I couldn’t see, and I felt my heart clench, wanting nothing more than to reassure him that everything was ok. When he spoke next, his words held the same impact as a hurricane.

“(Y/n), I-I think… no, I am…

I’m in love with you.”

Taglist: @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @aliceeinwonderland420 @tina-theslytherin @deans-queen @hobby27 @sobearcowboy @girls-alias @selfdestructionandrhum @ericasabe @lacilou @littlemadamred @anneanirac @deans-baby-momma @swimregulas @ashdoctor @littlemarvelstan8 @deangirl96 @zannemes @kr804573 @foxyjwls007 @divadinag @cookiemonstermusic258 @mysterialee @ababy-girl @joonseuph0ria @deans-spinster-witch @st4bl3-ch40s @feyresqueen @roseblue373 @clusterfuck-meup @urinternetmom @rachiem4-blog @ceeshellecee @mojos-hidden-castle @snowayumi @evzyi @mymuseisbipolar @magssteenkamp @koharuheartfilia @spookyysinsanity @safiyas-world @uncle-eggy @happyt0exist @supernaturalstilinski @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @mrsjenniferwinchester @stanzie @sammyj0 @supernaturalwriter

[court-jester-stuff]

I very much agree with this. On one hand i do feel the need to say that we don't know a lot about regulus so he might as well have been a DE out of free will, however he was also born into a family where such believes were normalized. He was raised to believe all of that and its very fair to assume that becoming a DE was more of an expectation then a choice. In the end he also did change, he cared for Kreacher and did what he could to protect him.

What we don't know is if he believed in pureblood supremacy but i feel that's for own interpretation. (Personally, i believe he didn't know better, based on the way he was raised and such.) I believe that if Serius had gotten him out of that house and away from that family when he decided to leave (which preach, good he got out and got a good family) I do think he would've been a good person and been a great asset in the war against Voldy. He was one of the biggest reasons as to how Harry found the horcruxs, say what you want but that teenager died defying the man everyone feared.

On the other hand we have snape, who during his time as a student called his ONLY friend a slur used on people who were (i think?) being actively killed at the time. Snape had no reason to think this way or say what he said, so why did he do it? He insulted his only friend and when she decided to stop being friends with him he got upset. (Besides that he himself was muggleborn, ‘the half blood prince’ dumbass name btw, so why did he do that??)

Besides that, we have the fact that Lily loved James and not Snape. Lily didn't choose James over Snape, she simply chose James, which is a separate matter from Snape having been cruel to her in such a manner. Snape didn't have anything to do with that and yet he despised James for it. So much so that he bullied/treated his, but also her, son unfairly.

On top of that we have the fact that the only reason why he decided to become a spy was because Voldy began targeting Lily, not because he realized he was in the wrong or that the DE’s are bad. He only switched sides for his obsession with Lily. I fully believe that had it not been for Lily that he would’ve been Voldy’s most loyal DE till his death.

I saw someone say that he loved Lily and wasn’t obsessed but that’s not true. I saw someone else (I don’t remember where or who) make a very good point of James and Lily having fitting patronus, a stag and a doe compliment each other. They are their own people, but they work together. Snape had Lily’s doe, why? He doesn’t match her, he HAS her. Weird in my opinion.

On top of being all that, the man was unfair to any students that weren’t in his house, mainly the Gryffindor’s. Neville watched/had his parents be tortured to insanity by Bellatrix and yet she wasn’t the one that walked out of that closet. It was Snape. This teacher was so cruel to a child that he became the thing the kid feared the most. That’s fucked up.

In the first scene we have of him he asks Harry, a boy raised by muggles and who was cut off by any and all types of magic his whole life, an advanced question. Which I’m pretty sure was a trick question cuz the two things were the same, but don’t quote me on that.

Snape wasn’t good. Ever. He had an insane obsession with Lily, she was the sole reason as to why he decided to help the Order. Not because he believed in their beliefs. Snape was a terrible person and most definitely not the hero some make him out to be.

"you can't defend regulus and not defend snape"

actually, yes, i can. watch me.

snape was a child abuser, who regularly insulted, embarrassed and physically injured his students on a daily basis. he only was part of the order bc he had an unhealthy obsession with his childhood bestfriend, who he called a slur on several occasions. who he, on top of trying to kill her husband, didn't care about her child or family until her life was in danger. he only became "good" when the woman who had rejected him several times might have been injured. he was such a terrible teacher and human being, that one of his student's BIGGEST FEAR was him. he was racist and a blood supremecist, even though he was a half a blood himself. he was not "morally gray", he was a horrible person.

regulus black was forced to become a death eater by his family, and in the end, betrayed voldemort and gave up his life to try to end the war. he loved his house elf, and did everything to make sure kreacher made it out alive. he was not an abuser, he was the abused.

so, yes, i can defend regulus and not defend snape.

[katsfixationcorner]

Sleepless Nights

tfatws!Bucky Barnes x Fem!reader

Chapter Two

Previous Chapter

Summary: After a run-in with a new neighbor, Bucky becomes hellbent on figuring out who she is. When he's recovering from a much worse night than usual, another encounter with the woman across the hall ends up leaving him with new feelings he isn't sure how to process.

Warnings: Slice of Life, Canon-divergent, Slow-burn, Friends to Lovers, Neighbors Trope, Depictions of trauma, Mild Stalking, No use of Y/N; Chapter Warnings: Suicidal Thoughts, Self Harm

Word Count: 4.7k

Disclaimer: This chapter contains depictions of self destructive behaviors, suicidal thoughts, and self harm. If these are sensitive topics for you, I recommend you skip this one. Please take care of yourselves.

A/N: I’m not a mental health professional. All trauma/mental illness depictions are based on my personal knowledge/experience. If any depictions are incorrect or misrepresented, kindly educate me.

I do NOT consent to have my work copied, translated, or run through AI.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two weeks. 

That’s how long it takes Bucky to gather what he can about the woman across the hall. It wasn’t difficult, just tedious. 

First, he checked the mailboxes. Now, he wasn’t about to steal mail from her - not unless he had to. But he could look for a name. Since the mailboxes are plainly labeled by unit and last name, this would be easy. The next time Bucky got his mail, he took the chance to glance at her unit’s box. 

Name acquired. 

Next, he stopped by the library. He doesn’t have his own computer (he really should purchase one) but the public ones are usually enough for what he needs. Just a few quick searches of the last name and address should give him what he- shit. 

And this is when an easy step in the “getting information” process quickly turned into a much harder one. 

He got the wrong name. The one on her mailbox wasn’t hers. Bucky was fairly certain of this -unless she was married and receiving retirement benefits from the government. That was probably unlikely. Bucky concludes that the landlord hadn’t had the chance to switch out the name plates. 

Dammit. This was supposed to be simple. 

Bucky had to figure something else out. He could just wait for the nameplate to be fixed, but whenever he tried to sit still and wait, his brain went into overdrive. This led him to spend an entire Saturday pacing laps around his apartment, doing very little other than checking the locks on the door and windows twice every hour. 

Waiting wasn’t going to work. 

Thankfully, there are plenty of ways to gain information about someone. Most of them, however, are risky and highly illegal. Checking a name with (mostly) public records is questionable but the safest starting point. 

Bucky was willing to do a lot in order to eliminate his anxieties, but he still had a code. He wasn’t going to dig too deep or do anything like violate her safety just to get surface level intel. Breaking into her apartment would be the most effective route to gain information, but Bucky had no reason to nor did he wish to. Not yet at least. 

He could always just talk to her; get her to give him her name and details willingly. There was once a time he considered himself charming and irresistible. But people lie, and that time has passed. Besides, he already knows what she’ll think of him: he’s dangerous and shouldn’t be trusted. No one could ever look at him and think, “now that’s a guy I want to sit down with and spill all my secrets to”. 

So that idea was thrown out almost immediately.

Unfortunately, Bucky was running low on simple ways to get what he wanted. Which -also unfortunately- led him to turn his attention to a much more predictable target: the apartment building’s property manager. Bucky already had a habit of doing strange odd jobs when he could find them. Since he’s been known to help the manager on occasion, it wasn’t odd of him to show up at the office and offer his services. 

Luckily for him, being handy and readily available worked out in his favor. The property manager gratefully accepted his help, granting Bucky access to the office in order to fix several things over the course of a few days.While he was there, Bucky was able to gain access to the manager’s computer while they were out on an appointment. 

People really need to be more careful about typing in passwords with him around. 

The property manager’s files gave him everything he needed. Name, age, occupation, access to a background check. It was plenty to give Bucky some peace of mind. The discount in his rent that month for his work was nice too, he supposed. 

His neighbor, it seems, is a completely ordinary person. She works a regular job with normal hours, lives alone, has a perfectly clean record, and -as far as Bucky can tell- could never be a threat to anyone, especially him. 

That was supposed to be enough to let him relax. 

Bucky has been having nightmares frequently during the entire two week process. He thought maybe, just maybe, once he knew he had nothing to worry about, he could rest. But by the time he wakes up tonight, he realizes all his research did nothing to rid him of his nightly terrors. 

He jolts up in a cold sweat and struggles to breathe, just as he has nearly every other night. His usual attempts to calm himself don’t work. Gasping for breath, Bucky grips the sofa and pulls himself to his feet, bracing himself on the wall as he stumbles to the bathroom. 

Everything he’s looked into since moving in should be enough to convince him that he’s somewhere safe. His apartment isn’t in the best part of the city, but there’s a neighborhood watch nearby and security guards patrol the parking garage around the corner. He has both his freedom and his mind back. He isn’t on the run anymore. No one’s out to hurt or control him. After such a long time fighting to survive, he finally has the chance to live. 

But how? How can he live after everything he’s done? Does he even deserve to?

Bucky’s grip tightens on the edges of the sink until his vibranium hand ends up cracking the granite. He takes an unsteady gulp of air then pushes himself away long enough to turn the shower on. This time the running water from the shower can’t chase his thoughts away. As they continue to cloud his mind, Bucky bends over the sink, turning on the faucet and repeatedly splashing his face with freezing water in an effort to focus on something else - as if the water could freeze his brain. 

How many more nights of this could he take? Nothing ever works. Why does he keep trying? 

Bucky splashes the water in his face with more force, this time slapping himself instead of cupping his hands back under the faucet. He presses his hands against his eyes, trying in vain to block the tidal wave of thoughts overtaking his senses.

Bucky’s mind is fractured into jagged pieces that never fit together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle with a few pieces missing. Some of the sharper sections -the ones that remind him of the horrors he’s committed and the pain he’s endured- continuously slice deep wounds in his brain that will never heal. On nights like tonight the pain is ever-present, something that overrides any remotely pleasant thought he has about himself and corrupts them. Those thoughts are left to fester, becoming poisoned by a despair that sinks its claws into him and drags him into a void of hopelessness. 

He can’t think straight. Everytime he tries to redirect his thoughts to something helpful, the tidal wave knocks him over and drags him deeper into the pit, raking him across the sharp edges of his past. He can’t stop it. He can barely breathe under the weight of his own mind. 

After all the lives he took, the families he ripped apart, why is he the one that gets a chance to live? 

Maybe he deserves this torment. The pain is his penance for all the people he’s hurt. He’ll take as much of it as he can -for them- until it destroys him and rids the world of an irredeemable monster. Then, and only then, will the victims of the Winter Soldier have peace. 

It’s no use. Everything he’s tried keeping at bay -everything he’s been trying to ignore- drags him deeper into the void, drowning him in a riptide of despair. There’s nothing he can do to bring himself back to the surface. 

This isn’t good enough. The mental anguish isn’t enough. Bucky needs to hurt; he needs to bleed. He deserves to suffer, to be punished for every death he caused.    

Somehow Bucky manages to get himself in the shower. His body moves without any input, depositing him under a cascade of frigid water. Still clad in the boxers he slept in, Bucky curls up in the tub, pulling his knees to his chest then pressing his forehead between them. 

A strangling sob pushes itself past Bucky’s lips. As soon as it breaks free from him, he bites his lip to keep any more from escaping. It isn’t long before he tastes iron. He deserves this, Bucky convinces himself. He deserves pain. 

Bucky doesn’t know how long he’s been in the shower. At some point his brain shut down, blocking him from the present in an effort to protect him from himself. All he feels is the freezing water that pierces his skin until his entire body aches from the cold. The torturous stinging it causes provides enough external stimulation to rouse him from the depths of his mind. He slowly regains control of his body, though he remains dazed and numb, devoid of any emotion and unable to recall anything but the first of many thoughts that pulled him under. 

When he feels able to, Bucky reaches for the shower knob and turns the water off, finally ending the torturous assault on his body. He stays where he is until he becomes aware of the shivers rippling across his body. Though he almost doesn’t want to, he forces himself to stand, throwing a towel around his shoulders once he can reach for one. 

It’s been a while since he had this bad of a night. Bucky isn’t sure how to recover. With his mind as blank as it is, his body goes into autopilot mode, guiding him through the motions it’s most familiar with. It takes him into the bedroom where he replaces his drenched boxers with a dry pair, jeans, and a worn t-shirt. Like many nights before this, Bucky retrieves his hamper then circles the room, grabbing whatever he touches and dropping it in the basket. He does the same routine in the living room, taking everything he usually does, then makes his way down into the building’s laundry room. 

The warm laundry room air is more suffocating than it usually is, but Bucky hardly notices. He heads straight for the last washer, continuing to go through the motions he’s used to. Once his hamper has been emptied into the machine and the machine has been started, Bucky leans back against a dryer then slides to the floor. Like he did in the shower, he pulls his knees to his chest then wraps his arms around them. He normally wouldn’t display himself like this in public, but he’s emotionally exhausted and doesn’t really care if anyone sees how despondent he is.

His therapist would want him to try and ground himself. With a shaky breath, Bucky closes his eyes, attempting to divert his attention from the whirlpool of bad thoughts swirling in his mind. When he reopens them, he makes an effort to take in his surroundings. The wall in front of him is lined with washing machines. The one containing his clothes is vibrating violently as it progresses through the washing cycle. Instructional signs for the machines litter the surface of the wall. Most of them are ripped and worn. The newer ones are laminated to protect from age. They even describe how to connect your phone to the machines if you’d prefer to. 

What does he hear? Well, it’s loud. His machine keeps knocking against the machine next to it causing a consistent banging noise. The door leading into the room squeaks when it opens and closes; its hinges desperately need to be lubricated. Bucky must have thrown a pair of jeans in the washer -he honestly doesn’t recall- because something metal intermittently hits the machine’s front facing lid. The door hinges squeak again when the door opens then it thuds against the doorframe as it shuts. 

Wait…

Bucky tilts his head towards the doorway. Soft footsteps approach from his right, stopping about a foot away from where he sits. When Bucky glances in the direction of the disturbance, he’s met with an outstretched hand. Two small bundles of wax paper are cradled in the palm. Bucky’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. His gaze flickers from the odd gesture towards the face of the person standing before him. He stares for a moment before a sense of familiarity hits him. 

It’s her.

His neighbor, the woman across the hall, is bent forward slightly, holding her hand out in front of him. Her eyes search his face for something Bucky isn’t quite sure of. When Bucky’s gaze meets hers, her eyes flicker towards her palm then she tilts her hand forward, gesturing for Bucky to take what she’s holding. 

They stare at each other for a few long seconds. When Bucky doesn’t move, his neighbor gestures to him again. “It’s taffy,” she explains carefully. Her tone is gentle and light like she’s trying to soothe an upset child. “I bought a bag on my way home.” 

Her expectant gaze remains locked on Bucky’s face. He doesn’t understand; her explanation has nothing to do with him. No one ever gives him the time of day, let alone feels the need to give him something unprompted. Unless they wanted to poison him… She doesn’t seem the type but he’s been surprised before. He could refuse, but by the way her eyes bear into him, it’s unlikely she’ll leave him alone until he appeases her. Reluctantly, Bucky reaches forward to swipe one of the candies from her outstretched palm. The wax paper wrapping is smooth against his flesh hand as he rolls the candy between his fingers. He won’t eat it, just in case. The candy is going in the trash the first chance he gets. 

A soft smile pulls at his neighbor’s lips when Bucky accepts her offering. Seeming satisfied, she straightens back up, untwisting the ends on the extra candy then popping it into her mouth in one fluid motion. Bucky watches her carefully, now spotting the vibrating washer behind her. She must have been loading it when he walked in; he just wasn’t present enough to notice. 

Bucky knows he’s staring. He can’t help it. His eyes track each of her movements. She shifts the weight distribution on her feet, now standing in a way that has her leaning away from him. Her gaze isn’t on him anymore but instead on the washer Bucky presumes contains her load of laundry. The wax wrapping crinkles as she bunches it in her palm, using her other hand to comb through her hair. A grimace crosses her face when her fingers get caught on a knot.

Since she’s no longer interested in him, Bucky takes the time to really look at her. For some reason, she isn’t leaving immediately like she did the last time they were in the same room together. He isn’t sure why. Has he made her feel unsafe enough to refuse to leave her things? He doesn’t really blame her, though. She did happen across a complete stranger dealing with the aftermath of a mental breakdown. 

After a bout of silence, the woman shifts again, this time towards Bucky instead of further away from him. She sighs to herself then bites her bottom lip like she’s wrestling with her thoughts. Once she makes up her mind, she turns back towards him, glancing down at him when she addresses him. 

“You’re Barnes, right?” She asks hesitantly, now twisting the wax wrapper in her hands. 

Bucky’s breath gets caught in his chest. How does she know who he is? Has she been looking into him like he has her? What else does she know? 

She answers one of his questions before he gets a chance to interrogate her. “Your mailbox is next to mine.” She explains in a rushed manner. “I should have- well… We’ve met before, technically. I didn’t say anything though. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything.” 

The woman stumbles over her words. A groan escapes her lips, her irritation with her failure to finish her thoughts apparent. She eventually introduces herself using the same name Bucky found on her resident file. 

At least she isn’t lying. Not yet, anyway.

She takes a step closer to Bucky, leans against the dryer behind her, then pulls herself up to sit on top of it. Her legs don’t quite touch the ground so she swings them out in front of her like she’s sitting on a swing set. The silence that fills the air between them doesn’t seem to bother her. She doesn’t try to fill it with empty words or annoying small talk; she just waits patiently for him to make the next move. 

The lack of words allows Bucky to think. There isn’t any harm in responding to her, is there? Even if she uses what he says to look into his life, anything she could find is practically public knowledge. 

His neighbor isn’t looking at him. Her eyes are fixated on a spot on the floor. Bucky finds himself staring at her again. This time his mind wanders. She isn’t unattractive. Quite the opposite, actually, though Bucky catches himself before he’s forced to explore thoughts he hasn’t had in a long time. He forces his gaze down to the wrapped candy in his hand. Having something else to focus on helps his mind reset. Instead of being in the forefront of his mind, the terrible thoughts he’s been struggling with have shifted to the side. Now all he can think about is her: why she’s still here and how she could stand being so close to him. 

One of those thoughts nag him until he can’t stop himself. He has to ask because he doesn’t understand. He can’t make sense of it by himself. Why is she still here?

“Why?” Bucky’s voice cracks roughly when he finally speaks. It’s rough and gravelly from not having used it all day. His question isn’t clear either, but he struggles to say much else. 

Her head lifts when she hears his voice, though her gaze doesn’t move from the floor. She doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, she focuses on her swaying feet before finally shrugging her shoulders. “You looked like you needed something sweet.” 

Her response only confuses Bucky further. He lifts his head so he can watch her. When he does, his eyes stop on the candy he’s still holding. Oh. She must have assumed he was asking about that. In an effort to clear up this miniscule misunderstanding, Bucky clears his throat then tries again. “Why are you sitting with me?” 

This time she tilts her head to the side then reaches up to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.  Even though she doesn’t answer immediately, Bucky doesn’t feel the need to rush her. She was patient with him, the least he can do is offer her the same. Once she’s decided what to say, she turns her head towards him, now holding his gaze with an expression that Bucky doesn’t have the words to describe. His first thought is pity, but the words that come out of her mouth contradict that: “No one deserves to be alone when they’re having a bad day.” 

Bucky isn’t quite sure what to do about that statement. Sure, he looks like shit, but he never expected anyone to comment on it, let alone try to help him. 

His lack of response doesn’t phase her. Instead, she brushes it aside, choosing instead to redirect their conversation. “Did you get into a fight?” She inquires, lifting a hand to point at her own mouth.  Confusion tugs Bucky’s lips into a frown. He shifts his gaze from her face down to the dryer she’s sitting on while he licks his bottom lip. When the tip of his tongue finds where his lip had split, understanding dawns on him. Instead of explaining he had caused it by purposefully biting himself, he settles on a simple “no”.  

“Hm,” is her hummed response. An easy silence grows between them before she breaks it with another question Bucky can focus on. “Do you work nights?”

“No.”

“Me either.” 

Bucky already knows that but he doesn’t tell her. She doesn’t need to know that he’s more of a stranger to her than she is to him. What he’s more curious about is why she’s up at such odd hours. He hasn’t figured that out yet, but he isn’t going to ask. 

The two of them settle into an amicable silence once more. Eventually, her washer finishes its cycle prompting her to slide off the dryer to switch machines. Once her clothes have been moved into the same dryer she was sitting on (one near Bucky, mind you), she decides to sit on the floor across from him, now leaning back against one of the washing machines. 

She seems comfortable with not speaking. Bucky appreciates that. His curt responses have no effect on her either. Usually he receives a look of indifference or offense when he refuses to play along with the back and forth of expected social interactions. So far, she hasn’t given him either of those. It’s…refreshing. Most of the time, interacting with people leaves Bucky anxious and uncomfortable. People always feel the need to fill silence with meaningless words, asking questions they don’t actually want the answer to and pretending to care. 

When people ask questions, there’s always an expected response, a right and a wrong answer. You aren’t expected to answer truthfully, only politely and vaguely. This usually works out in Bucky’s favor -he’s never expected to explain his feelings when he barely understands them- but he despises it. He’d much rather say nothing at all than have to go along with an empty, meaningless conversation. 

Bucky especially hates when people use questions to probe into his life. He can stomach the small talk and vague questions, but when they grow increasingly personal is when he draws the line. Knowing how his day is or what he thinks of the weather? Fine. But when they turn into what do you do for work or are you close to your family? Or worse: they notice his dog tags or arm and decide to ask about them.

Those are the types of things Bucky won’t talk about.

Bucky’s mind wanders towards the woman sitting across from him. She asked him three questions, and he hadn’t minded them (though one was left unanswered). They weren’t the usual type of question he’s used to getting. Sure, she asked about his job, but it was vague and she didn’t ask for any additional details. She just accepted his no’s like any response was good enough. Then she let it go, and nothing feels forced. The air between them isn’t thick with tension or unease. Bucky can just be and nothing is expected of him. 

The more Bucky dwells on the situation, the more he finds he doesn’t understand. There’s an uncertainty that’s building within him, something strange and confusing. He didn’t mind her questions, but his anticipation for more is winding him taut. This is one interaction, one isolated incident. She lives right across the hall. They’re bound to run into each other again if their laundry run-ins are anything to go off of. What happens then? How long will it be until she pries too deeply or asks something of him he can’t give?   

Bucky really needs to get his shit together. He’s known this woman for two weeks and has barely spoken to her. Tonight is just a…special circumstance. A one off event. It won’t happen again. There’s no reason for Bucky to think that a complete stranger would want anything to do with him. Besides, the more he gets to know her, the sooner she’ll turn into everyone else. So far she’s been polite and kind, but her patience for him will run thin. It always does. And yet one interaction is enough to catch his attention. She intrigues him. Him. 

God, he needs to get out more. 

The timer on Bucky’s washer pulls him out of his thoughts. With a groan, he pulls himself off the floor so he can move his laundry over. Though the taffy he’s still holding makes it difficult. He ends up slipping the candy into his pocket, promptly forgetting about it for the time being. 

Bucky can feel her eyes trailing him as he loads the dryer but she never says anything. Once the machine is on, he returns to his spot across from her, this time stretching his legs in front of him. Due to his height, his feet end up resting against the washer next to her. She doesn’t seem to mind. Her eyes meet his briefly before she turns her attention from his face, choosing instead to lean her head back and close her eyes. 

They sit together in silence until her laundry is finished. When her timer goes off, she opens her eyes then stands back up. Bucky watches as she takes the time to fold her clothes before placing the piles neatly in her basket. After double checking her dryer for anything left behind, she takes her hamper then holds it sideways against her hip. Before she leaves, she hesitates -contemplating something- then tilts her head in Bucky’s direction and graces him with a small smile. 

“Good-night.” 

As soon as those two words leave her lips, she turns her back to him then walks out of the room. With his company gone, an uneasy feeling washes over Bucky. Now that he’s alone, there’s nothing to distract him from the flood of negative feedback his brain fires upon him. Though still present from earlier, this time, for some reason, it doesn’t overtake him. Bucky still feels heavy but no longer like he’s dragging himself through a tar pit. 

He remains in the laundry room until his dryer timer goes off. Unlike his neighbor, he pulls the clothes out of the machine and drops them unceremoniously into his hamper. Once he returns to his apartment, he drops the hamper on the floor by his bed then spends the next ten minutes folding everything. When the task is complete, Bucky pulls off the jeans he was wearing and starts to add them to a pile. As he folds the fabric, his fingers brush over the candy still in one of the pockets. Bucky retrieves it, lays his pants down, then retreats to the living room with the sweet in hand.

Though fully intent on throwing it into the garbage, something unusual comes over him. Something new. Bucky pauses on his way to the kitchen. For some reason, he can’t bring himself to toss the candy. Instead, he places it carefully on a kitchen counter, leaving it there until he decides what to do with it. 

Since he doesn’t have anything better to do or any chore to keep him distracted, Bucky reclines on the sofa with the intention of channel surfing until something catches his eye. He eventually stops on a news channel, letting it play in the background while he tries to relax. 

His mind is still foggy and every time he tries to remember what happened earlier his memory goes blank. It’s normally nearly impossible for him to regain himself so quickly after a terrible episode, but this time was different. 

She was there. 

She may not know what he was going through, but she insisted on keeping him company anyway. And it helped, even if just a little bit. Bucky is exhausted, his body feels like he got hit by a truck, but the bad thoughts have been pushed to the back of his mind. 

Even though he couldn’t control it this time, he was still able to recover. That means something. Bucky just isn’t certain on what it is. But as he lays back into the sofa cushions and closes his eyes, the time spent with her keeps being replayed in his mind. Exhaustion eventually overcomes him, and as the memory of her voice lulls him to sleep, Bucky becomes certain of one thing: it was nice not being alone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[dramaticallytotal]

I'm Just An Assistant Headcanons: Part One

Idea Post

• Chef finds it amusing while Chris doesn't, that the crew and interns listen to Noah more than they do, Chris. Noah has to ask for something once, and they immediately set out to do it, but when Chris asks, he has to ask multiple times, or it comes out wrong.

An intern made a mistake once when Noah asked for something....once. No one made a mistake again in the face of his anger. It was understandable given that the mistake could have gotten a lot of people hurt and destroyed a lot of weeks' worth of work.

He is understanding if someone is confused as long as they ask questions to clarify, but if they don't and they go on to make an avoidable mistake that person will get a very intimidating lecture and if they still make mistakes they are fired. He doesn't tolerate that kind of behavior, given they work on one of the most dangerous shows on reality television.

Plus, most of those who consistently make mistakes end up being spies sent by the network to make the show the way they want. Which is something Noah will not stand for.

The network/producers go about this way because they are way too intimidated by Noah to call or set up a meeting with him.

• No Noah and Cody cuddling in season one, so Sierra isn't antagonistic of him. She finds him fascinating due to the times he's been on screen and the number of fans it caused. It is oddly high, which Sierra hypothesized was because of SCVAMC Syndrome. (Side-Character-Viewed-As-Main-Character Syndrome) People see someone who is or essentially is a side character, and because they don't know much about them, they are intrigued and the little they find out becomes something special. It happens all the time in video games and anime. The more mystery or missing information, the more alluring.

That's essentially what Noah was, and she finds him interesting. She kept trying to find out more about him so she could really keep her status of being the top total drama blogger.

• Because of this, Noah tried to avoid her as much as possible.

• Almost immediately when the new season started, Heather and Duncan tried to intimidate or threaten Noah for information on the season, which he, of course, ignored or outright laughed at. They tried this all the time. At the beginning of the competition, a couple episodes after, the merge, and then more towards the finale if either made it that far. Duncan even accused Noah of helping Beth in season two, which he promptly shut down.

Noah was a lot of things, but he was not a cheater. He liked his job. Why would he jeopardize it by helping someone cheat? Yeah not likely.

If he was going to help anyone cheat, it would be Owen, Izzy, or Eva. But again, he would never do that.

• He's the reason Alejandro got cast as he picked him out from hundreds of applicants for the new season. Not Dirt Bags, though that is what Alejandro believed he was auditioning for. If Dirt Bags had been the real season, he most likely would have picked José but since it was a smoke screen for the real season, Noah chose Alejandro because he thought he would be the best fit. He didn't pick Sierra though.

Apparently, Blaineley had called in a hefty favor to put her assistant/informant on the show with the producers. Noah and Chris had said no, but the network offered Noah a pay raise, and they gave Chris more freedom with the season and the next two ones that were in the planning stages. They couldn't refuse the offer.

Technically, Noah could have, but he didn't want to. Not until he met Sierra. It wasn't until then that he was thinking he should have refused.

• Alejandro first saw Noah during the break between the Pyramid Over/Underline challenge and The Amazing Camel Race challenge since the crew and interns were setting up for the next challenge. They were directed to go to the white tent and get away from the heat. Alejandro was surprised at this because all he had heard about Chris and the show was the awful conditions.

But they were provided a tent that had little fans attached to some poles that helped a little bit from the heat. They were given chairs to sit on, though they were organized by team, so Alejandro was going to take the opportunity to get to know his team. It was as Owen, the utter oaf, was spewing some story of accidentally entering and winning a hotdog eating contest that Alejandro was snapped out of his less than polite thoughts by a water bottle being shoved in his face.

"What the-?"

"Here. You guys need to hydrate. We can't have any of you keeling over because of dehydration or heat stroke." A somewhat nasally voice said in perfect monotone. It was when he finally took the water that he saw the person who the voice belonged to, and Alejandro found his heart skipped a beat at the sight.

The boy looked around their age with tan skin that was peppered with many moles and beauty marks (angel kisses his Nana called them). He had dark, oh so dark hooded brown eyes that were perpetually lidded that had bags that somehow did not diminish his beauty. He had a small wrinkle on his forehead that Alejandro found and fought the urge to run his fingers across so he could see it relaxed. Then he eyes traveled down to his lips, his pouty lips that were...oh shit...moving because he was still talking to Alejandro.

"Dude, you okay? Do you feel dizzy or anything? I can have medical in here stat." The angel said.

"Ah, no! No. No. I'm good. Just a little tired, I confess." Alejandro lied, you know, like a liar.

"Mm. Well, you did carry two girls over a pyramid. It would make sense that you're tired. Rest as much as you can before the next challenge."

"S-Si. I will. Thank you for the water amigo." He stuttered!? Since when did he stutter???

He watched as the angel walked away and continued handing out waters. He watched until the boy was in the far corner of the tent talking to some of the interns. That was when Alejandro decided he must know who his angel was! He absolutely did not want to interact with his team more, so he sought someone he thought would know the answer while not making him feel like his head would explode when they spoke. He settled on Courtney, and when he finally found out his angel's name, he knew he was a goner.

Noah~! How perfect!

• Alejandro flirts with Noah whenever he can, which is surprisingly a lot, but Noah doesn't believe he is being genuine until Noah made a self-deprecating joke about it and Alejandro snapped. He didn't mean to crowd into Noah's space, but he couldn't help him. He desperately wanted him to understand. His flirting on the show was in his contract because that was the kind of character the network wanted, and though Alejandro had no problem with casual flirting, it was getting to him because he only wanted to flirt with Noah.

He begged him to believe him, and when Noah found out that, yes, the flirting was in his contract, he started to open up a little to the flirting though he was still a little wary. Alejandro counted it as a win and promised that once the competition was over, he would still be very interested in Noah.

• Teams!!!

Team Victory: Leshawna, Bridgette, DJ, Harold, Ezekiel, Lindsay, Sadie

Team Amazon: Heather, Gwen, Courtney, Eva, Sierra, Katie, Beth

Team Chris: Alejandro, Owen, Izzy, Tyler, Trent, Justin, Duncan

• Ezekiel still has a contract with Chris to go feral, and Duncan still quits, which puts Team Amazon at a numbers advantage.

• If Noah isn't directly responsible for Harold's elimination, Alejandro or Izzy are the next options. And both are, in fact, responsible in this au! Izzy because there can only be one ginger! Jk, she does it because she overheard the guy lecturing her NoNo about how he could allow Chris and the show to be so culturally insensitive and that he was part of the problem. How dare he!?

Knowing her NoNo, he probably did the best he could! I mean, it definitely could have been worse than Chris dressing up like Rick O'Connell from The Mummy. Though she knew that was not what Harold was referring to, she just thought he ought to be grateful because she was fairly certain if Noah wasn't there, Chris would have worn a tacky Pharoah costume from Spirit Halloween.

Alejandro teams up with her once he catches on to what she's doing, and it's only because he heard Noah venting to some crew members, and he absolutely does not want his angel unnecessarily stressed. Harold is a cause of said stress, so he must go! (He truly is a professional simper)

• Yes! Chris's outfit is different! There will be a lot more differences in this au because Noah is working on the show instead of competing.

• There will also be more challenges! Some I made up and some inspired by RR! Since this is supposed to be a world tour, there will be two challenges conducted wherever they visit. One will be at a famous landmark and the other just somewhere well known or wherever they got permission to rent/film at.

• Courtney and Noah don't really like each other, so they have a small rivalry going on. Noah finds it entertaining while Courtney does not. He's the one who makes sure they can't be sued again. Courtney got lucky with her first and last lawsuit, but after that, Noah made sure to dot every 'i' and cross every 't' when it came to the rest of season two and the newest season.

Every time Courtney complained about something or threatened to sue for some imperceived injustice, Noah got to throw the book at her, so to say. His eidetic memory really came in handy there as he can recall and recite word for word her contract (plus everyone else's).

• Courtney and Alejandro do become friends, but Courtney is rethinking that decision when she realizes Alejandro has the biggest crush on Noah.

• Alejandro: "He wore his glasses today! Doesn't he look positively dashing!"

Courtney: "If I had a newspaper, I would smack you with it."

• Alejandro still doesn't like Owen, but he is willing to tolerate him because of all the Noah lore he drops!

Also, because his amor would be mad at him if he did anything to the buffoon.

• Noah presents a lot of the challenges with Chef, which means he has to dress up.

• Noah is actually pretty sure he's cursed because he always seems to get hurt in increasingly bizarre ways. Like the time one of the stupid apples for the New York challenge fell on him when he oversaw a small team while they were setting up for said challenge.

Or when he was bringing Chris another hot chocolate in the Yukon, and he got crushed by Trent. (Instead of Noah being launched off the chunk of ice by Owen, it was Trent.)

Before that, he had tried giving Bridgette her issued jacket when she shoved him away, yelling that she had a boyfriend. That felt like an overreaction, but he had no time to think on that because he stumbled back and slipped into a large pile of snow.

• The contestants watched as Chris worried and fretted over Noah and made him drink his original hot chocolate because he didn't want his emotionally adopted son to be cold! Think of his anemia!!! Noah was taken back to the plane to warm up before he was allowed back and decided to take Chris a replacement hot chocolate....his well intentions ended up with him being crushed under Trent and had Chef fretting over him in place of Chris.

He was grounded to the plane for the rest of the challenge.

Stupid father figures! He had work to do!!!

Next

[spicyschemmenti]

LEGAL MISHAPS ➫ casey novak

pairing: casey novak x bumbling idiot!fem!reader

synopsis: you spend the entire day being a walking disaster, and it's a good thing casey is there for your moral support

warnings: casey suffering from second hand embarassment, reader has implied existential crisis over moving, reader is basically a klutz which casey somehow finds herself growing fond of, pre-relationship/mutual pining??

word count: 1.6k

author's note: lmk if any wants to be tagged whenever i update this (mini series??)

MASTERLIST

The morning had barely started, and you were already having a disaster of a day. You were running late again. Your suit jacket was buttoned wrong, your hair was doing its best impression of "controlled chaos," and worst of all, you had managed to spill half your overpriced coffee all over the stack of files you needed for court.

You stared at the soggy, caffeine-drenched papers in your hands, horrified, as the ink from your notes bled together like some kind of tragic abstract art piece.

"Oh no, no, no—this is bad, this is so bad—" You muttered under your breath, trying to fan the pages dry as you half-walked, half-jogged through the courthouse hallway. You were so focused on your panic that you didn’t notice Casey standing outside the courtroom, arms crossed, watching you with an expression that screamed, of course this is happening.

"Let me guess," Casey drawled, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside you. "You spilled coffee on your briefs again?"

You groaned dramatically. "I prefer to think of it as... making them extra seasoned.”

Casey sighed, long-suffering but amused. She held out her hand, and you reluctantly handed over the damp stack of papers, bracing for whatever level of judgment was about to hit you. But instead of teasing you mercilessly like she definitely had every right to, Casey reached into her own folder and pulled out a pristine, perfectly organized set of your case files.

You blinked. "Wait. Are those..?"

"Copies of your documents? Yeah." Casey smirked as she shoved them into your hands. "Because I knew you'd do something like this. Again."

You gaped at her. "You preemptively fixed my mess? Casey, that’s—"

"Proof that you're a walking disaster?" She grinned. "Yeah, I know."

Your face heated, and you tried to play it cool, but let’s be real, you were failing miserably. "You, uh… you do this a lot, don’t you?"

Casey didn’t even try to deny it. Instead, she reached up and—without hesitation—fixed the buttons of your jacket, smoothing the fabric as she went. "Yeah," she murmured, flicking a bit of lint off your shoulder. "Because if I don’t, I have to watch you walk into court looking like you lost a fight with a filing cabinet. And frankly? That’s painful for both of us."

You swallowed hard, staring at her because who gave her the right to be this effortlessly attractive while bullying you?

"Uh. Thanks," you managed, voice slightly hoarse.

"Anytime," Casey said smoothly, adjusting her own blazer like she hadn’t just sent your brain into overdrive. Then she jerked her head toward the doors. "Now come on. Let’s go win this case before you manage to set yourself on fire or something."

You groaned but followed her in. Because, let’s be honest, she wasn’t wrong.

You were barely five minutes into the trial before you made your first catastrophic mistake.

Casey had just finished her opening argument—polished, professional, effortlessly commanding the room. Then it was your turn. You adjusted your jacket, smoothed out your (miraculously dry) papers, and stepped forward with as much confidence as you could muster.

"Thank you, Your Honor," you began, your voice strong. Then, for some godforsaken reason, your brain shut off mid-sentence and decided to improvise. "Listen, dude..."

A silence fell over the courtroom so heavy you could feel Casey’s soul leave her body beside you.

The judge, an older man with a permanent scowl, slowly removed his glasses, blinking at you like he couldn't believe what he'd just heard.

"I'm sorry," you backpedaled, heat crawling up your neck. "I meant—uh, I meant Your Honor. Not dude. I would never call you dude. That was just—uh, force of habit? My bad. I deeply respect you, sir. Your Honor. Your Honor, sir."

Casey subtly pinched the bridge of her nose. The prosecutor coughed to cover what was definitely a laugh.

The judge just sighed. "Move on, counselor."

You nodded rapidly, trying to pretend that didn’t just happen. But of course, that was only the beginning.

—

About halfway through the trial, things were going surprisingly well. You'd gotten back on track, made some solid arguments, and had only tripped over your own words twice. Casey even seemed vaguely impressed. You started feeling a little cocky.

And then the defendant—the woman on trial for murder, mind you—got up to testify.

She was… well. Objectively speaking, kind of attractive. Sharp cheekbones, piercing eyes, that whole "dangerous and knows it" vibe. Not that it mattered because she was a literal murderer, but your brain, like the absolute traitor it was, decided to acknowledge it anyway.

So of course, when you leaned over to Casey to whisper something strategic, what actually came out was:

"Damn, she's hot."

Casey whipped her head toward you so fast you almost got whiplash by association. "Excuse me?"

You froze. "What?"

"Did you just call the murder suspect—"

"No!" you whisper-hissed. "I mean—technically, yes—but not in, like, a real way—"

Casey stared at you like you were the dumbest person alive. "Shut up and focus," she muttered, clearly trying not to laugh but also visibly questioning every life choice that led to working with you.

—

By the end of the trial, though, you redeemed yourself.

You annihilated the defendant on cross-examination, tearing her story apart so thoroughly she actually got visibly pissed, which made her look so much guiltier. You had the jury eating out of the palm of your hand. Even Casey was looking at you with something dangerously close to admiration.

And then, as you stepped back toward your seat, basking in the high of your total courtroom dominance—

You tripped.

Over nothing.

Face-first, straight to the ground. Papers went flying. Someone in the gallery gasped. The prosecutor actually choked.

And Casey?

Casey covered her mouth with her hand, her shoulders shaking, her eyes twinkling as she leaned down and whispered, "Damn, that was hot."

You groaned into the floor. "I hate you."

She just grinned, reaching down to offer you a hand. "Come on, dude," she teased. "Get up before the judge holds you in contempt of gravity."

Back in your office, you barely had time to close the door behind you before you started your inevitable downward spiral of animated regret.

"Oh my god, Casey," you groaned, running a hand through your hair as you paced dramatically. "That was horrifying. Mortifying. My soul left my body at least twice. I called the judge dude, I made some seriously questionable commentary about a murderer, and then I wiped out in front of the entire courtroom. I am a disgrace to the legal profession. They’re gonna disbar me for sheer incompetence. I can't believe I'm your boss!"

"Breathe," Casey interrupted, leaning against your desk with a smirk. "You won the case. That’s what actually matters. Besides…" She folded her arms, eyes dancing with amusement. "It was entertaining."

You gasped, clutching your chest in fake betrayal. "Entertaining?!"

"Very," she confirmed, grinning.

You groaned again, flopping into your chair like the weight of your own chaos had physically defeated you. "I seriously don’t know how you still have any patience left for me."

Casey tilted her head, pretending to think about it. "Good question," she mused. "I guess you just keep me on my toes. Gotta admit, work would be way less interesting without you around to self-destruct every five minutes."

You shot her a half-hearted glare, but it didn’t last long. Especially when she shifted gears entirely and casually asked, "So, you got any plans this weekend?"

You blinked. "Huh?"

"Weekend," she repeated, giving you a pointed look. "Two days where you ideally don’t embarrass yourself in a courtroom?"

"Oh! Uh—yeah, kinda," you admitted, leaning back in your chair. "Since this DA job is new, I just moved closer to the office, and now my apartment’s basically a mountain of unopened boxes. So, my entire weekend plan consists of unpacking and maybe finally figuring out where the hell I put my coffee maker."

Casey raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like a nightmare."

You flashed her a lopsided grin. "Eh. What can go wrong?"

And then, as if the universe itself had a personal vendetta against you, you somehow managed to poke yourself in the eye while gesturing.

"OH, COME ON!" you yelped, immediately clutching your face as Casey burst into full-blown laughter.

"Unbelievable," she said, shaking her head, though she was clearly enjoying herself far too much. "You are a danger to yourself. How have you survived this long?"

"Honestly?" You winced, blinking rapidly. "Pure luck and stubbornness."

Casey sighed, but there was something way too fond in the way she was looking at you. Then, completely effortlessly, she announced, "Alright. I’ll swing by on Saturday and help you unpack."

You froze. "Wait, what?"

"Saturday," she repeated, like this was just some normal, casual thing and not a mind-blowing turn of events. "I’m coming over. Because if I don’t, you’re probably going to end up trapped under a pile of boxes, and I refuse to be the one to explain that to the paramedics."

You opened your mouth, then closed it again. "You’re willingly offering to spend your day off helping me move in?"

"Yeah." She shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. "And because, let’s be honest! you’ll probably make an even bigger mess if left unsupervised."

You stared at her, trying to process. Trying not to overthink the fact that she wanted to spend her weekend with you. That she was offering, just like that.

"…Casey Novak," you said finally, voice full of exaggerated emotion. "Are we about to become best friends?"

She rolled her eyes, fighting back a smile. "Don’t push it."

You grinned, heart doing something suspiciously warm in your chest.

This weekend was going to be interesting.

[andromeda-starship]

AHH! Yes! I love all the little details and nuances you put into this! I think you so accurately characterized both Matt and Frank in this, including how their unique traumas (and violent coping mechanisms to appease their guilt, giving them a sense of control) affect those around them.

Matt is such a complicated character, and it’s true that without all the explanations and complex that come from the viewer’s omniscience- he’s a difficult book to read. He hid his powers from his best friend for a decade, he lies to everyone, and even though WE know that there are some compelling reasons for those actions- those who are living their lives alongside his own only see the results of his choices, of his traumas, his coping mechanisms, and how he hurts those around him by leaving so much of his past hurt unresolved. Festering within him, poisoning his relationships by limiting his perception to something that is ultimately selfish and self-serving.

Don’t get me wrong- taking in Matt’s experiences in life, it’s somewhat understandable. He lost his father because Jack thought he’d be worth more to Matt dead, leaving him alone and vulnerable, his world on fire. Stick trained him, cruel, cold, and ruthless- then abandoned him when he couldn’t be who he wanted him to be. Elektra, the first person Matt could be himself around 100%, had loved him- but not enough to stay. To not try and force him into being someone he’s not. That he’s worked so hard NOT to become.

I can’t imagine what it was like all those years, lying in bed, hearing every terrible thing hiding in the darkness. That one story of the day he first let the devil in him win, when he beat the father who was touching his daughter at night, after all his other attempts to help failed… How could we fault him? How could we fault him for caring? For doing something when he saw how the system failed the vulnerable? How could we not love the man who had restrained his inner beast for so long, only to snap- now balancing on the unraveling moral tight rope of a line every single night because he couldn’t lie there and do nothing.

The thing is, Matt is a hero to us because he can’t hide it like he does in his own reality. Like he does in all his relationships. So who can blame the reader for her perception of reality when it’s all she knows?

I think with Frank, he is so forthright with his motivations. With his reasoning. He doesn’t hide, he doesn’t lie, he knows who he is. Why he does what he does. And so does everyone else, especially those close enough to see the reality of his broken heart- the one of a loving father and husband. One who lost everything which anchored him. One who decided he had nothing to lose, and took on all the consequences without any hesitation. One who would take on the blame for the reader, because in the end he’s the one who is oh so willing to make the sacrifice.

I think it’s funny how Matt has so many religious themes, but Frank really is a martyr. Matt is reluctant, he can’t take the consequences of his actions, he hides his shame and his confliction behind blistering anger and stubborn pride into everything falls apart. I think it also has to do with their relationships with faith, their ideas of god.

Matt believes.

Frank does not.

Frank sees a chaotic world in an unfeeling universe, sees how the good are hurt by the powerful, and decides to bath in the blood of the unrighteous, wades steadily through as an unwavering force, an angel who smites the wicked- all with his face bare.

Because he is unafraid. He knows what he’s doing has consequences, but that won’t stop him from doing what he feels needs to be done to ease the unbalanced scales of the world we live in. One which Frank sees clearly and accepts as it is- no romanticization. Just the truth.

I think this characterization is really represented so well in how the reader perceived these two men.

Matt is a force of guilt.

Frank is a force of acceptance.

And at some point, you have to let the burden of guilt go, and fall into the loving, unwavering strength found in the open arms of acceptance.

And get a dog with him.

SAME SIN

pairing - frank castle x reader

summary - in your darkest hour, matt doesn't answer the phone. but frank does.

warnings - blood, death, violence, attempted robbery, religious trauma, possible infidelity, matt's lowkey kind of a bitch in this but that's ok, probably deviates from canon at times but fuck it we ball, MDNI 18+

word count - 3.5k

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Blood wept from your fingertips, dripping onto the asphalt.

It had soaked through the man’s shirt. Oozed from the scattered holes in his chest, pooling around his torso. His lungs breathed no air. His eyes didn’t blink, gazing sightless up towards the Heavens. 

Sickness hit in a crushing wave. 

You doubled over, clutching your stomach as bile surged up your throat, burning over your tongue. The gagging continued long after there was nothing left, saliva dribbling from your bottom lip. 

Then there was stillness. 

Not the stillness of calm, or peace. But punishment. Sentencing. The solemn gaze of an all-forgiving Father as he stands before you, stone in-hand.

[To kill is a violation of Faith—] 

{—You or them?} 

The gun had still been smoking when it’d clattered at your feet. 

Regret felt like a wet blanket on your shoulders, suffocating in its weight. You couldn’t stand it.

Couldn’t stand.

Asphalt dug into your knees, crumpling at the man's side. Your hands had been shaking as you grabbed his wrist, searching for a pulse, praying for it in the way a sinner prays for absolution.

You found none. 

No pulse. No absolution. 

Still, you tried. Locked your fingers over his chest—pressing and pressing, trying and trying. Until thick ribs cracked and caved, until your palms were drenched in warmth and death and–

Rain. 

It was raining. 

Little drops, softly pattering all throughout the alleyway. You watched, dazed, as they slid down the lit-up screen in your hands. 

You didn’t remember pulling out your phone, but you remembered making the call. 

Calls. 

In the Bible, the number seven is considered sacred. Symbolic of divine oaths and promises, of perfection in the purest, most angelic sense. 

Seven times you called the Devil. 

Seven times he didn’t answer. 

You tilted your head back. The rain fell faster, cool drops steady rolling down your cheeks. The sky was a yawning, starless expanse. In the past, you’d always said that’s why you hated the city. The lack of stars—veiled by pollution and human selfishness, replaced by a twinkling skyline made of artificial hope. 

But tonight was different. Tonight, you were glad for their absence. 

At least the stars hadn’t seen what you’d done. 

Blood smeared across the phone screen as you dialed your eighth call. A different tone than before; a number not saved but remembered. 

A number you’d promised Matt you’d never call again. 

{In case you ever need it—} 

[—I don’t trust him.] 

What is trust? 

Once, it felt like the comfort of sunlight pouring through stained glass windows. Sitting amidst the oaken pews with a man at your side—a soft man dressed in a sharp suit, his glasses tinted red and his heart pure gold. 

Now, trust felt like the relief of a call that rang only once. Of cold fear melting into the gruff warmth of another’s voice, heavy with concern as they answered: “You alright?” 

You almost laughed. 

No. Of course not—because why would you call Frank Castle if you were anything other than desperate? 

“Are you busy?” you asked, awkward and hesitant. 

In hindsight, the question felt stupid. There was a body lying in front of you, and certainly no amount of busyness took precedence over that. But then, Matt must’ve been busy. Playing dutiful layer or God’s lone soldier. That’s why he hadn’t answered. 

Unless… 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

{—That what we are?} 

On the other end of the line, Frank urged, “C’mon now, doll, you gotta answer me, alright?” Had he asked something? You hadn’t noticed. “Where’re you at?” 

“An alley.” 

A rough, humorless chuckle. “Little more specific, sweetheart.” 

Five blocks from Matt’s apartment, you thought. 

“Off West 51st,” you said. 

“Don’t move.” There was the sound of a door slamming, of boots pounding down a flight of stairs. “I’m on my way.” 

Panic thrashed in your veins, anticipating the sharp click of a call gone dead. “Wait!” A cry, a plea—but for what? You had no clue what to say next. 

You hadn’t told him about the man, or the gun, or the sin. 

And Frank hadn’t asked. You knew this was because the Why? for your call hadn’t mattered to him. 

Only that you had. 

{You call, I come—} 

[—Frank Castle is a murderer.] 

Your eyes squeezed shut. You went to rub them, then remembered the blood dripping from your hands. 

So am I, you thought. So am I. 

Frank said your name. Once, twice. 

Quietly, you asked, “Will you stay on the phone?” 

The sound of another door pushing open, a great whoosh! of air as the city unfolded around him: sirens screaming, traffic blaring. With your eyes closed, you could almost see—shoving from his apartment building, marching down darkened sidewalks with a determined clench in his jaw. 

It wasn’t a man coming to save you, nor a vigilante. 

It was a soldier. 

After drawing in a breath, Frank uttered, “‘Course.” 

Time dragged. 

Hell’s Kitchen droned around you. Occasionally, Frank would ask: You good? to which you replied: How far are you? At some point, you drifted further from the man’s body. Ended up sitting on the ground, your back pressed to a brick wall. 

Your emotions were still fuzzy, as dull as the blunt edge of a knife. But your nerves… those were razor sharp. 

You watched both ends of the alleyway. Vigilant, afraid. Your muscles tensed whenever a car door shut too loud, whenever a stranger passed beneath the distant, buzzing streetlights. 

What if someone noticed? 

Gunshots weren’t such a strange thing in the Kitchen. The Devil couldn’t be everywhere at once, and the cops were either too busy or too lazy to investigate every bang! in the night. 

But if someone noticed you like this—curled on the ground, a dead man at your feet and violent red on your skin… 

He started it, you reminded yourself. Self-defense is absolvable. 

[To a judge? Or to God?—] 

God doesn’t matter. 

[—Why didn’t you call 9-1-1?] 

Why didn’t you answer? 

Your grip tightened around the phone. “How far now?” 

“Check your nine.” In the second it took for you to envision a clock, Frank had already amended, “Left, sweetheart.” There was the barest hint of a smile in his voice. “Look left.” 

You did. 

Frank was little more than a formless figure approaching. He was dressed in all black, his hood up against the rain. You couldn’t see his face, but you didn’t need to. His presence was enough to ease the frantic beat of your pulse. 

When he was close enough to hear, you hung up the phone. Wiped your nose on your sleeve and sniffed, “Took you long enough.” 

Cool and calculating—two descriptors that fit Frank best as he scanned the scene. He took note of the discarded gun, the puddle of watered down blood, the man with three bullets in his chest. 

You were the last thing he noted, and the only one to put a crack in his stern exterior. 

“Smart enough to practice law,” Frank lightly joked, “but not to read a goddamn clock, huh?” 

A laugh sputtered past your lips, melding into a broken sob. 

“Paralegals don’t practice,” you argued, ignoring the tears wetting your cheeks. “And I can read a clock just fine, asshole.” 

There was a softness to his face, one brow raising. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” So long as it’s in front of you, and you’re telling time and not direction. 

Frank hummed, his knees popping as he crouched down beside you. “Well I ain’t got a watch,” he said, “so I guess I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Another weak laugh faded into quiet. 

Then, more hesitant than you’d ever heard him before, Frank asked, “You wanna tell me what happened?” 

Something about the way he said it struck you as odd. Like it was a choice—that you didn’t have to explain. If you wanted, the secrets of tonight could remain just that: Secrets, known only by you and a man who had no voice to share them. 

[Do you remember Psalm 80:9?—] 

Even secret sins are exposed in His light. 

{—How do you deal with it? All Red’s Catholic bullshit?} 

By believing in it. 

Frank took your silence for an answer. Shifted as if he might reach out, offer comfort. Instead, his fingers curled into loose fists. 

“How ‘bout you go wait around the corner,” he offered, “and let me take care of all this?” 

You weren’t sure what Frank’s version of ‘taking care of this’ entailed, but you knew you were comfortable with never finding out. 

Frank followed suit as you pushed off the ground. His movements were precise and easy, while yours were graceless and weighted. Standing, the world seemed to shift beneath your feet. Your mind was still hazy, your bones tired. 

Existence had become an arduous task. 

“When you’re… done,” you managed, your arms curled tight around your waist, “what then?” 

You didn’t want to go home—or to Matt’s. 

You didn’t want to feel alone. 

As if he understood this, Frank simply answered, “I’ll take you back to my place. Get you cleaned up, let you rest awhile.” His head tilted slightly. “You like pizza?” 

The world was ending. 

And yet here stood Frank—no Bible quotes or Hail Mary’s, no judgement for the sin you’d committed or the mess he had to clean. He offered only calm, only patience—and pizza of all things. 

[What do you see in him?—] 

{—Let me take care of all this.} 

You nodded. 

Frank’s apartment was bleak. 

One room total—unless you counted the cramped shoebox of a bathroom, which you did not. The front door opened into a shoddy kitchenette, connected to a living room that clearly doubled as his bedroom. 

He owned minimal furnishings. There was a lumpy couch, a small table with one chair, an old doormat that read Stay Awhile! except the Awhile had been all but completely rubbed off. You assumed that’s why it was inside instead of out—because even indirectly, Frank Castle wasn’t the type to ask anyone to Stay. 

Behind you, Frank grunted as he kicked his boots off onto the mat. You wondered if you should do the same, but didn’t. 

It felt strange to be in Frank’s apartment. Not because it made you uncomfortable, but because it didn’t. You felt fine. Still shaken, still a little sick—but safe. 

Would Matt be able to tell? Would he smell the gunpowder and Old Spice clinging to your skin and know that you’d been with Frank? 

That’s how you knew when he’d been with Elektra. You didn’t need super senses to smell her perfume—a heady mix of cloves and something citrus, lingering on his shirts as plain as if it were lipstick on the collar. 

Unthinking, you said, “You should get a bird.” 

Frank chuckled. “Yeah? And why’s that?” 

You weren’t sure. It was just the first thing that had come to mind, a means of evicting Elektra from your thoughts. 

“It could liven the place up,” you suggested. Though, after taking another glance around, you realized that might be asking too much of one little bird. 

He’d need a flock. 

Frank slipped past you, warmth crawling up your spine at the slight brush of his hand against your back. You told yourself it was unintentional—no more intimate than someone scooting past you in a crowded bar or a grocery store aisle. 

Still, the warmth lingered. 

“Don’t think I’m much of a bird guy,” Frank admitted from the kitchenette. Then, nodding towards the couch, he added, “Sit.” 

You drifted that way and sank into the cushions. The springs were practically nonexistent, and the brown leather peeled like a bad sunburn—impossible not to pick at. 

“What kind of guy are you, then?” you asked, more interested in a distraction than his answer. 

Frank dug around in the cabinets, grabbed a plastic mixing bowl, and went to the sink. “I like dogs,” he told you, loud enough to be heard over the running water filling the bowl. 

You pretended not to hear him anyway. 

After starting at Nelson & Murdock, you’d planned to get a dog. It seemed like the right time. You had your own place, your own income—and you knew Foggy would love having something cute and furry around the office. But then you got closer to Matt, and the dream died before it ever began. 

Dogs were too much for Matt. Too many smells, too many sounds, too many textures. Back then, you’d thought it was a reasonable sacrifice. No dog in exchange for an incredible boyfriend. 

You knew better now. 

You should’ve picked the dog. 

Dragging the lone chair from the table, Frank settled in front of you with the bowl of steaming water and a thin cloth. His eyes went straight to your hand. You assumed it was because of the dried blood until he said, “You’re fucking up my couch.” 

You stopped picking, dusting the flakes of leather onto the floor. “It was already fucked,” you defended. 

“So you gotta make it worse?” 

You fixed him with a blank stare. “Nothing could make this couch worse.” Short of setting it on fire, that is. 

“That how we’re gonna play this?” Frank looked like he was holding in a laugh. “I let you in, offer you food—and you pay me back by talkin’ shit about my couch?” 

“It’s not just the couch,” you stated plainly. “It’s the whole apartment.” 

It reminded you of prison—a place that you, Foggy, and Matt had worked hard to keep Frank out of. Even if the trial hadn’t gone as expected, you hated the idea that all that fight had been for this: A peeling couch, a faded doormat, a lonely little chair. 

Frank deserved better than that. 

[Have you forgotten?—] 

[Castle was charged with 37 counts of murder] 

[—Why are you so attached to this case?] 

With the bowl balanced on top of his legs, Frank dipped the cloth in and wrung it out as he joked, “Guess I need that bird.” 

Your lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. 

“Guess so.” 

Frank held out an open palm. Without thinking, you laid your hand against his. 

The water was too hot. Not quite burning, but still uncomfortable as he pressed the cloth to your wrist. But you didn’t flinch, utterly motionless as he wiped in slow, circular motions. 

His touch was far lighter than you’d imagined. 

Not that you ever had imagined it. 

As the cloth moved down to your fingers, Frank’s focus grew more intent. He was meticulous in cleaning every line of your knuckles, the dried blood caked under your nails. 

Only when the water in the bowl had turned the color of rust, the cloth stained and your skin spotless, did Frank trade one of your hands for the other. 

Only then did you confess. 

“He had a knife.” 

Half a second—that’s how long Frank’s movements faltered before he kept on cleaning. You were thankful he didn’t try to look you in the eye. That he didn’t have to for you to know he was listening. 

“Foggy has a deposition in the morning,” you continued shakily. “He always forgets to print his motion, so I stopped by the office to do it for him and… I don’t know. On the way back home, I could just feel it, you know? That someone was there. That they were following me.” 

An understanding nod as Frank moved the cloth to your index finger. 

“I know it’s stupid,” you told him. “But I thought if I cut through the alley, got closer to Matt’s, then–” 

He’d hear it, if the worst happened. The Devil would come. Your boyfriend—if you could even still call him that—would save you. 

But that had been a stupid, childish thought. 

“I figured I could lose,” you said instead. “That I could turn the corner and just run in circles until he gave up. But he was fast. I wasn’t even halfway down the alley when he ran up behind me, when grabbed my shoulder and–” 

Your breath caught. Frank’s touch moved slower, gentler—a feat you wouldn’t have thought possible. His eyes caught yours in a concerned glance. Only then did you remember how to breathe. 

“It was just a knife, Frank. A knife—and I pulled out a gun!” A short, hollow laugh. “I should have let him rob me,” you rationalized. “At least a wallet can be replaced. But him, his life–” 

Frank cut you off. “How do you know?” 

Your brows furrowed in answer. 

His hand went still against yours, holding the cloth wrapped around your ring finger. “That that’s all he wanted,” Frank gruffly clarified. “To rob you.” 

“I don’t, but–” 

“You remember what I told you? When I taught you how to shoot?” 

{You or them?—}

Frustrated, you insisted, “It’s not that easy, Frank. It’s not my choice!” 

[—It’s up to God, who lives and who dies.] 

Frank shook his head. “That’s the Catholic in you,” he argued. 

“I’m not Catholic,” you snapped, low but harsh. Frank looked confused, and you fought to keep the shame from your voice as you muttered, “Not anymore.” 

Religion, you’ve learned, is a funny sort of thing. Even when you stop believing, it never truly goes away. God becomes a ghost under your skin, a divine haunting that borders on insanity. You will always think in terms of Sinners and Saints. You will always know that no amount of repentance will ever mold your soul into something more like the latter. 

Frank wasn’t the type to pry any further. 

Instead, he adjusted your hand. Carefully dragged the cloth along the curve of your fingernail. The water had cooled, now too cold where it was once too hot. 

“It doesn’t matter what he was going to do,” you decided. “It only matters that I killed him.” 

This time, it was Frank’s breath that hitched. 

“No you didn’t,” he said, and you had never heard someone tell a lie so matter-of-fact. 

“I did–” 

He looked up. A muscle feathered in his jaw, and when he spoke, it was with the steely resolve of a no nonsense Marine.  

“No. I did.” 

You blinked at him. 

“I gave you that gun,” he continued. “Gave you that goddamn advice, too. That no matter what, you always gotta pick you. And see, I don’t regret that shit either because all that? It kept you alive. Kept you breathing. And if some no-good prick’s gotta so you get to live? Fine. Good.” 

You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but stare at him. 

“But if someone’s gotta bear the weight of that guy’s miserable life,” Frank told you, “then let it be me, alright?” His gaze fell, lingering on your lips a moment too long before he uttered, “‘Cause I ain’t gonna let it be you.” 

[You care about him—]

[—Don’t you?] 

Do you care about her? 

[Elektra’s just a friend—] 

… 

[—Can you say the same about Frank?] 

You studied the man before you. 

Frank Castle. The Punisher. 

The one you shouldn’t call, shouldn’t trust. A murderer and a felon, a crack in your already crumbling relationship. Someone you tried to stay away from, tried to forget. 

A number not saved, but remembered. 

No, you thought, and wondered if Matt already knew. I can’t. 

Swallowing, you looked down at your joined hands. The blood was almost all gone now, washed away by someone far more damned than you. 

“Okay,” you said. There was no need to say anything else, no need to keep bearing the crushing weight of your newly acquired sin—not when God was a ghost and the Devil had abandoned you, not when a Soldier was so willing to bear it for you. 

“You know,” you said, deftly changing the subject, “my brain’s a little hazy, but I’m pretty sure you promised me pizza.” 

Frank fought the subtle curve of his lips. “Did I?” 

You nodded, and he chuckled. 

“Fine–” he refocused, back to cleaning off the last of the blood–“but you’re placin’ the order.” 

You mocked him, Fine!, while sliding your phone from your pocket. The screen lit up with two missed calls and one text. 

Matthew: Sorry, got caught up with something. Everything OK? 

Your thumb hovered over the message. 

In the Bible, the number eight is symbolic of many things. Resurrection is one of them; something dead brought back into eternal life. Once, you would’ve seen Matt’s text—a string of eight words—and wondered if that meant something. If maybe there was something left of your love to be resurrected. 

Now, you stole a glance at Frank—your eighth call—and thought of new beginnings. Of choosing your own path. 

You cleared Matt’s message. 

Tapped on the Safari icon and asked, “Do you want somewhere specific?” 

“Ever been to Lombardi’s?” suggested Frank. 

You shook your head. “Is it good?” 

Frank cut you a look. “‘Course it’s good. But knowin’ you, you’ll probably shit talk it the same way you did my couch.” 

A smile tugged at your lips. “Keep it up,” you teased, already typing the restaurant into the search, “and your only company’s gonna be the couch and the bird.” 

He chuckled. “I ain’t gettin’ a bird.” 

You'd just pressed the phone to your ear, already listening to it ring when you built up the nerve to ask, "What about a dog?"

Frank set the cloth in the bowl. Gave your hand a gentle squeeze. 

“Maybe a dog.”

a/n - this has been sitting in my drafts literally since january. i can't decide if i like it or hate it, but i've gotten into too much of a habit of writing, overthinking, and then never posting---so, here it is! thank you to anyone who takes the time to read it <3

[yeonmuse]

SYNOPSIS — Park Sunghoon doesn’t usually like involving himself with those at Chaconne academy, but when he finds out his little sister’s music teacher attends and she starts getting a little too close she forces him to let his guard down. Now he’s gotta juggle new people and new emotions entering his life and she’s got to face her past in order to hold tight to him and her future.

ᥫ᭡ f!reader x Park Sunghoon ── 𝒢enre. Uni au. fluff, angst non idol enha. feats. ot7 [reqs are closed] ᝰ.ᐟ 𝓁ibrary 🎻

⍣ ೋ AUTHORS NOTES . Strong angst themes, slow burn but mostly fluff. I’m not sure where this idea had come from considering I have 4 unfinished series out right now but I wrote this in 4 days so lets fucking go i guess??? Includes Choi Yeonjun, Bae Jinyoung, Kim Sunwoo, Jung Wooyoung, Shen Ricky, Xu Jiaqi and Asaya Jurin. Wc is 4.1k

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | ENDING

After what felt like the longest weekend ever you’d finally be starting your official first day. It had been nice getting to know Jurinand the others but now it was time to actually get to work, you were sure your father had worked hard to get you into the school and you wouldn't waste the opportunity. While you were making your way down campus, heading towards building A you tried your best to follow the steps you’d previously taken with Sunwoo. You had eventually made it to the entrance when the man himself had also been entering the building the same time as you.

“Well look at you made it all the way here without me i'm impressed.” he teases

“Yes yes, once I finally seemed to learned that it’s literally just a straight shoot from the girls dorms.’’ you being annoyed at yourself for finally having come to that obvious realization earns a laugh from him.

“Well after you then.’’ He opens the door allowing you to slip inside, you’d found that you both had been heading in the same direction so it only made sense that the two of you would walk together. You’d been completely invested in the conversion, so invested you failed to recognize the person blocking your path in the hall. Before you knew it your body collided with a broad back sending you straight to your ass, though some people did choose to mind their business and just pass up the two of you in the hall a few onlookers observed the scene.

‘Fuck this is so embarrasing.’ you thought to yourself as you looked up to apologize to the person you’d bumped into only moments ago, your eyes widened as they landed on none other than Park Sunghoon, the guy you'd met only yesterday. As Sunwoo helped you up you stood up dusting your clothes. At first you said nothing but neither did Sunghoon, you’d been too busy struggling to find the words to say. Sunghoon on the other hand, as shocked as he was to see you, just chose to remain as stoic as ever. Last night he’d told himself that maybe you weren’t so bad, that maybe you were someone good for his sister ( maybe also good for him) but seeing you here at this school of all places he was starting to think he was wrong.

“I’m sor-” before the words could properly leave your mouth both him and his friends had already walked away, leaving you standing in the middle of the hall watching him leave like an idiot.

“Well you met Sunghoon. I wouldn’t dwell on what happened just now too much, he acts like an ass with everyone here.”

But dwell you did, you spent the entire day thinking about the interaction. Did you say something wrong friday night? Or maybe it was that he didn’t remember you? You’d spent the entire day thinking about what you could have possibly done wrong for him to just completely ignore you and walk away.

Eventually the time came for your next lesson with Yoari and she’d been excited to see you, her brother on the hand not so much. You’d greeted him as you caught him walking up the stairs when you entered the house. A greeting he had simply chosen to ignore which made you slightly disappointed.

“I want to show you what I practiced.’’ Yoari instantly takes your hand into her own and drags you to the scene room where the two of you had practiced days prior. Yoari had practiced so much over the weekend while you were gone she had been more than excited to show off everything she learned from you. You found it endearing, not only did she learn fast but it was obvious that she had a passion for music, it reminded you a lot of yourself when you were younger. Taking a momentary pause as you spotted Sunghoon making his way into the kitchen, you allowed Yoari to take a short break, pushing yourself up from your seat and you decided to join him in the kitchen. When you’d stepped in and opened your mouth to speak you realized you hadn’t exactly thought through what it was you wanted to say to him, so you simply stood there in silence until he decided to break it himself.

“Shouldn’t you be with Yoari?’’

“Well yea but I just- I didn’t know that you went to Chaconne..? Earlier I didn’t mean to-”

“You should get back to my sister. My parents pay you to teach her not to talk to me.’’ and with those words he left you standing there.

That night you went home feeling worse than when you had arrived there. You weren't sure what you had done to piss off Sunghoon but it bothered you nonetheless.

Eventually Jurinand Jiaqi joined you where you sat in the living room with a pout on your face and bowl of ramen in hand.

“What’s got you so pouty?’’ Jurin questions as she takes a seat next to Jiaqi, flattening out the face mask on her face before taking a handful of Jiaqis popcorn.

“Do you guys know Sunghoon?’’

“Uh as in Park? Sunghoon Park?’’

“Yes? I teach his little sister music and I thought that he was warming up to me a little before I left their house Friday, but today we bumped into each other in the hall and he just completely ignored me like he didn’t even recognize me. Then today when I went over for Yoaris lesson he just completely shut me down.’’

“Oh honey, he’s like that with everyone. You’re no different than anyone else on this campus he completely ignores.” Jurin responds before stuffing her mouth with popcorn.

“What do you mean?’’

“Other than Jake and Jay he doesn’t talk to anyone, no matter who flirts, no matter how many party invites he gets he doesn't accept. He’s been like that since he came to the school. Don’t know if he’s one of those loner types or if he’s just a dick but it’s not even worth figuring it out. I wouldn’t think too much about it’’

-

A week had gone by since then, you’d go to Sunghoons place every day for the lessons. Yoari had grown so used to you coming over and being there that she’d often stand right outside the door and wait for your arrival. Your lessons had become the highlight of her days and yours as well. And though Sunghoon wouldn’t admit it he’d gotten used to you being there as well. Though the atmosphere between the two of you had been quite tense lately, Sunghoon would occasionally come down to eat with you and Yoari or watch her play, you’d even see him crack a smile every now and then at the smallest of interactions between you and his sister. Even though Sunghoon was still completely unsure about you he knew one thing for sure, you made his sister happy and for that he was grateful to you.

Sunghoon had now been so accustomed to you having been there that he even let Yoari convince him to wait outside with her, five minutes turned to ten and ten turned to twenty. Eventually Yoari realize you weren’t coming and Sunghoon was finally able to convince her to come inside. Seeing the disappointment on his sister's face, Sunghoon wasn’t sure what to think. Right when he had begun to warm up to you again you’d bailed.

-

The next day at school Sunghoon had found himself unintentionally looking for you, he’d only been snapped back to his senses once Jake and Jay had arrived.

“Were you expecting someone or something?.....Did you finally ask out Yuna?’’ Jay can’t help but snort at Jake's instant need to jump to conclusions.

“I was looking for the two of you you idiot.’’

“Oh how sweet he missed us.’’ Jake teases, making kissy faces at Sunghoon at which Jay just shakes his head and Sunghoon pushes his face away.

“Anyways are we still on for tonight?’’ Jay interrupts, pushing Jake off to the side.

“That depends is your cousin Jungwon still coming down from seoul.’’

“He’ll be down with a few friends of his, Niki and Sunoo I think.”

“Well yeah we’re still on, other than my sisters music teacher my parents will be gone so the house is ours.’’

“Your sister has a music teacher? Why didn’t they just ask you or Jay?’’ Jake questions earning a shrug from Jay.

“Some bullshit about wanting me to pay attention to my own studies.’’

“Well is the teacher hot, wait is she on the older side. You know what it doesn’t even matter if she’s both?’’

“Dude?’’

“What? For all we know she could be old and wrinkly.’’ While Jay and Jake continued to go back and forth their voices had eventually drowned out into background noise as Sunghoon got lost in his thoughts once again. Thoughts of you and how you had already disappointed his sister once yesterday night.

He’d expected his sister to already be waiting outside the door as he arrived home, yet she wasn’t. In fact she wasn’t home at all. He found his mom sitting at the island counter of the kitchen, laptop placed in front of her and phone to her ear as she munched on a bowl of grapes. As he stood on the other side digging his own hand into the bowl his mom gave him an adorning smile before finishing up her call.

“Hi sweetheart, how were your classes.’’ Sunghoon shrugs in response, giving her the same answer as usual. “They were okay.’’

“Wheres Yoa, I thought she had a lesson?’’

“Of course your father didn’t tell you, He took your sister out to get a few things for yn.’’ Sunghoons brow furrowed in confusion.

“What?”

“Yn called in sick yesterday, we told her to take a few days off until she was feeling better and Yoari wanted to get her some things to cheer her up.’’ There Sunghoon was feeling like a complete asshole, He’d been ready to judge her again, thinking she simply just bailed on Yoari when in reality she wasn’t even feeling well enough to show up.

Now there Sunghoon stood outside your dorm, his sister's hand in his after having been forced to cancel his plans and take his sister to give you all the things she had bought and made for you.

-

You had been locked in the confined space of your room, as Jiaqi wouldn't allow you to step out of bed to do anything other than pee. The last two days have been completely miserable for you. Stuffy nose, sneezing and coughing, headaches, fevers and throwing up almost non stop. You’d felt so terrible for having to call and cancel on Yoari but Jiaqi and Jurin had refused to let you step foot out of the dorm the moment they found out you were sick.

A knock at the door followed by Jurins loud screaming down the hall woke you from your sleep.

“I got it, it might be Yeonjun and Wooyoung with the-’’ She stops mid sentence upon seeing none other than Park Sunghoon outside the door.

“Did they bring the movies.’’ Jiaqi asks, making her way to the door only to freeze on an instant upon seeing Sunghoon.

“Hi is yn here!?’’ Yoari asks, pulling Jurin and Jiaqis gaze off of Sunghoon and onto her.

You hadn’t known if the sick brain had finally gotten to you and you were full on hallucinating or if you’d actually heard what sounded to you like Yoaris voice coming from the living room. Poking your head out the doorway, only then did you realize that not only was Yoari here but so was Sunghoon.

“Yn!’’ Before they could even be invited in, Yoaris hand slips from Sunghoon and she runs inside immediately running to you, catching each of you by surprise. You and her sat in your room for an hour, Yoari having shown off everything she made for you and brought you to feel better. She had even gotten Sunghoon to record videos of her practicing in just those two days you hadn’t been there. Sunghoon on the other hand just sat on the couch quietly unsure what to say to you or the other two girls that had also been watching the videos of her playing. It went without saying that although they couldn't say the same for her brother, the girls were completely smitten by Yoari. Another knock at the door interrupts them, this knock being who all of you assumed to be Yeonjun and the others. As Jiaqi gets up to let them in Sunghoon found that as the perfect excuse to leave.

“We should get going Yoari, we should let her rest.’’ he interrupts, earning a pout from Yoari who hadn’t been done telling you about how she’d learned two new songs while you were away.

“But i’m not dome showing her.’’ At that time the others came flooding in, all of them seemingly just as confused as Jurin and Jiaqi had been when they first saw Sunghoon standing outside the door. Jurin gave a look that said I’ll explain this all later before looking at Sunghoon.

“You and Yoari are welcome to stay, we were just about to eat dinner and watch movies, today's disney night, since Yeonjun won Uno last night.’’ Sunghoon was confused as to what the correlation between the two topics had been but he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Before he could open his mouth to refuse his sister interrupts.

“Can we please!?’’ He couldn’t say no to her, he could never tell his sister no, no matter what it was she asked of him. So that was exactly how he ended up spending his night eating and watching disney movies with you and your friends, a night he’d actually come to enjoy.

Eventually everyone had returned to their dorms, Sunghoon finding himself being one of the last ones there and the only one awake. Jurin and Jiaqi had passed out on the floor and as his eyes fell upon you he found you fast asleep wrapped in the blanket Yoari had gotten you. Yoari had been clinging to your side, her head resting on your shoulder as she slept peacefully. It was then that Sunghoon realized he was royally fucked. He could no longer avoid being close to you because you were starting to mean something to Yoari, and though he didn’t realize it yet you’d soon mean something to him too

🔖 @jwonistic @bubblytaetae @pkjay @heesallure @planetmarlowe @dreeki @butterflywonz @lillotus17 @squiishymeow @river-demon-slayer @sol3chu @st4rryst4r @firstclassjaylee @right-person-wrong-time @riribelle @gaytron3000 @heesunghooney @i03jae @blackhairandbangs @sunooqvrlsx @addictedtohobi @enaile23 @ivyvioletcarson @kristynaaah @starbyeol1512 @tinyteezer @jkslvsnella @brianashiftz @starbyeol1512

[lightningant]

I am 100% team Tomarry and don't really like Tomione, but if somehow Harry is not in the picture and you have to ship Tom with a Golden Trio member, it's gotta be the brightest witch of her age.

Harry's got the narrative mirror, Parseltongue, magic power and of course his cute look going for him when it comes to Tom.

Hermione cleans up rather well (why do you think jock extraordinaire Victor Krum wanted to date her) and is very intelligent and has 10 OWLs

Ron is very unremarkable. He is a an every man. Nothing special to look at, not very bright, no great power. Just a good guy.

A guy we see at pubs complaining about his bitchy boss, receding hair lines, problems with the missus.

Hard to imagine a guy like that with a very powerful, very pretty homme fatale like Tom.

Who are you people. Have you not ever been in a relationship

Hermione isn't "smart" - she has an absolutely prodigious memory. "Brightest witch of her age" means this is a precocious skill. This also has absolutely nothing to do with Tom's values. Tom is a creative maelstrom; pretty much all we hear about Voldemort magic-wise is how he keeps inventing crazy spells. The person who's closest to him, Snape, shares this trait (hence my fervent belief they had some doomed daddy issues mentorship situation). What do we know about Hermione? That she HAAAAATES magical creativity. That she's terrible at applying her knowledge - the evil coin she made is an expression of an advance in her understanding of the subject (she's learning and evolving!), but also a straightforward use. She brings her school textbooks with her to self-soothe.

Personality-wise, you could not find a worse pair. Hermione has a strong justice drive (not moral fibre, I mean that insane substrate of stubbornness where you embody a holy war on your beliefs even if you're objectively and obviously wrong) and detests creativity, so Tom's villainy is irrelevant; she's going to be annoyed and horrified by his genius and have strong opinions on it. She is going to complain constantly. She is going to backseat drive his innovations.

Do you think Tom would enjoy a posh muggleborn who obviously comes from money going "UM, ACTUALLY" over his shoulder? Do you think he will enjoy her starting squabbles to vent her own frustrations? Do you think he would appreciate her aimless moral crisis of "oh, look at how everyone treats that elf - shouldn't we do something?" Where she doesn't even bother to listen to the elves on their abuse. If she heard about Tom's background, she is likely to find him pitiful! Do you think he'd appreciate a little rich girl who goes home to her muggles expressing simpering pity? Who buys into his self-mythology and thus believes his mask? Who has to personally bear the burden of him accruing social capital by expressing his desire to hatecrime her. Who's true feelings would probably be to cut her off from her muggle family entirely.

Why do people date to you? To stand next to each other attractively? This isn't even a dangerous toxic couple because Hermione's only power in this relationship is being a nag. I want to attend a women's march just thinking about it.

I would say "go Snamione like a normal person at least their incompatibility is grounds for an opposites attract relationship" but you people think he is ugly and try to squeeze thrill like blood from a rock with teacher/student regardless, which makes them less compelling and again puts Hermione in a position of a demeaned and devalued woman...what must be done to save this woman?

Speaking of opposites attract, is it not obvious a homme fatale like Tom might worry at normality like a loose tooth?

First, Ron's not a balding pubcrawler. He is a househusband. His primarily occupation at all times is being somebody's favourite. He spent so long with Lavender despite being in love with Hermione for a reason. He gets mad at Harry for "putting his name in the Goblet" because this is a conspiracy he could have roped Ron in on, and to not rope him in on it implies he is devalued in comparison to fame and popularity, which separated him from his brothers.

Speaking of brothers, Ron has spent his entire life with the brightest wizards of not just their age but their era; the only wizards we hear as prodigious as Bill, successful as Charlie, as academic as Percy, or as creative as Fred&George are famous, James & Sirius, or Tom Riddle. Tom's genius and good looks are very familiar territory to Ron, and this time he's not even a competitor for his mum's love. Being an accomplished homme fatale is going to hit different on someone like Ron, who is only impressed by quidditch. (This is why Ronarry is real btw)

And as a couple: Ron is also a big picture thinker and strategist. One of his unusual skills is in wizard chess, but he applies that way of thinking to relationships. He's the Heart. Ron tends to scale down the obsessive tendencies of both Harry and Hermione, and even acts as a pillow for Hermione to punch with her petty complaints as it helps her decompress her obsessive focus - Harry finds Hermione exhausting without Ron there.

What would Tom see in a man who doesn't see his godhood as natural yet intuitively understands how impressive he is? Who knows what it means to budget and go without? Who has a big family which, in an AU circumstance, could absorb Tom, appreciate him, find him like-minded? (The screaming row when Tom first starts stealing his whole family would be legendary. Regardless.) Who could pull Tom away from his tendency to obsess over things, who could look at Tom's narrow-minded plotting with a broader viewpoint, and most importantly, who could see every layer of who he truly is and find it worthwhile - something Tom spent his entire lifetime chasing - and ask only that Tom treasured him above all else? Who is simple, loyal, and easily pleased enough that he is someone who can be trusted, accommodated, and included on misadventures without any friction whatsoever? Who gives him a little kissy after a bad day and gets mad and doubles down when questioned on his values?

He has seen his heart and it is his! And honestly? Likewise with Ron!

Tom's next ship down from Harry is Bella and the next ship sideways is Ron and you can show me all the dark academia Pinterest boards you want, you are never going to convince me otherwise.

[familyoftwo]

"Please, tell me what to do-" Lucas begged his mother. He couldn't be trusted to make this choice. What if he chose wrong? Everything that happens from here on out would be his fault. And no matter what happened, he wasn't sure he could deal with that responsibility. He wants to act like an adult, yes. But he is just a child. And how is a child supposed to choose between their sister and their parents?

"You would... she'd be safe with you.. right? He can't take her from me. You wouldn't let him.." The boy looked up at Calondra. Could she really stop him, though? He wants to believe she can.

Closing his eyes, trying to listen to his heart. Which direction was it puling him? Home to safety? To his parents? Or to Tobi, his sister that he promised to always protect? It's an impossible choice. And what if he leaves, and Blake doesn't kill her? Or he stays and she dies anyway in the future..? How could ge decide when there were so many ifs and buts? "It's not working... My brain and my heart aren't working..."

But that wasn't really true. Because there were this constant little voice in his head telling him that if he didn't take this chance, there would never be another. And if he was fast enough. Clever enough. Maybe he could save them all before Blake could even think about hurting his Tobi.

At the lack of shock and fear, Lucas knew she must've already known this. Part of him knew it too, he thought. That's why he got scared to leave her here, wasn't it? He had shrugged it off as being overprotective. But clearly, it was more than that.

"I don't know what to do... if I stay, we might be stuck here forever. Or until he decides to kill either one of us. I'll never see my dads ever again.." it felt as if his heart had actually broken at that. "But if I leave, I... She might not be here to save." The teen whimpered. Glad that Calondra had pulled him back towards her. Leaning against her as much as he could.

"How am I supposed to make that choice?" Lucas whispered. Looking up at his mom. Almost wishing she could make the choice for him. Tell him what to do.

[myheadsgonenumb]

I know a lot of people accuse the marauders fandom of being misogynistic because of the way they pair male characters together and sideline female characters to do it. And maybe there is an element of truth in that for some people.

But I see wolfstar and remadora being used as an example of this - as if the wolfstar ship hadn't existed for four years before Tonks was introduced to the readership, as if it wasn't six years old before remadora was introduced, as if it isn't perfectly reasonable that readers read Tonks as queer coded before she was straight jacketed into being a stepford wife and as if remadora was a well seeded and compelling relationship that anyone might feasibly have any interest in.

I don't like Tonks - not because she's a woman, but because she knocks things over and says "wotcher", and there is no excuse for that. She is an irritating character that adds nothing to the narrative. But even so, if Remadora had played out differently, I could have got on board with it. I want Remus to be happy - and if Tonks is what makes him happy, so be it. I like Romione and Hinny, after all. I'm fine with canon ships where it's clear the characters like each other. But married Remus isn't happy, and it is not clear that he and Tonks like each other at all.

I am a wolfstar shipper, but even if I wasn't, I wouldn't like Remadora. I unashamedly love the HP books and there is very little that I will criticise them over, but Remadora is one of those things, and this is why.

Remadora is a hot, toxic and abusive mess but it's her not him.

Whether she likes his reasons or not, whether the readers or the fucking Weasleys like his reasons or not, Remus is entitled to his boundaries. He does not want to be in a relationship with her because he believes it is a bad idea. He knows, better than any of them, what his life is really like; the toll the prejudice he faces takes on him and how this will impact Tonks' life. And he doesn't want to be responsible for that - and that's fair enough.  

So he says "no" a million times (actual quote) and removes himself from the situation. Which is the mature and sensible thing to do.

She doesn't accept it. For a start - he shouldn't have had to keep repeating his "no", that is enough to tell us she is repeatedly forcing the issue, that she doesn't respect his answer or his feelings and is not listening to him. She thinks that because she loves him despite his condition that that is enough. He is old enough to know the reality of their life together will be far more complicated than that and recognises that he does not want it (and fears that eventually neither will she).    

But she won’t listen and she won't respect his decision and so she goes around airing their dirty laundry in public, getting his friends to side with her and agree he is being "ridiculous" (again - actual quote). She is losing her powers over him and no - that is not him draining the life out of her, as I have seen said - that is her being a melodramatic twat. She is not the first person to be unlucky in love, her reaction is what is ridiculous. Meanwhile, Remus is being the grown up and getting on with his life. Yes he's going out of his way to avoid her (which is proving necessary as she won't let their relationship lie) but it's still necessary work and it’s work only he can do. The fact that he might be relieved to have an excuse to get away from her speaks to her bad behaviour not his.  

She changes her patronus to match his and this is just so... everything that is wrong with them and with her encapsulated.  For a start, we only see two sets of exactly matching patronuses in HP - Remadora and Snily, both examples of unrequited, thwarted love. Healthy relationships might have complementary patronuses, but relationships where one person's patronus assumes the shape of another's suggests that one person is being subsumed by the other. And yet this is not a relationship or level of control that either Remus or Lily are interested in having, so it is a sign - not of control or abuse from them - but of how obsession is eroding Tonks' and Snape's core selves. But that isn't the fault of the person they are obsessed with.

The remadora example is far far worse though, because a doe doesn't have any special significance to Lily, that is just the shape her patronus is. Remus's is a wolf. He hates that, and chooses to cast an incorporeal patronus when he can. Being a werewolf is his greatest source of pain and shame, and he sees his patronus as an extension of that, almost of it outing his condition. Tonks - the absolutely fuckwitted stalker that she is - bears absolutely none of that in mind, changes her patronus and blithely casts it around to all and sundry to deliver messages. She is taking Remus's darkest, most shameful, most secret part of himself and using it to wizard text. And she doesn't even get why that's a problem. It just shows that he is correct in believing that she doesn't understand the reality of his situation and is not ready for it; she doesn't appreciate or respect the toll it takes on his life and frankly she doesn't respect his feelings (which we already knew from her not accepting his "no").         

It all comes to a head when Dumbledore dies. Remus loses control of his emotions at this point, and Harry is so startled that he thinks of it being "indecent" to see Remus vulnerable like this. Remus is not just grieving Dumbledore, he is processing the fact that without Dumbledore the war is lost; Voldemort will win; everything has been vain and the whole world is going to tumble into darkness. Every sacrifice he has made, Sirius, Lily, James - it's all been for nothing. That is where he is at that moment.

And fucking Tonks - fucking Tonks -  makes it about her and their relationship. And it’s not just that she corners him when he is at his most vulnerable. But she does it publicly, in front of their friends, in front of the kids. She grabs hold of his robes and physically shakes him. She physically shakes him . If he had physically shaken her we would not be having a discussion on if she was unreasonable to not want to marry him.

Even at this moment, he tries to stand his ground, He knows what is right. He knows getting married is the wrong thing for them to do. But she won't back down and all their friends back her. It's unbelievable.

And he is a weak man. He knows it, we know it, and he never claimed to be anything else.  Under this much pressure, he gives in. But he later says it was done very much "against {his} better judgement". He was co-erced into marriage- both emotionally and eventually physically.

So - yeah - Tonks gets pregnant. There are many clues throughout the books that the wizarding world is a no sex before marriage society and that they don't have contraception. Babies often follow hot on the heels of marriage. Should Remus have refused to consumate the marriage he entered against his will? Probably. Would Tonks have accepted that? Hell no! She'd have been back round Molly Weasley's for "tea and sympathy", telling the whole Weasley clan he won't shag her.  Having gone through with marriage, despite his misgivings, he gives in and goes through with it all. And Tonks gets pregnant.

And she is delighted. Because despite his fears of what this will mean for the child - Tonks couldn't care less. Remus says they don't know if the baby will be a werewolf or not. werewolves don't have kids. She is bringing a child into the world who could have a chronic, debilitating illness that will make them a pariah, and she doesn't even care. She doesn't think it's a problem. She thinks love will be enough, because she has no actual understanding of what she is dealing with, and shows no interest in gaining that understanding. She thinks "I don’t care” (about her family being werewolves) is the answer to the problem.

Meanwhile, Remus is spiralling into depression because he is facing the reality of the prejudice his condition is now forcing on his wife and child, He cannot take the guilt of how he is going to negatively impact their lives. And while Tonks is within her rights to say she doesn't care about that, Remus is within his rights to say the guilt is too much for him and he doesn't want that. He is entitled to his boundaries and his feelings as well, but Tonks, the other characters and a hefty portion of the readership don't seem to recognise this.

So Remus is now trapped. He admits it was a mistake to marry Tonks and he knows he shouldn't have - but he was pursued until he couldn't stand against it any longer, and the depression and guilt is killing him. Harry is worrying about him, he is so clearly miserable. AND TONKS DOESN'T EVEN SEEM TO NOTICE! She is described as being "radiant", she is blissfully happy. She has what she wants and she can't even spot what the teenage boy whose only spent a couple of minutes with them since they got married can see is glaringly obvious.

And this leads back to her being obsessive about Remus, but actually seeming to know or care about him very little. She doesn't respect or understand his feelings and has no interest in doing so. She wants him. She has him. The end.

So - unable to cope with the guilt of what he has done, the societal stigma he is inflicting on his own family, the coldness of now having to deal with that prejudice in his own home via his in laws (and I've seen people try and gaslight him by saying he is imagining that, Ron and Molly spout anti-werewolf rhetoric, no Andromeda is not chill about her only daughter being married to one) and having no one on his side who will even listen to his fears - he suffers a total mental breakdown and runs away.

And is told to go back.

Fuck that. Anyone is entitled to leave a marriage they are unhappy in. Yes, he can't leave in such a way that he is not around to support the child and it was wrong of him to try (though understandable that he did not think that through in the circumstances) but he does not have to stay with Tonks, if he thinks it is for the best that he leaves. Especially when the impact the marriage is having on his mental health is taken into account. 

Harry is a teenager, who is seeing the situation through his own lens of being orphaned. And he is absolutely right to refuse to be Remus’s cover here. Remus is doing the mental gymnastics that if he leaves his child to protect James’ child then it’s all OK, and Harry is right not to be OK with that.   But he is wrong to unequivocally think Remus should go back to Tonks. This is an adult relationship that Harry is not yet old enough to understand, which took place under duress, and Remus is miserable in it. Why should he stay? 

They get lucky, and Teddy is not a werewolf, but that does not mean his fear around that was not reasonable. And he dies before they ever have to face up to the reality of life together for any length of time.

He is not proven wrong just because he does not live long enough to be proven right.

He just goes back, because there is nowhere else for him to go and no one willing to help him. and buries his head in the sand. But he is the expert in the experience of life as a werewolf. If he says it’s awful, if he says Tonks is going to face mistreatment and stigma because of it, then he is right. And it is all very well for a young and in love Tonks to say that doesn't matter, but he is older and wiser and knows how prejudice wears you down through the years. He knows reality will get the better of them in the end. And even if it doesn't - even if Tonks was to remain cheerful in the face of blatant discrimination for her and her child for the rest of her life - Remus is not unreasonable to say he is not willing to be the cause of that, that he can't live with that guilt, and to choose to remove himself from the situation so Tonks and Teddy can live normally.

I think the books do Tonks dirty. She is a different character in each of the three books she appears in, and each incarnation is worse than the last. But I can't like her because ultimately her actions are so abusive and she is so oblivious to the pain Remus is in. The only good thing about the ship is that the mental breakdown gives Remus something significant to do in DH, when otherwise he would have been totally sidelined - and the breakdown to coming back with Sirius and James and Lily gives him a nice redemption arc. But in terms of both characters it doesn't make sense and both need to be totally broken to make it work. 

Remadora is one of the best written examples of an abusive relationship I've seen. What's weird about it is a) it’s in a children's series and b) the conclusion is that the victim of abuse is being very silly and should return to his abuser.

So please, stop telling wolfstar shippers that they are misogynistic because they are more interested in the potential of the 40 line stare than they are in this toxic wasteland of romance. It's just bad. And it's OK not to ship it because it is bad.