#you know he's trained the guys too of course

[shanastoryteller]

Dean is taking too long in the basement.

He should have been right behind him, but he isn’t. Sam gets the kids out and goes running back downstairs, gun held in front of him, which ends up being pointless. The rawhead is head.

For a moment, he thinks Dean is too.

He’s pale and cold in the water and Sam sees the tazer and knows exactly what happened and if his brother is dead, he doesn’t care about personal gain or consequences or any of that shit, he’s brining him back no matter what.

But his pulse flutters weak and too fast under his fingers and Sam doesn’t even spare a moment for relief before he’s shouting, “CHRIS! CHRIS! I need you!”

Nothing happens.

Fear clogs his throat. “Paige! Wyatt! Leo!”

He never bothers the others. He’s trained with them, even fought with them while he was at Stanford, but at the end of the day he’s just another witch and Chris is his whitelighter. But his brother is dying.

No one comes.

He calls 911 then, because as long as Dean isn’t dead then he can be healed, and he’ll worry about what’s going on with the Halliwells later.

~

The doctors can’t do anything, Dean’s already resigned himself to death, and no one’s answering his calls.

He’s pacing in the hall outside of his brother’s room, not wanting Dean to see him unraveling but not able to bring himself to go too far away. It’s not like he’s going to drop dead the second Sam looks away, he knows that.

He knows that.

It doesn’t matter if no one’s answering his calls. He knows other witches, he can track down another whitelighter if he has to. Even then, whitelighter healing is the best solution, but not the only one. He’s loathe to attempt a healing spell on his brother, just in case it goes wrong, but he knows the stasis ones well enough. Dean won’t like being put in a glass case like Snow White, but it’ll keep him alive while Sam finds a solution.

“Sam!”

He turns to see Chris striding toward him and he should be relieved, he is relieved, but the terror and stress he’s been managing since yesterday all course through him at once and come out as rage. He grabs the front of Chris’s shirt and slams him into the wall, thankful there’s no one around. “Where the hell have you been?”

Chris doesn’t fight him, not that it would do him much good to try. Chris may be the stronger witch, but Sam can hand him his ass easily. “Sam-”

“Dean electrocuted himself saving children,” he says, “He almost died! He – they said – his heart–” It’s almost too much for him all over again, but then he notices the blood down Chris’s neck, the smell of smoke clinging to his clothes, the bone deep exhaustion that Chris is so good at hiding from everyone except for him and Wyatt and occasionally Phoebe. “Are you okay?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Sam wonders if his grip is pressing him down or holding him up. “There was a demon attack, we were in the underworld. They had Peyton, we didn’t,” he shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m your whitelighter, I should have–”

“Shut up,” Sam says gently. He pushes Chris’s hair aside, but whatever wound left the blood is long gone. “You’re not just my whitelighter. You’re my friend. I know you wouldn’t not answer for no reason, sorry, I just. It’s Dean.”

He offers him a weak grin. “Yeah, I know. Older brothers, right? Always causing problems.”

Chris knows that better than most.

“Sam, I can’t heal him here,” he says quietly.

“I know,” Sam says. “Secrecy, mortals, I get it. I’ll get him out of here and to the motel, then I’ll call you, alright?"

“Alright,” Chris says, then frowns. “What are you going to tell him? He’s going to have questions.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sam says firmly. “I wouldn’t expose you guys like that.”

Chris shrugs. “I mean, I get why you don’t want to tell him, with your dad and everything, but he does have a right to know. Just because his powers are bound doesn’t mean he’s not a witch too.”

Sam stares.

He frowns. “What?”

“You,” he starts, then changes tracks. “Dean’s a witch?”

Now Chris is the one staring. “Of course he is. It runs in families. If you’re a witch, Dean’s a witch. He’s just had his powers bound and you haven’t.”

“But,” he starts. “Why?”

He shrugs. “You were too young. Doing it before the child’s first birthday can lead to, uh, some strange results.”

Sam understands that him being a witch descended from Melinda Warren means his mother was a witch, but he’d never really thought about it before. She knew what he was, what Dean was, and had planned to keep it from them forever. If she hadn’t died when he was six months old, she would have bound his powers too.

He doesn’t know how to feel about that. He doesn’t have the space to figure it out now. “Okay. Well, that’s probably a conversation more appropriate for when he doesn’t have a heart condition. Go, clean up, I’ll call you when we’re ready.” Chris nods, but before he goes Sam grabs his wrist. “Hey. Peyton’s okay, right?”

He grins. “She’s good. And maybe next time she won’t think it’s a good idea to sneak to the underworld alone.”

Knowing Peyton, it probably won’t be much of a deterrent.

~

Dean isn’t afraid of dying.

It’s just that this is a really bad time.

Dad’s missing, the demon that killed their mother is after Sam’s girlfriend, never mind what the hell is going on with Sam and the weirdo vision he’d had about their house. Vision. It’s enough for sweat to prick out over his skin in worry.

And now this, him frying his heart and leaving Sam on his own, the one thing he never wanted to do.

“Hey.”

He looks up, trying to force a smirk, but it falls off and he’s just left blinking. Sam’s lost the stubborn fragility he had before, smiling at him like everything’s going to be fine. Maybe it will be. There’s a jump in his chest that he thinks might be hope and not his heart giving out on him.

“We’re getting out of here,” Sam says, slapping his leg. “AMA, come on, you know the drill.”

“Alright,” he says, bemused. If he’s going to die, he hadn’t been all that keen to do it in a hospital bed anyway.

The doctor is less than impressed. Dean lets do Sam do all the talking and eventually the doctor rounds on him and demands, “Why are you doing this? It makes no sense!”

He actually has no idea why he’s doing this, so he just shrugs. “If my brother says we’re going, then we’re going.”

Which is apparently not the right answer by the way he goes white to the lips, but Sam smiles at him, so he really can’t bring himself to care.

They eventually get out there, Sam helping him from the wheelchair to the Impala, and being back in his baby, even in the passenger side, is another hit of relief. Of course they reach a second problem when they get to the motel and Dean realizes he’s not certain he can make it to the door.

Sam rolls his eyes, parking the car as close to the room as they can get, and says, “Don’t be a baby. I won’t tell anyone if you won’t.”

He considers arguing against it, but he’s exhausted, there’s no one around, and he’s already lost a significant amount of big brother credibility by getting fried in the first place.

“Shut up,” he mutters, but only rolls his eyes before looping an arm around Sam’s neck. He grimaces when Sam gets an arm under his knees, lifting him up with at least a grunt of effort. He’s kind of irritated that his baby brother can lift him this easily at all, even though it’s not exactly a surprise. Sam’s grown up a lot since he left for Stanford, adding inches of height and muscle, and it’s not exactly like he was a weakling when he left. Still, being carried by his little brother like a princess is almost as bad for his ego as nearly dying in the first place.

Sam doesn’t comment on it, however, easing him down on the bed closest to the door, even though he’d be a speed bump at best to anything coming after them. It sends a well of fondness through him that he expresses through a scowl.

“Lay down and keep your eyes shut, okay?” Sam says. “No matter what you hear or feel.”

Dean blinks at him. He figured Sam had a plan, but he hadn’t expected it to be so immediate. “Why? What are you doing?”

“Not letting you die,” he answers promptly. “Don’t argue with me. It’s not going to hurt. Just trust me for five minutes, okay?”

He’s been trusting Sam for a lot longer than five minutes. “Fine, whatever.”

He lays down on his own, because he can at least do that, and Sam doesn’t look nervous or worried or guilty, so whatever thing he’s about to try is probably fine. Although he really has no idea what the hell Sam thinks he’s going to pull out that can fix his heart, but he closes his eyes and waits.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing, which he hadn’t expected. A moment later it opens again, but there are two sets of footsteps. He tenses. “Sam?”

“It’s alright,” Sam says, his large hand settling warm and comfortable on Dean’s shoulder. “Just relax.”

Relax? How the hell does Sam expect him to relax when –

There’s a hand on his chest, one he doesn’t recognize, and he barely keeps from leaping off the bed. Then there’s a warmth, something comforting, like being held by his mother or his dad’s proud look or how it feels every time Sam reaches for him. Then he’s breathing in, chest expanding comfortably in a way it hasn’t since he was electrocuted. He’s not cold anymore, not exhausted, the creeping feeling of death chasing him whisked away in a matter of seconds.

It leaves him terrified.

“Sam?” he says, and it takes everything to keep his eyes squeezed shut.

There’s the sound of the door opening and closing again and Sam says, “It’s okay, you’re okay,” and Dean’s eyes pop open and he’s shoving himself onto his feet.

It’s nothing, it’s easy, just like it was a day ago. Sam is smiling, relieved and okay, and Dean grabs onto his shoulders and shakes him. “What was that? Who was that? What did you do, Sammy?”

“A friend,” Sam says. “Dean, don’t worry, it didn’t cost me anything.”

He scoffs. “Right, because what – hoodoo priests and witches or whatever the hell that was just help out hunters from the goodness of their hearts? What did you do?”

Sam presses a hand to his chest, where his heart is now beating strong and sure in his chest, none of that stuttery crap of before. “I didn’t give anything. It’s okay. Sometimes people just help each other out because they’re good people, Dean. Like you do, when you saved those kids last night.”

“We saved those kids,” he corrects, because he wouldn’t have been able to both fight the rawhead and get the kids out on his own. He and Sam did it together.

“Right,” Sam says, mouth tugged up in the corner. “There’s no trick, no price. They’re someone I know that was willing to help, that’s all.”

Dean presses for more information, but Sam refuses to give it, and eventually he has to give it up. At least for now.

He’s glad he’s alive. He’s glad he won’t be leaving Sam alone.

And most of all, he’s glad he’s going to be around to pry out of Sam whatever secrets he’s keeping from him.

let the beltane fires burn

The Halliwells are descended from Melinda Warren, are the branch in which the greatest power resides, the line that would birth the most powerful witches to walk the earth.

It's not the only line.

Deanna knows about hunters, knows what they don’t know and don’t understand and that they killed her family. But Samuel didn’t kill her family. Samuel’s a good man who saves innocents, the same way she was raised to, if not how she was raised to do it.

She’s all alone. It’s not safe to be a witch.

The day before her wedding, she binds her powers.

When Mary is a year and a day, she does the same to her. It’s safer this way. Better. The world is so unkind to witches, even ones like them, born into it, with their power baked into their blood. Better to fight evil with bullets and knives than the strange terrible thing she’s destined to give her daughter, that her daughter is destined to pass along to her own daughters.

She never tells Samuel. There’s no reason to.

When Mary is old enough, when she’s talking of running and rebelling and all those things Samuel thinks will never come to pass and Deanna knows almost certainly will – running and rebelling is in her blood as surely as the magic, but there’s no binding potion for that – she tells her daughter what they are. What she’ll have to do to keep her future daughters safe, if she has them. It’s the only potion she ever teaches Mary how to brew, the only one she’ll ever need.

The day after Dean’s first birthday, Marry brews the potion and feeds it to him. He cries more after, doesn’t settle as quickly, and John worries and Mary reassures him and tells herself she’s done the right thing. Whatever it is that Dean feels he’s lost, he’s better off without it. She’s going to be normal. Her children are going to be normal.

She intends to do the same for Sammy, but she burns above his crib when he’s six months old.

~

John sees Sammy levitate a toy towards him when he’s two years old and shouts so loudly that he drops it, tears running down his face and wailing in the face of his father’s anger. Dean comes running from the other room and reaches for Sammy, letting his brother’s chubby fingers tangle in his shirt. “What’s wrong?” he asks, eyes wide.

He doesn’t answer, rubbing his hand over his face and heart pounding in his chest.

What did that demon do to his son?

What did it turn him into?

Is Sammy even human anymore?

He doesn’t react to salt, to holy water, to silver. John loses his temper every time something moves inexplicably and eventually it stops, by the time Sam’s in kindergarten he’s just like all the other kids.

John watches, fear and suspicion and something uglier caught up inside of him.

What is his son?

~

Sam figures out young that he’s a freak.

Dad and Dean just think he’s weak, just think he has nightmares, and he lets them. He only practices the telekinesis when he’s alone and every time he almost gathers the courage to tell his brother or father about it, to finally come clean, he’s viciously reminded how much they hate the things they hunt, how they’d never accept it, accept him, and as soon as he tells them what he is, he’ll lose them.

He doesn’t know what he is, really. Only that he’s not normal.

Eventually he stops seeing things in his sleep, instead getting them when he’s awake, more vivid and real than the monsters that plague his dreams. He sees people being hurt, people who need help, and it goes against everything he’s been taught to leave them to their fate.

But how can he explain it to his family? He can’t.

He’s thirteen the first time he sneaks out and saves a woman from one of his visions, finding her in the dark alley he’d seen her die in. He puts a bullet in the man’s chest, but it barely stops him, and then she and him both are getting a fireball thrown at them.

Sam shoves his hand in front of him, pushing back against the heat, refusing to die the same way his mother died.

The fireball returns to the man, catching him in the chest and he screams, disappearing into the fire until he’s nothing more than a smudge on the ground.

“Wow,” the woman breathes. Sam turns to her, trying to come up with some sort of explanation, when she continues, “I’ve never met a witch with active powers before.”

“I’m not a witch,” he says automatically, thinking of bargains made with demons, of hex bags and rotting meat and blood sacrificed.

She looks between him and the smudge on the ground incredulously. “Are you sure about that?”

Yes. No.

He doesn’t know what he is.

She leads him back to her apartment, stacks books into hix arms, and then makes him a sandwich when his stomach rumbles. His age worries her, his ignorance worries her even more, and everything she’s saying sounds like kooky new age bullshit except for the way that it explains everything he’s never been able to.

There are witches and demons and monsters nothing like anything his father’s ever talked about.

~

It’s easy to research, at least, because his dad thinks there’s a kernel of truth in every piece of supernatural bullshit. Dean makes fun of him for digging into girly, feel-good crap rather than the harder stuff, but his dad just seems relieved he’s taking an interest all. Sam starts taking notes, keeps them all in a folder until Dad buys him a journal, patting his back when he hands it over like it’s a rite of passage.

To Dad, it’s his first hunting journal.

Sam runs his hand down the soft leather spine and knows he’s starting his book of shadows.

The visions don’t stop. He saves more innocents, some witches and some mortal, and keeps the record of all the creatures he’s killed in Latin to discourage Dad and Dean from snooping. He uses his telekinesis on hunts only when there’s no other option, only when there’s someone’s life on the line, and he’s as careful as he can be not to get caught.

It should be a relief, to find out there are other people like him, to know that he’s a force for good in the world.

There’s no way he can explain the existence of a different type of witches to his father without putting a target on their backs.

Some witches have been targeted by hunters, ones who were trying to help but got caught in the crossfire, ones that had turned evil and needed to be stopped, but it’s not often he finds a witch that regards hunters with anything but fear. At least when his family are the ones sniffing around, he can give them a heads up, can tell them how to avoid their attention.

He’s had a lot of practice, after all.

~

Sam is sixteen when he’s a little too slow.

The innocent is safe and the demon is killed, but his chest is torn open and he’s bleeding out on the pavement.

“Oh no, oh no,” the woman he’d saved chants, pressing her hands against him, even though it’s pointless, even though it just sends a bolt of pain through him. Fuck. He doesn’t want to die. Dean is going to devastated. “Paige! Help me! Paige!”

There’s a bright light in the corner of his eyes and an woman around his dad’s age with bright hair red hair is leaning over him.

Then she touches him, but her touch doesn’t hurt.

He looks down and the wound on his chest closes, skin clear and unharmed, pain retreating to only a memory.

“He saved me,” the woman says. “He can move things!”

The redhead’s eyebrows rise. “You have active powers?”

They’re always so surprised by that. Sam’s more impressed with the fact that she just healed him. “I get premonitions too. What are you?”

“You get,” she starts then cuts herself off. “Where’s your whitelighter?”

He stares. “My what?”

She raises a hand to her head and groans. “Oh, someone’s really messed up somewhere. Leo!”

~

Guardian angels are real, called whitelighters, and apparently witches with active powers who go around saving innocents are supposed to have them to help keep them from getting themselves killed in the process.

Leo, who’s something called an elder with a kind face, says an unconventional witch deserves an unconventional whitelighter.

Chris Halliwell is his age, half witch, and also has telekinesis.

Oh, and he’s apparently his cousin. His very, very, very distant cousin.

“Are all witches related?” he asks incredulously.

“No,” Chris says, long dark hair and hazel eyes doing more to aid his claim of family than the spell his mother had cast. He and Chris look more related than him and Dean do. “We’d thought all the other branches of the Warren line had died out. You’re a surprise.”

Great. He’s a freak even among witches.

~

It’s so much easier now that he’s not desperately trying to piece together everything on his own, with only the occasional help from the innocents he saves. Chris is sarcastic and annoying and funny and more than having a guardian angel, Sam’s relieved to just have a friend he doesn’t have to lie to for once.

The Halliwell house, with its potion ingredients and powerful witches and home cooking, is only an orb away. He mostly hangs out with Chris, of course, but Piper always invites him to stay for dinner and Paige checks in on him, feeling somewhat responsible for him since she met him first, and Wyatt’s friendly enough but Chris sends him packing whenever Sam’s there.

He’s pulling doubletime when it comes to saving innocents, doing it as a witch and as a hunter, and he’s still maintaining straight As on top of it all while lying about half his life to his father and brother. It’s a stack of cards that’s bound to fall apart.

Going to Stanford is about more than just escaping his father.

It gets him close enough to San Francisco that he won’t need to be orbed to the Halliwells. It’s supposed to give him some breathing room, to let him focus on being a witch, to let him get his education. He does more good as a witch than as a hunter, but it’s not like that’s something he can explain to his family.

He’d wanted out, needed out, before he gets himself or someone else killed trying to balance it all. But he hadn’t thought his father would kick him out. He hadn’t thought Dean would let him.

He goes to the bus station but doesn’t buy a ticket. He calls Chris and spends the rest of the summer at Halliwell manor, burying all his hurt under training with Chris and saving people and getting ready to start college in September.

~

Jess wears a pentacle around her neck and keeps salt in small bowls in each of the cardinal directions and Sam doesn’t intend to tell her that he’s a witch, but when he ends up saving her from a darklighter attack, that decision is taken out of his hands. Coming clean about the hunter part takes longer, but it’s a bit of an easier sell once the knowledge of the supernatural is already out there. The thing that surprised her most of all is that things like bullets and steel can be used successfully against monsters, rather than the existence of monsters themselves.

Three years later when Dean shows up at their door, Sam can’t bring himself to deny him. It’s one weekend. He’d never wanted to lose his family in the first place.

When he returns home to Jessica pinned to the ceiling, he doesn’t even have to think.

He yanks her down, catching her in his arms just as fire effulges the place she’d been. He pushes the fire away from them, but it fights him harder than demonic fire usually does and leaves his hands burned and blistering. He doesn’t care. Jess is bleeding and in shock but still alive, breath rattling against him. “CHRIS!”

Dean’s yelling for him, but Sam can’t let him in. He throws his hand out, keeping his bedroom door closed even as his brother throws his body against it, still screaming his name.

Chris orbs in, eyes going huge. “Sam, what-”

“Heal her then go,” he snaps, the smoke already hurting his throat. “I’ll explain later.”

He puts his glowing hands over her bleeding stomach and the wound closes, her body going slack and her breathing easing even as her eyes roll back.

Sam tenses. “Is she-”

“Fine, let’s go, your hands,” Chris says, hands already glowing as he reaches for him.

“SAM!” Dean shouts, sounding like he’s about two seconds away from trying to shoot through the door.

“You can heal me later,” he says. “Thank you. Go.”

Chris shoots him a bitchy look that Paige says they share and then he orbs away. The fire’s covered almost the entire room now and Sam finally lets go of the door.

Dean stumbles in, pale, already reaching for him.

Sam stands and finds his knees buckling, gritting his teeth to keep himself upright. “Take her,” he says urgently, pressing Jess into his brother’s arms. “We have to go.”

“You think?” he snaps, but he’s gentle with Jess. Sam shoves him towards the door, slamming it behind him just as it surges after them. Keeping the flames from killing them is one of the hardest things he’s ever done. No wonder he’s exhausted.

They stumble downstairs, away from the fire, and someone’s already called the ambulance.

The story’s an easy sell because it’s not like anyone would believe the truth. They say Jess took sleeping pills and Sam came home to flames. He pulled Jess out and has the burns to prove it. Dean saw the flames in the window and went up, helping to get them both out.

It’s almost true.

“He had yellow eyes,” Jess tells him after. “He was – Sam, I’ve seen demons, I’ve fought demons. He’s something else.”

“Different kind of demons,” Sam says. There’s the underworld, and there’s hell. Underworld demons go after witches mostly. Hell demons go after mortals and are a lot harder to kill, ironically. “It’s the same demon that killed my mother, Jess, and now it’s after you. I have to take care of this.”

Dean’s too relieved about Sam’s determination to rejoin the hunt to question him too closely about all this. He knows better than to think that will last for very long.

Chris agrees to watch over Jess for him even though she’s not technically one of his charges. They layer protection spells on her, including one cast by the power of three, and even this yellow eyed demon will be hard pressed to break through that.

Hell demons are tricky. They’re not as susceptible to witch magic. But Sam’s not just a witch.

He’s a hunter too.

[punkeropercyjackson]

Kon:Why does Jason suddenly sound like he eat cigarette lunchables when he was training with Damian's mom.......

Tim:No,that's just what he usually sounds like.Whenever you heard him talking before,he was using his Duke voice

Kon:And what's Jason's Duke voice?He didn't sound like a middle schooler who stockpiles grilled cheese sandwitches either,he sounded like Daniel from Jacob Two-Two

Tim:It's this subcouncious thing he does where he puts his voice on like 300% softness setting whenever he's talking to Duke

Jason:You dropsellers know i'm right here right

Kon,hearing the door open and turning to see Robin!Duke entering:So's your voice regulator now

Robin!Duke:Can you guys help me steal a box of stuff i want?This creepy white boy at the checkout ile said something about how i don't look like the Robin back when he was my age so i'm not paying him

Jason,walking up to him and entering Duke voice:Of course sweetheart-Do you want me to threaten him too?Can i please beat him up for you?

Robin!Duke:That'd be nice too but just the first part.You can use that magic-y gun Rose got you but nothing else,i need to keep low after last time i light up a police station

Kon:Like on fire?

Robin!Duke:No,i pronounced light like that for accuracy.I used my Meta powers to shine on it so hard it fucking dusted

Kon:Jason i think i get you for once

[floraisunwell]

Invisible string | s.r

who: spencer reid x fem!reader

category: fluff (??)

summary: you've always loved reading at your spot in the park, getting lost in books and daydreams. what you didn't realize was that someone had been noticing you all along

lyric prompt: “green was the color of the grass where I used to read at Centennial Park, I used to think I would meet somebody there/ time, curious time, gave me no compass, gave me no signs. Were there clues I didn’t see? and isn’t it just so pretty to think, all along there was some invisible string tying you to me?” Invisible string, t.s

word count: 1.1k

a/n: my entry to @mggslover 1k event, congratulations once again darling

t.w: none

divider by @esote-rika

The park had always been your favorite place in the whole city—a patch of green and calm right in the middle of the metropolis' restless buzz. Exactly what you needed after a long day. Alone, but surrounded by people; that weird in-between your introverted personality had always loved.

Beneath your favorite tree, you'd lay out a towel, open a book, and let yourself slip away. Between the pages, you'd been a poet, a painter, an elderly woman reminiscing on her youth—someone's lover, even.

And sometimes, in the spaces between sentences, you'd let yourself dream. You'd imagine meeting someone, falling stupidly, hopelessly in love—just like in your favorite romances.

You knew it was silly, highly unlikely, but the thought alone was enough to make you smile. Enough to fill you with a quiet kind of hope.

And then, as if crafted by destiny, you did meet someone.

☆

Near-Miss #1: The Coffee Shop

The first time Spencer saw you, it wasn’t at the park. It was at a coffee shop, long before he ever noticed you beneath that tree. He hadn’t even been paying attention at first, too busy watching the barista prepare his drink. But then he saw you—leaning against the counter, absently tracing circles on its surface while periodically checking your watch. Something so ordinary, so insignificant, yet he couldn’t look away. He thought about getting closer, maybe striking up a conversation. But by the time he worked up the nerve, you were already walking out the door.

☆

Lucas was a lovely guy. You met on a rainy day—"Mind if I help?" he had said, noticing how you were struggling to juggle your things and an umbrella at the same time. He ended up with your number, and soon, the tree that used to be your spot became your shared spot.

☆

Near-Miss #2: the train ride

A familiar giggle caught Spencer’s attention. He looked up and saw you.

Curled up by the window, book in hand—as always. He watched as you absentmindedly twirled your hair, scribbled something in the margins of your book, let out the occasional quiet laugh. It was just like all the other times he’d seen you, and yet, he was still mesmerized.

The thought of approaching you crossed his mind. Maybe he could finally say something, maybe this time—

The train jolted to a stop. You stood, tucked your book under your arm, and stepped off the train before he could find the words.

☆

Picnics, reading sessions, coffee breaks, cloud-watching—beautiful moments. But now it was Valentine’s, and you were alone at your spot. Turns out Lucas wasn't the one after all.

For the first time, you sat under the tree alone, thinking about all the little moments that, maybe, had been clues.

The way he never understood your love for books. The fact that he never got your bakery order right—"It’s too complex, and you know that, babe." You’d chuckle, brush it off, but it unsettled you.

You knew it was dramatic. Of course, he wouldn’t be like the men in your books. He was good enough. But something was missing.

A sickly kind of romance filled the air—people of all ages showing their love for each other. You were sure you’d witnessed a failed proposal a few minutes ago. Amid all this love (and some heartbreak), you felt invisible.

But maybe you weren’t.

☆

Near-Miss #3: the collision (and almost first conversation)

Spencer had walked past you countless times. A hundred, maybe more. But one time, he almost spoke to you.

You were heading in opposite directions. You looked hurried, eyes glued to your book even as you walked. He was distracted too, skimming a page of his own. And for a moment, just a split second, you almost collided.

At the last second, both of you stepped aside. Hushed apologies, barely more than whispers, before you kept walking.

He took a few more steps before his brain finally caught up and registered who you were. He stopped in his tracks, only to turn around just in time to see you disappear into the crowd.

He cursed himself for losing another opportunity.

☆

Spencer loved the park, too.

He came to play chess, to read, to watch people—not in a creepy way, just something he enjoyed. You had always been one of his favorites to watch.

He loved how you’d giggle at a line in your book and then glance around to see if anyone had noticed. How you’d twirl your hair when you were deep in thought. How you looked so utterly lost in your stories, as if the world around you didn’t exist.

☆

But now, it was Valentine’s, and the young man who usually accompanied you was nowhere to be seen.

His chance.

"Can I sit here?" His voice startled you. You looked up to see a tall, slender man watching you.

"Uh... sure," you replied, still a little confused.

"Why are you alone?" Fuck. That probably sounded weird.

You huffed a small laugh. "Well, not anymore." He smiled at that, a little softer now.

"I'm Spencer, by the way."

"Nice to meet you, Spencer. I guess now you're my partner for the day."

"I guess," he echoed, his smile was so wide it could seem fake

☆

After a few moments of comfortable silence, Spencer looked at your book and said "You were reading a book by the same author on the train a few months ago"

"Was I really?" you blinked

"You were," he affirmed "I was in the seat across from you. We sat across each other many times in fact"

"I guess we were bound to meet sometime then" you mused meeting his gaze

"Yeah," he mumbled with a smile"Something like that"

thank you for reading!

[captivating-flavors]

enough | sylus

pairing: sylus x non mc reader

prompt: -

summary: you wanted your love to be enough.

words: 1,399

warning(s): angst, mentions of death

a/n: inspired by rereading the limerence/carpe noctem series by @comatosebunny09 but i havent written anything in like 4-5 years so sorry if its bad :3

“Boss ran out hours ago and has been awol since.”

You knew exactly where he was the moment Luke called you almost an hour ago. You immediately grabbed your keys and sped over. The trip usually took you forty-five minutes but it was taking you longer today, since it was raining and the roads were slippery.

This was the second time this week and this was what he usually does around this time of the year anyway. Her birthday was coming up and this is what he always does within the weeks leading up to her birthday and after. It’s been two years since her death and you knew that he still blames himself for it.

“It’s my fault she’s gone. I couldn’t save her.”

You’d heard that line countless of times and every time you did the pain cuts through you just the same, but as time went on it became a different kind pain. At first, it was the pain of losing one of your close friends. But as your relationship with him progressed, it became the pain of knowing that you could never even come close to her in his eyes.

You first met Sylus when you were working as a bartender in one of the largest bars in the N109 Zone. You were being harassed and he was about to step in when he thought it was going to get out of hand, but you practically broke the guy’s arm in two places. He saw potential in you as a fighter and wanted to take you under his wing, as somewhat of a partner, someone who could act as a backup and accompany him to the dangerous meetings he frequents. So, he tried to recruit you.

“Sorry, but I’m perfectly content with my current job.” And that was the truth, it was the most well-paying job you had and the benefits were quite generous.

“I’m not asking you to quit your day job, sweetie. I’m simply offering you a… freelance gig, if you will. And don’t worry, I’ll train you and reward you handsomely for your assistance.”

That was how you first got entangled with him, five years ago. You thought that there was no harm in having a side gig, so you agreed to have him train you in his private gym three times a week until he deemed you ready for the missions, as he would often call them.

Somewhere along the way, between the missions, the training sessions and the banters, you found yourself slowly falling for him. The smiles, the flirting, the gifts and the heartwarming words he’d say to you every time you made an improvement during training or when you managed to finish the mission well, the attentiveness, who could ever not fall for that. You never said a word, of course, too scared to ruin the seemingly perfect partner dynamic you’ve got going on.

Two years into being his mission partner, you found yourself slowly getting replaced by her. She was better than you as a mission partner, even you had to admit that. She’s had her hunter training and her evol, there was nothing you could do to ever match up to that.

You’d still hung around the base a lot, and he’d still have you help with menial things here and there, but every time there was a mission he would always take her instead. Every time you went to the base, she was always there. Due to that, you got to know her. She was so bright, bubbly and smart that you instantly felt drawn to her. The two of you became even closer upon knowing that both of your families had been lost to unsolved explosive accidents.

But being around the base a lot also made you aware of other things, like the way he would stare at her with those eyes every time she talks animatedly about something that happened during work. The way he would gently smile and kiss her head every time she falls asleep on the couch, before carrying her to his bedroom.

Even though you knew him first, it hurt to see that she was the one able to evoke such gentle, tender, loving side out of him. But he seemed happier with her, and there was nothing you could do about it. You knew your place, so you backed out, created space, found other things to work on to keep yourself busy. You’d still come over and hung out with them and the twins, but just not as often.

A year into it, the two of them walked into an ambush. It was never supposed to be an easy one, but it wasn’t supposed to be hard either. The people of the N109 Zone were never above playing dirty and so they had a sniper five buildings away. The shot was meant for Sylus, but something went wrong on both parties’ calculations, and it ended up hitting her instead.

At first you only wanted to be there for him, comfort him. Do anything to make him feel better. You honestly never intended to get into bed with him, but you did. It hurt you to have him call you by her name as you did it but you’d do anything to help him. You stupidly thought that it could be a win-win solution, as you could make him feel better and also have him closer to you.

But deep down you knew. You knew you were only a placeholder for her. The both of you had similar hair, eye color and build. You knew the reason why he entangled himself with you was because you reminded him of her. Even though you knew, you still fell for it, digging the hole deeper for yourself. Like an idiot. You knew he couldn’t–wouldn’t–ever reciprocate your feelings, but you still genuinely cared for him. Hence, why you have been putting up with this for a year and a half.

You got out of the car and ran past the cemetery gates. You’ve traversed through these grounds countless of times, so the rain and darkness of the night was not an issue. You soon found him in the exact spot you knew he would be at. You stood in front of his sitting form, holding out the umbrella over him, looking down at him and it just breaks your heart knowing that he’s still in agony even after all these times and that there’s nothing you can do to help him ease his pain.

“Sylus.”

He had his back to the side of her tombstone, unmoving. He barely glanced at you.

“…”

“It’s raining. We should head back.”

“…”

“Come on, let’s get you in the car.” You said as you grabbed his arm, in an effort to pull him up and towards the car.

Surprisingly, today he silently complied, unlike when you also had to do this two days ago. The moment he was up and leaning over to you, you could clearly smell the alcohol on him.

‘No wonder he’s being compliant this time,’ You thought to yourself.

You walked the both of you towards the car and put him in the passenger’s seat before closing the door and moving over to the other side of the car, taking the driver’s seat. The both of you were drenched, so you grabbed the towels you’ve stashed on your backseat and handed one over to him with one hand, as you were drying your hair with the other.

“Here. You’ll catch a cold.” Seeing as he still wasn’t responding, you draped it over his head. He weakly raises his hand and starts to rub the towel over his wet head of hair.

“… I miss her.”

“I know. Me too, Sylus. Me too.”

You started the engine and drove straight to base. The drive went on without him saying anything else and the moment you guys arrived, you realized Sylus had fallen asleep, so you had Luke and Kieran help you get him to his room, where you changed him out of his wet clothes before tucking him in. You brushed a stray strand of hair away from his sleeping face and took a seat on the side of his bed, still caressing his soft head of hair.

“I love you, Sylus. I wish that was enough to help you.”

[mahyuume]

CAPABLE OF LOVE!

— synopsis. the ways he proofs being capable of showing love!

pairing. various!haikyuu, jjk, bllk, mha x reader | genre. romance, fluff, crack.

reminders. I’m posting after a suuuper long break, hope you guys like this! | mlist

I THINK I NEED I NEED A PICTURE, is something you’ve said countless times to your boyfriend (who will one day be your husband) then proceeding to whip out any kind of device capable of taking a photo. Currently, is happening right now.

“Baby, we need a picture, again!” You gleam at him, the look on his face already dreading the next fifty photos going to be taken; exhausted from taking the last hundred— or maybe more than that photos. But, reluctantly, he agrees. “Fine, but this is the last time,” the boy sighs then flashes his award winning smile. Just in time for- click! that. Now holding the freshly printed Polaroid, he takes a look at your face instead of the physical copy of you both.

Staring at the facial features adorned on you, he sees no flaws whatsoever. He stares at your eyes; shiny but with the hints of clear joy. Lips— he’s kissed them multiple times, but never got over how soft and plush they felt. Always wondered how you do it.

“Are you even listening to me?” You turned your head to him, giving him a small frown. He snaps back into his senses from you cutting his train if thought; now darting back at your eyes, then lips again. “Sorry,” he clears his throat, trying to get rid of all the mushy thoughts in his head. “What were you saying?” Giving a small huff, you re-explain why you both need so many photos. But truth be told, he wasn’t listening one bit. Okay, just a little, but your face is something he could look at for hours. The look of love is real when it comes to him, due to the fact that he always manages to accidentally ignore you; all while adoring you.

As voices drown out, he thinks about adding this new photo to the heart shaped Polaroid collection in his room. Cracks out a stupid smile, then further proves to be undeniably whipped for you.

TOBIO KAGEYAMA, MEGUMI FUSHIGURO, NAGI SEISHIRO, RIN ITOSHI, KUNIGAMI RENSUKE, SHOTO TODOROKI, NEITO MONOMA.

‘CAUSE IT’S NEVER ENOUGH! Is what your boyfriend says almost if not every-time he gifts you things. His reasoning is always “just because” and that he truly meant it when he said if he could give you the whole world, he would. And what I just relayed out for you to process, plays out in your daily life. And is, right now.

Ding! Ding! Ding! Ding! Repeated sounds of the doorbell chiming in your ear, you smile as you already know who’s behind the door while opening it for your love. But this time like most, it’s not your love facing you. It’s a big teddy bear that’s twice his size. You’re even surprised a thing like that could fit into his car!

“And who is this for?” You question him, a silly one at that. “Some cute girl I met.” He responds but not so clearly since the bear completely hides his figure besides the arms of his holding it up, drowning in the big fluffy stuffy. You roll your eyes at his answer, “Oh? Come in and tell me all about her.” Entertaining him, you take the legs of the bear and help him inside. And oh my, it was pretty heavy. But no surprise your super strong fiancé could lift it without a sweat.

“I would but…” “But?” “I have more things for the pretty girl inside my car,” he looks over at you with a stupid smile. “If you don’t mind.” He says while walking away back to the front door in a seemingly rush.

Coming back, his hands and arms are full of designer goods, and some even being valentine gifts. Talk about a man who can treat!

“You got me all this?” A gasp leaves your pretty lips as he stares at them, it making him smile in return too. “Yup.” Helping him get the bags, he watches you with a dumb look that makes you wanna slap him for being such a mushy lover. Of course, in a good way!

Opening your early valentine gifts, each one never failed to surprise you and leave you even more grateful for the man watching and recording your reactions. He points to the Nekta bag next to you. In the video, you’re surrounded by countless luxury brands but he decides to point out a specific one.

“Open that one baby.” He smirks behind the camera, watching your face twist into one of excitement and shying away from the camera. “Why? What’s in here?” You say as your paid for nails on hands reach for the Nekta bag. Opening it, there’s many boxes to choose from. You’re not sure which he meant. “Which one?” He points to a small one, the tiniest out of the bunch.

Unraveling the box and seeing the message, cluelessly, you didn’t notice how your boyfriend set down the phone and got down on one knee.

‘Look in front of you dummy.’ You read aloud then looked up. And there he was, holding the missing ring from the box, proposing to you with it.

“Will you marry me?”

HAJIME IWAIZUMI, SATORU GOJO, SAE ITOSHI, REO MIKAGE, KATSUKI BAKUGOU.

TO SEE YOU SMILING IN MY MIND is a memory you often hear being told over and over again by your boyfriend. His dreams of you both are beyond romantic or very dramatic, there’s really no in between.

By far the most exaggerated thing he’d ever say is something about how you two turned into fishes and lived a happy life together swimming around the ocean, avoiding sharks and fishermen. But this time, it’s quite different.

Ding! Ding! Your phone goes off at 7:35pm, right as you’re getting ready for bed or doing whatever it is. Checking what notified you, a smile lit across your face as you read your boyfriend’s display name.

Weird random: Babe

Weird random: I had another dream call me rn it’s so important

Giggling and mentally calling him a weirdo, you read the messages in-app then click the Video Call option.

“Oh my gosh baby, you won’t believe what I dreamt of.” Is what you hear your boyfriend say from the audio of your phone that’s now prompt up on a water glass as a substitute for a stand. “What’d you predict this time?” You cheekily asked him as he closes the space between his device and face; now a super close up of him is in your screen.

You’re not complaining though. He’s in one of those hoodies you promised yourself to ‘borrow’ one of these days and has messy bed hair, which tells you he just woke up from a nap.

“Okay so like, it’s me and you right,” he settles his phone down somewhere around his house, now making hand motions like a story teller. “Mhm.” “We’re having this cute date and stuff right.” “And?” “And then like, you look so beautiful. Like so, like, just so beautiful that flowers bloom when you walk near them type of beautiful!”

Laughing at his silly compliment, it doesn’t fail to make your cheeks turn a pink hue. “You’re so corny I swear…” it’s his turn to laugh at your comment, “Come on girl, don’t tease me like that.” His voice suddenly turns into one more of a softer beat, “hurts my feelings.” He says as he puts a hand on his heart, seemingly clutching it. Rolling your eyes at your favorite boy, he continues on with his story- dream. His dream.

“Then boom, some random dude comes up to you and goes like ‘hey you’re pretty’ and I’m like ‘dude back off’ and then we get into a fight in order to see who wins your love.” At this point he was just background music as you did your night routine. “Babe, are you even listening?” Or maybe not.

“Of course I am.” You look at him from the side of your eye, noticing how he’s now closer than earlier. “Doesn’t seem like it.” From the looks of it, it seems like you’re plain out ignoring him. But you’e not, really! “Promise I am.” Adjusting the camera to face you fully now, he focuses on you rather than talking about his hefty dream storyline.

“What if I just married you, like, tomorrow?”

What a nice question he asked, and your answer is…

“I don’t know?” You stop doing whatever you’re doing and look at him. “Why’re you asking?” “No reason.” Liar. “Stop lying!” His hands go up in protest, “I’m not!” He looks away for a bit then returns to stare at you. “Just… just had a dream about it.” And it clicks.

“So that’s what you were trying to tell me?” And like that, it’s as if a lightbulb went off in his head. “Ah, I guess so…” he muttered, hand on his nape as he realizes he’s not the best at lying when it comes to you. “I mean, come on!” He finally breaks, “you looked so good in the wedding dress and we…” his voice trails off the second you were getting invested.

“We?” You omit him to continue, but it comes out hurriedly. “We had a big, happy family. Like seriously happy.” He admits with a smile, clearly smitten about you. This makes you innerly gush about him.

“Yeah?” “Yeah. We did.” He sighs, “If only it were true.” He fake pouts, an ugly thing he does that makes you laugh horribly. “I mean, it can be.” You nonchalantly said, as if you weren’t wishing for the same thing. His eyes light up from your sentence, lips curling into a smile. “You can’t take that back!” You laugh at his antics, “as if I would ever.”

SHOYO HINATA, TOORU OIKAWA, YUUJI ITADORI, MEGURU BACHIRA, YOICHI ISAGI, KEIGO TAKAMI (HAWKS).

​৻ꪆ. Happy valentines everyone! I hope you like this one. (It’s been planned ever since December.) there were supposed to be two more lines added but I seriously ran out of time and didn’T know who else to write for… so, take this??

[vulpixisananimal]

[A:4 C:69]

(Siffrin) {Mal Du Pays} <Null> |Asterion| +Rosmarinus+ =Socks= [Loop] [(Saffron)] 

<The arrow slowed in the air as it flew towards you, and in one slice, you split it in half.>

“Good reaction!” <Ark shouted from across the yard.> “But your stance is off, bend your knees, spread your legs wider, and again!”

<She raised her bow, armed with harmless dulled arrows, pulled back, and shot again. This time you split the arrow just like before, but you could feel the strain on your muscles lessen.>

“Good!” <Ark lowered her bow.> “You’re a quick learner.”

“Thank you.” <You wipe the sweat from your forehead.> “You’re a good teacher.”

<You, Mirabelle, and Ramos had all gone down to Arks watchtower near the south gate. There was a clear yard next to it that she used for training, and that’s where you all were now, training. If you wanted to beat Perci, you had to be versatile.>

“Alright, let’s take a breather.” <Ark swung her bow over her shoulder and walked to the side, you followed.> “Mirabelle, Ramos, the floor is yours.” 

“Alright!” <Mirabelle jumped up with Ramos following, each with their rapier and tonfas respectively. You sat down as the two got into position.>

“Ramos looks way more comfortable today.” <Ark commented.> 

“O-oh yeah!” (You jumped back to front.) “They’ve been uh, struggling with some stuff, but it’s sorted now s-so. . .”

“. . . Let me guess.” (Ark shrugged, taking a drink from a flask.) “Nightmares?”

“Huh?” (You were surprised at the guess, but shrugged.) “Uh, n-no not that.”

“Damn.” (Ark huffed and shook her head.) “Lucky, me and Thai keep waking each other up in the middle of the night because of damn nightmares.”

“Both of you?!?” (You ask, surprised.) 

“Hardly.” (She shrugged.) “Y’know Dr. Gina? He’s been having trouble sleeping too, and that’s to say nothing about his boyfriend Eden, poor guy’s falling asleep standing up!”

<. . . Well. That’s good to know.>

(You blink, then turn back to the scene of Mirabelle and Ramos.) “. . . Most of us have been getting them too.”

“Crab, so it is a pandemic then.” (Ark laughs.) “Just our luck.”

(Right. . .)

<It’s affecting Percival and Merlon too. Ark, Thai, Gina, and this Eden person. Perhaps even the whole town. Hmm, idea.> “Have the sadness attacks at least let up?” 

“Of course not.” (Ark shakes her head.) “Nothing huge like before, enough that I can take care of it. Groups of three or four sadness at a time, usually the faster ones.”

“If it weren’t sadness that were attacking, I’d call those scouting parties.” +You look to the sky, thinking.+ “here there patterns leading up to the other two big attacks?”

(STARS do you just show up whenever you feel like it?!?)

<Are you new here, Siffrin. Always expect an unexpected visitor.>

+Hehe. Ark thought for a moment before responding.+ “. . . Yeah actually, usually there would be a few days with none of those ‘scouting parties’ getting close. Last scouting attack was yesterday, so if that’s true we should still be good.”

“Right. . .” +Still, it makes you nervous.+

(You watched Mira and Ramos fight. Mirabelles stance was somewhat consistent, a middle ground between offense and defence, although usually leaning on the offense. Ramos on the other hand had a clear line; they’d keep their tonfas in line with their arm on the defensive, and start spinning them like crazy on the offense. It really was the perfect weapon for a scissors/rock type.)

+Actually that reminded you; why is it that we all have different types? Aren’t we born with our types?+

<I don’t remember. But I have no type at all. Or craft skills, for that matter.  Not that I need them.>

(Well that’s apparent.)

+WAIT! No you’re not BORN with your craft type, your craft type is somewhat malleable until it solidifies into one as you mature!+

(LIKE A PERSONALITY!!!)

<Like us, huh. That could explain our differing types.>

(Weird! You dig around in your pockets and find a snack (toasted pecans) and munch on them. Ark held out a hand and you gave her some, after hesitating for a second.)

(After a few minutes, Ramos stepped back and held up a hand.) “I, need a second.”

“O-oh! It’s okay! We can take a break if you want.” (Mirabelle reassures, walking forward.)

“N-no it’s fine, I just. . .” (Ramos shakes their head.) “Just. Ark? You said you had spare weapons? May I try one?”

“Uh.” (Ark raised an eyebrow.) “Suuuure? They’re at the base of my tower, just inside.”

“Thank you.” (Ramos jogged over, grabbed their bag and cloak, then went to the tower. Mirabelle walked to you all as they went.)

“I wonder what that was about. . .” (Mirabelle was rubbing her shoulder.) “I-I hope I didn’t do something wrong.”

“I don’t think you did.” (You smile at her.) 

“A-are you sure?” 

“Very!”

(It only took a minute until the door at the base of the watchtower flew open, Ramos, maybe, running from it back to the field. This time, they had their cloak on, and a mask. A mask? Where did they. . . Oh! OH!!! That’s the mask hanging on the wall of their room that you saw!!! Why were they wearing it? And when did they take it down?)

(They stopped at the center of the field with their new weapon, and epee, and waited. You chuckled.) “I think you have a new challenger, Mira.”

(It took a moment for Mirabelle to realize what was going on, but when she did, she beamed.) “Right!!!” (She ran to the field.)

“What’s this about?” (Ark asked.)

“Savior things~” (You smirk.)

(You look at the two. Mirabelle bowed, and raised her rapier, and, as the first time you’ve seen it fronting, Nihil does the same with its epee. They inch towards each other.)

“Oh Change.” (Ark whistled, and stood up.) “This’ll be fun.”

“Huh? (You stand up also.) “What’ll be-”

<But you’re cut off by the sound metal on metal. The match had started. Mirabelle was blocking a flurry of strikes from Nihil and backing up. They were good, both very, very good. Nihil striked Mira on the arm and both stepped back.>

“Safe!” (Ark yelled.) “Point to Ramos.”

+Oh! Fencing! Duh.+

(RIGHT!!! You knew it looked familiar! The match continued, blow after blow. Another point to Nihil, but the third goes to Mirabelle when she deflects a blow down and striked its chest. The fourth point goes on for a while, neither gaining the upper hand until Mira grazes Nihils abdomen.)

“What’s the difference between a rapier and epee anyways?” (You ask.)

“A rapier is longer and designed for more intricate techniques.” (Arks eyes stay glued to the match.) “An epee is much lighter and faster.”

(Ah. You understand that.)

<You can just say you don’t, you know. The match continues, point to Nihil, and the next, then the next three to Mira. After that is one Ark couldn’t call, then one to Nihil.> 

“Match point!” (Ark calls out. The two were focused, having long since stopped their banter.)

<Strike in again, Mirabelle deflects blow after blow, stepping back and to the side. Nihil hops over a swing and thrusts, Mirabelle blocks deftly. They each back up, waiting for their next chance. Mirabelle thrusts in, Nihil deflects, counters, a near miss, Mira punishes the miss, and a moment later, it’s over.>

“Point to Mirabelle, for game!” (Ark clapped, you joined in.) “That was fantastic!”

(Nihil was standing there, breathing heavily as Mirabelle approached.) “A-are you alright? I-I didn’t go too hard did I?”

(Nihil looked at Mirabelle, tilting its head slightly. A moment later, Mirabelle jumped in place and laughed.) “C-change you scared me!!”

(Ark gave you a look as if to say “the crab just happened”, you shrug. Nihil stepped back, a hand to its head. It sat down for a moment breathing before taking off the mask and running a hand through their hair.) “W-woah, crab that was, intense!”

+Well, guess Ramos’ back.+

<Nihil probably wanted to try fighting with an Epee, and left as soon as it got attention. Ha!>

(Heheh, maybe. You go over and hold out a hand to Ramos.) “Nice show you two! It’ll be hard to beat Mira, she’s ra-pierless~” 

“PFFT-”

<Ugh.>

“NO!!!!”

+Hahah!+

“Hehehe!!!”

(Yes!!! Another successful joke!!! You smile as Ramos grabs your hand-)

“HA-” (Ramos yelps and lets go, falling back down, eyes wide.) “W-wha-aaathhe--”

“R-ramos!!!” (You kneel down next to them in a flash, Mirabelle following a moment later.) “A-are you alright??? D-d-did you break something??? O-or, or--”

“N-no it’s, I. . .” (They rubbed the palm of their hand, then sharply inhaled.) “I-it’s just, tender, I-I think.”

“You were fighting with that Epee pretty fast. Maybe you messed something up with your hand nerves?” (Ark suggests.)

“. . . WAIT!!!” (Mira perks up.) “I-it’s the same with Perci!!!”

“Huh?!?”

“What about Perci?”

“?!?!?!”

“W-well, his hands!” (She continued.) “They got a lot more sensitive from using mind craft so much! That gash I gave him back at the inn was still there when we last saw him. S-so. . .”

“Oh yeah!” +You snapped your fingers.+ “I think Gina mentioned something about that, craft overuse. And apparently doing that with mind craft makes your hands sensitive.”

“O-oh. . .” (Ramos looks down at their hands, hiding their face with their cloak. Aww, like you do!)

“. . . Iiiii’ll pretend I didn’t hear all that.” (Ark rolled her eyes and sat down.)

“UHM-”

“R-RIGHT, SORRY!!!”

“No biggie.” (She shrugged.) “Whatever you have going on, I got your back, saviors.”

“T-thank you, Ark.” (Mira says, relieved.) “A-and I, guess we should get you some gloves now, Ramos, right?”

“Y-yeah. . .” (Ramos looks away- wait. . . You look closer.)

(They’re BLUSHING!!!)

“. . . Ramos.” (You say with your most trustworthy smile.) “Can I see your hand, please?”

“U-UH-” (Ramos jolts to attention.) “UH- s-sure???”

(You gently take their hand and press into their palm. They immediately take it back, blushing harder.)

“. . . . . Ramos.” (You’re grinning.)

“FGBHANSDSMDAD” (They hide in the cloak.) “S-SHUTUP!!!”

(You all have a big laugh at that. Oh this is going to be VERY good information to have. You feel light headed.)

(It was about time for a break anyways, so you all start eating snacks and telling stories about your travels. Apparently, Ark was from some far off country on the other side of the ocean. She was in some, organized, army, thing, but she couldn’t remember specifics. But that was okay, because you just liked hearing them all talk.)

(You lay back and close your eye to think.)

(You, Null, Rosmarinus, and the others averaged levels 75 to 99. Saffron was only at level 50, and Socks was at level 6, impressive, for a cat. Mira, Isa, and Odile were levels 54, 56, and 55, and Nille was level 31. Ramo, Alex, Altiare, and Nihil were levels 35, 36, 33, and 51.)

(But most surprising of all was Bonnie, who’d reached level 40.)

(None of you had paid much attention to Bonnies level, they’re just a kid after all. But, well, with re-experiencing all of those loops, they got quite the boost in level. You didn’t like it, neither did Nille.)

(They’re going to be level 99 before they turn thirteen.)

(The thought makes you shudder.)

(You feel a weight on your stomach. Opening an eye, you see Ramos laying their head on your belly. You couldn’t help but smile and run a hand through their hair. . .)

“Cute.” (Ark chuckled, you didn’t even care that you were embarrassed. You just turn your head to the side, leaving Mira and Ark to chat.) 

(What a nice day. . . The grass was dry on this crisp, cloudless winter day. The cold drifted over your face, nipping but not stinging. You see a stranger pass by, pausing a second to look at you all before continuing. Not many people out today, it seems. Ha! Too cold for them, then. You always liked the cold, that’s why you liked to make trips up those snowy mountains to. . . To. . .)

+OH!!+ “I used to take walks up snowy mountains at home. I always liked the cold. And. . .”

“O-oh!! I’m on it” +You hear Mirabelle start writing. You sigh in relief, and go back to relaxing.+ “. . . O-oh! Siffrin has memory issues and sometimes remembers things so, we write it down for them!”

“Aww, that’s sweet of y’all.” +Ark hums.+ “Oh yeah, Ramos you can keep the epee.”

“R-really?” 

“Yeah go for it. I’ve never been a fan of an epee so by all means take it.”

“Thanks, Ark.”

“No problem, heh.”

(Today was a very, very good day!)

[supernaturallyedsheeran]

Coffee With Dean

You flirt with Dean and he squirms under the pressure (version with Sam also available)

cw : fem!reader, fluff, no use of y/n summary : you flirt with Dean and he squirms under the pressure characters Dean Winchester, f!reader wc: 993 famdom: Supernatural

✧∘* ✧･ﾟ✨Masterlist ✨✧∘* ✧･ﾟ

You’ve been here long enough to notice the little things. The way Dean always seems to hover around you when you’re in the room, like a magnet being pulled in every direction. The way his eyes flicker toward you whenever he thinks you’re not looking, but he can’t seem to look away fast enough. And when you do catch him, there’s a cocky smile, a raised eyebrow, like he knows exactly what he's doing—and he likes it.

It’s funny, really. You didn’t expect this, didn’t expect the chemistry to be so... intense, so fun. The guy’s a walking contradiction: tough as nails, with a quick wit and a sharp tongue. But under that hard exterior, you can tell there’s something deeper—something that makes him more interesting than the constant cocky banter or the way he tries to hide his feelings behind his quippy remarks.

Tonight, though, it’s different. You’re sitting across from him in the kitchen, a cup of coffee between your hands, and you feel the heat between you two. The way his knee brushes against yours under the table as he shifts in his seat. The way his eyes—green, hard, but always warm when they find yours—are trained on you a little too intently. There’s something in the air tonight, something charged. Maybe it’s the exhaustion from hunting, maybe it’s the silence between you, or maybe it’s just you—and Dean.

You’ve been teasing him all night, throwing a few snarky comments his way, seeing if he’ll bite and, of course, he does. He always does. But tonight? Tonight you want more. You want to see just how far you can push him, just how much you can make him want you.

You take a sip of your coffee, looking at him over the rim of your mug, feeling the way his gaze slides over you like he’s memorizing every detail.

“So,” you begin, lowering your mug, letting your fingers brush the edge in a deliberate, slow motion. “Tell me, Dean... do you always get this distracted during a hunt?”

Dean’s voice drops a little, like he’s not entirely sure if you're messing with him or if you’re serious. “Distracted?” he repeats, and you catch the slight shift in his posture, the way his eyes flicker down to your lips and then back to your eyes. “I was just trying to focus on the job.”

You smile, knowing he’s trying to play it cool, but you can see the crack in armor. “Uh-huh,” you hum, leaning in just a little, your breath catching. “Sure you are. But I think something’s distracting you. And I don’t think it’s the hunt.”

You let the silence hang, thick with unspoken words, your gaze never leaving his. He shifts again, leaning back in his chair, but there’s something about him now—his jaw clenched, his eyes flashing, like he’s fighting the urge to just pull you closer and kiss you. He’s trying to play it cool, but you can see it. You can see the way he wants to break.

“What exactly are you getting at, huh?” Dean asks, his voice rougher now, tinged with something that makes you feel a little more daring.

You push your coffee aside, shifting your posture so that you’re leaning toward him, just enough to breath him in. His scent is intoxicating—leather, whiskey... You catch your breath and let your lips curl into a soft, teasing smile. “I’m getting at that you can’t take your eyes off me. And I’m wondering why.”

Dean blinks, a slight chuckle escaping his lips, though it sounds more like he’s trying to mask the tension in his chest. “What? You think I’m checking you out?”

You let your gaze flicker down his body, the movement slow, deliberate, and you watch him squirm under the weight of your attention. The slight shift in his posture, the way his fingers tap on the table—it's all so damn obvious now.

“Mm-hmm,” you drawl, locking your eyes with his again, your voice dropping lower, smoother. “I think you are.”

Dean opens his mouth to argue, but the words don’t come. Instead, he looks at you—really looks at you—and his lips twitch, fighting the smile that wants to break free. His eyes search yours, a mix of amusement and something else - and you know you’re winning this game.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he finally says, but there’s a slight hitch in his tone now, a crack showing as you dig in.

You laugh softly, leaning in just enough so your faces are inches apart. You can feel the heat radiating off him, can almost taste the tension hanging in the air between you two.

“Oh, I think you do,” you whisper, letting your breath graze his lips, teasing, just on the edge of too close. “But I’ll make it easier for you.” You let your hand slide slowly over the table, fingertips brushing the back of his hand, lingering for just a second longer than necessary. “I think you want me .... to know.”

Dean stares at your hand, his breath catching. He’s trying to hold it together, you can tell. But you also see the way his chest rises and falls, his jaw working as though he’s trying to decide whether he should give in or not.

“You’re trouble, you know that?” His voice is rougher now, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, but his eyes are darker, heated.

You smile sweetly, letting your fingertips trace the lines of his hand, feeling the heat of his skin. “Maybe,” you murmur, your voice low and deliberate. “But trouble’s fun, don’t you think?”

For a moment, Dean doesn’t say anything. His eyes flicker between your lips and your eyes, and you swear you see his exterior crack just a little bit more. Finally, he leans forward, just slightly, his voice quieter, more dangerous now.

“I think trouble might just be exactly what I need right now.”

[kashimos-hajime]

—bargained | s.r.

summary: "does that mean you're in?"

pairing: suna rintarou x reader

a/n: set before the previous installment, just to give context on why y/n changed her mind :P part of the undateable series

masterlist

You’re staring at the manager form when Osamu somehow finds you.

Refilling your water bottle, reading the basic terms and conditions of such a position in the volleyball club, you clock his shadow before you realize he’s closer than you thought.

Folding the paper, you wave it with an arched brow, and he smiles in the way a Miya twin does. A smile that spells trouble in bold, dark lines, and one you know well enough to steer away from. However, Osamu’s been taller than you since fifth grade, which has pissed you off ever since, and you know he’ll catch up to you in no time if you try to run, so you steel yourself instead.

“If you volunteer me for something without telling me, you should have at least had the guts to tell me yourself after the fact.” Slipping the water bottle into the side pocket of your bag, you tuck the manager form your schoolbag, too. “I had to hear it from Suna?”

Osamu’s eyebrows knit together. “Not my fault he volunteered. Said it was more convenient since you guys shared homeroom.”

“Right. You probably forced him to. Either way,” you continue, leaning against the wall. “I’m not doing it. I’ve never ‘managed’ something before, and it seems like a lot of work.”

“It is,” he agrees, “but you’re so capable, you were just the first person I thought of.”

A group of girls are bypassing as you snap back sardonically: “I’m touched. Is that list of people long, per se, or…”

“C’mon, kuri-kuri. You know I wouldn’ta asked if it wasn’t important! We really need someone. We didn’t think Shiri-san would bow out in her last year.”

A frown pulls at your mouth at the slump of his shoulders, and you feel a little bad for rejecting him so hastily. Tugging at the bottom of your jacket, you withhold a sigh. “Yeah, I mean, I know but it’s just a lot of commitment, and I live really far.”

“I’ll make Atsumu pay for the late train ticket.”

“You should be the one paying,” you retort, stabbing a finger into his chest. His eyebrows rise as you continue on, “And you have to come see me on the weekends at work with lunch for my break.”

“All that way? What about our Sunday practices?”

“Good thing I work on Saturdays, right?” You grin sweetly. Osamu gulps nervously. He’d forgotten how damn convincing you could be without much work. That, and the posse of girls that had somehow slowed down to a crawl walking past them whispering amongst themselves makes his face heat up. 

You’re doing a good job at ignoring them, when suddenly, one of the girls says a little too loudly: “Since when was it Miya Osamu? I thought for sure it would be Tsumu-chan.”

And another replies, hushed—a warning. “Well, wasn’t there that other guy? One of the guys in the programming club. Maybe she likes nerdy types, too.” 

“I’m not dating him!” Your voice cracks the air, sharp as a whip and your gaze snaps to the girl who spoke last. They all squeak in shock, and when Osamu’s gaze passes over them, they shrink even more. Annoyance burning through your blood, you push your friend away and cross your arms, brow furrowing and lips twisting into a terrible scowl. “I’m the volleyball team manager, idiots, not looking for a date. Ugh, do any of you have anything else on your mind but me?”

Grabbing Osamu’s arm, you drag him away from the water fountain and down the hall, ignoring the pleased smile growing on his face the farther you pull him along. Heading for the entrance of the school, you find your locker and let go of Osamu’s arm, kicking off your indoor shoes.

A huff escapes as you yank the locker open, and pout at the scarce space inside before groaning. If only you could bash your head in, in a totally safe and undamaging way, of course.  "That's so annoying. Everything is so annoying."

“But you’re the team manager, huh?” Osamu asks slyly, leaning against the other lockers by your own. “Does that mean you’re in?”

“Nope. Buy me lunch tomorrow and I’ll think about it.”

“Ah, but that's expensive. What if I made you lunch?” he bargained. You withdraw your outdoor sneakers and laugh, irritation melting away. 

For a moment, you think there could be worse people to have rumours with, and you pat his head. “Is that you volunteering? I won’t complain.”

Osamu ducks away from your touch. "No, that's—stop pettin' my head like a dog!"

You shrug, pull on your runners, and close your locker, thinking aloud. “Hm… well, I thought three handmade onigiri would do just fine." His eyebrows scrunch together, and you chain back the laugh aching to burst out your throat. He looks utterly bewildered, and you barely hold back the urge to tell him to take notes. "I want two salmon mayo and one tuna mayo for filling, delivered to my desk right at the lunch bell.” Running a thumb underneath your schoolbag to readjust it on your shoulder, you grin and flick his forehead with before skipping down the steps and heading for the front doors. “See you tomorrow, Osamu, and thanks!”

“W-wait, but that’s not what I meant!” 

But, just as you did seven years ago when you made Osamu cry by pushing him off the swing after he kept yanking at your swing’s chain, you ignore him.

[reomikagekin]

Hi I was wondering if u could write a blue lock oneshot? Shidou x reader enemies to lovers, where reader is staff at blue lock and they meet there

Title: Playing with Fire

Pairing: Ryusei Shidou x Reader

Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Slow Burn, Tension

---

Working at Blue Lock was already a challenge. You had to deal with some of the most egotistical, unpredictable, and stubborn athletes in Japan. But nothing— nothing— was more exhausting than dealing with Ryusei Shidou.

From the moment you met him, he had been a menace. The first day you were assigned to monitor Team V’s training, he waltzed up to you with that infuriating smirk.

"Damn, didn't know they hired hotties here. Must be my lucky day."

You had rolled your eyes so hard they almost got stuck. "I'm here to work, not to entertain you."

"Oh? But you sound entertained already."

And it had only gotten worse from there.

Shidou thrived on chaos, whether on the field or off it. He was constantly getting into fights, pushing boundaries, and ignoring authority. He made your job hell, because half the time, you were the one sent to stop him from murdering his teammates.

"Shidou, stop strangling Karasu."

"Shidou, you can’t call Rin a ‘pissy little wet cat’ during drills."

"Shidou, stop trying to bite Otoya just because he ‘looked at you funny’."

He’d grin, laugh, and do it all over again.You hated him.

...Or at least, you thought you did.

---

One late night, you were going through injury reports when you heard a commotion outside. Sighing, you grabbed your clipboard and headed towards the noise. Unsurprisingly, it was Shidou— shirtless, bruised knuckles, and smirking as he wiped blood from his lip. His opponent had already scurried off, leaving just the two of you under the fluorescent lights.

"You again," you muttered. "Why am I not surprised?"

"Because you like me," he teased, stretching his arms behind his head.

"I like my sanity, which you are actively destroying."

You grabbed a first aid kit and motioned for him to sit. He didn't, of course. He never listened. Instead, he leaned in— too close, his golden eyes gleaming with mischief.

"You gonna patch me up, sweetheart?"

"You want me to punch you instead?"

His grin widened. "Kinky."

You shoved him onto the bench, ignoring the heat in your face. "Sit still."

For once, he actually did. As you cleaned the cut on his lip, the air grew tense. His usual cocky smirk faded just slightly, eyes flickering over your face. It was one of the rare moments where Shidou wasn’t mouthing off, wasn’t causing chaos— just sitting there, watching you.

"You’re different from the others," he said suddenly.

You blinked. "What?"

"The guys here— all they care about is football. Winning. Ego," he mused, tilting his head. "But you? You don’t give a shit about that. You’re just here. Dealing with us."

"I get paid to deal with you," you deadpanned.

"Yeah? Then why do you always stop me from fighting? You could just let me go crazy."

You sighed, pressing a bandage onto his cheek a little harder than necessary. He hissed but didn’t pull away.

"Because as much as you drive me insane, you're still a player. You matter to this program," you muttered. "And whether I like it or not, I don’t want to see you get hurt."

Shidou went quiet. When you finally looked up, his smirk had softened into something… unreadable.

Then, he chuckled. "Y'know," he said, voice quieter than usual, "I think I’m starting to like you."

You scoffed, stepping back. "You think?"

"I know," he corrected, standing up, towering over you. His voice dropped to a purr. "And I think you like me too."You scowled, crossing your arms. "Keep dreaming, Shidou."

His smirk returned, sharp and predatory. "Oh, I will."

And as he walked away, you realized— with great frustration— that for the first time since meeting him…

You didn’t hate the idea.

Divider credits: Rae (on pinterest)

[deezy1478]

happy valentine's day! here's some husbands shooting the shit on their honeymoon:

“Was this the dumbest idea ever?” said Jim, wheeling his suitcase to one side as he looked round the room. It was the cheapest, most bare bones one they had – the kind they used to stay in when they traveled for a show, stretching the leftover money as far as it would go on booze and takeout and maybe a new video game when they got back home.

“The motel or marrying me?” said Dustin, closing the door behind them. Jim elbowed him in the stomach and Dustin took it in his stride, swinging his overnight bag against the wall and passing Jim with a hand on the small of his back. “Money changed you, man. Look at this – a microwave? A whole bed to ourselves?” he said, sitting down on it and giving an experimental bounce. The springs squeaked unpleasantly. “Aw, fuck yeah. That takes me back.”

He lay back against the pillows and held a hand out for Jim, and there was just barely enough space for him to wriggle against Dustin’s side until he found a position that didn’t make his back start to seize up. When he was settled they chatted a little about the more memorable motels they’d stayed in – the one with rats as big as Walter, the one that smelled mysteriously of cheese, the one where Jim had gotten bitten to shit by bedbugs the night before a match – and then they leaned back to find shapes in the water stains on the ceiling like they used to.

“Don’t ask me how I know this, but… that one kinda looks like Dan Barry’s dick,” said Dustin, pointing at a fat, blobby one near the window.

“Don’t ask me how I know this, but… yeah, you’re kinda right.” Dustin turned his head so fast his neck twinged and Jim’s mouth went all tight, letting him stew for a good few seconds. “He sent me a picture once. By accident. Meant to go to Jess but he hit Jim.”

“Uh huh,” said Dustin. “Mm hm. That right.”

“What, you think he was shooting his shot?” said Jim, turning and grinning at him. “You’re saying I missed the Dan Barry train?”

“I think you did, dude. Could’ve ridden that thing into the sunset.” He gestured to the ceiling blob. “Could’ve ridden that thing into the sunset.”

Jim shuddered and elbowed him again.

They ordered takeout and Dustin collected it from the front desk – a couple of Taco Bell value boxes and a Red Bull each from the vending machine in the hall, really leaning into the bit – maybe a little too hard, Dustin thought as they both lay back on the bed when they’d finished and the lumpy mattress dug in between his shoulders, but whatever. They’d both been feeling a little nostalgic in the run-up to the wedding, driving off-route a bit on the way to the motel from the courthouse so they could pass by the old Legion Hall in Hellertown where they’d both been booked on the same card for the first time.

“Hey,” he nudged Jim. “Do you actually remember that day? The Chikara Young Lions tag thing?”

“Sure,” said Jim, because of course he did. Dustin had been sifting through his memories since they’d pulled up outside it, trying to pick out those specific couple matches from all the others he’d had in there over the years and hoping he’d remember a flash of bright blonde hair or a weird, honking laugh from across the changing room, but nope. At this point it all felt like it had all happened at least three lifetimes ago.

“Do you remember me there?” he asked.

“Yeah,” said Jim, because of course he did. “I watched one of your matches from behind the curtain. Some guy in the crowd was trying to start shit the whole way through, shouting at you – and you climbed up to the top turnbuckle, looked right at him and yelled tug my balls, asshole. Then you did a moonsault and got the pin.”

Dustin smiled over at him. “And you saw all that and thought, I’m gonna marry that guy some day.”

Jim smiled back “Pretty much,” he said, and Dustin had to look away, back up at the ceiling – thinking about all the years stretching between that moment and their first kiss.

“Jesus. I was a dumbass for so fuckin’ long.”

“Nah,” said Jim, quietly. “Wouldn’t change any of it.” He knocked the back of his hand against Dustin’s. “But sometimes I think, like… what if we could’ve – y’know. If… never mind.”

“No, go on.”

Jim was quiet for a moment. “Do you ever wish…” he said eventually, “or do you ever think about, like – what would you do now with a twenty-two year old me?”

“Uh,” said Dustin, “probably give him a juice box. Y’know… ask what his favourite dinosaur is.” Jim snort-laughed. “Had your balls even dropped by then?”

“One of them had, for sure.” Dustin turned his head, grinning, about to ask which ball but Jim had a funny little look on his face that made him stall. “You really wouldn’t…?” he asked, trailing off.

“What, you think I wanna throw my back out trying to keep up with li’l baby Cipps?” said Dustin. Just thinking about it made him want to slam a bottle of Aleve. “Li’l flippy baby Cipps? Cartwheeling round the bed?”

Jim huffed through his nose. “I just thought… I dunno.” He looked back up at the ceiling. “I was like… bendier, back then. And stuff.”

Dustin reached over and gave Jim’s chest a slap like it was the hood of an old car. “Still bendy enough for me.”

“Yeah?” said Jim, and he tried to smile but something wasn’t quite right – something still lingering at the edges of it.

Dustin rolled onto his side and looked down at him – at the thin lines across his forehead and at the corner of his eyes; the creases that ran from either side of his nose to his mouth that he’d catch Jim pulling at in the bathroom mirror.

“Hey,” he said, cupping Jim’s jaw and tilting it gently towards him. “Gonna be after you in the nursing home, Cipps. Chasing you down with my zimmer frame.”

Jim laughed then, bright and goofy and wrinkly as fuck, and even after ten years it still hit Dustin like a mack truck that Jim had kissed him back on purpose, moved in with him on purpose, said yes on purpose, said I do on purpose.

And now he was lying next to him in a shitty motel bed on their honeymoon on purpose and looking up at him, waiting for whatever came next, and Dustin had no idea where they’d be in ten, fifteen, twenty years – God knows he could only hope they had that long – but he knew about the next few hours. He knew about the next five minutes. He knew about the next few seconds as he leaned in and kissed Jim, wrapping an arm around his warm, narrow hips.

[ghostlyarchaeologist]

Eliot ensuring the girls know how to defend themselves. (And them proving that they can!)

Leverage S02E02/S04E05/Redemption S01E16/S02E03.

[arolesbianism]

I wish So Bad that I could confidently recommend lob corp and library of ruina to people because they're both genuinely rly good games and I also need ppl I know to understand the insanity that is project moon but like godddd they are a fucking Investment. Both in time and in brainpower. I generally think ppl exaggerate how hard lob corp is but it's certainly not easy and when it does get hard it gets HARD. Also it literally requires at least one day 1 reset (basically a new game+) to fully beat the game and at this point I've done at least 10. And for lor I'm not nearly as far in and I'm just scratching the surface of the real game but it's a beast of its own. Also 100+ hours and also hard as hell. Like this game does not fuck around with its difficulty spikes it will make you use your brain and it will give you a damn headache in the process. It's also one of my favorite card combat games I've ever played with mechanics that just so beautifully complement each other to create a dynamic and interesting battle system that gives it a completely different vibe and feeling than any other deck builder games I've played to the point where it almost feels wrong to me to categorize them together. But also I am not even slightly joking abt the headache thing every time I play this damn game I close it with a horrible headache and have to take a multi day break. I think everyone should experience this with me <3

[acourtofquestions]

“She had no magic to wield, save for the keen eyes of the goddess at her shoulder and an uncanny ability to remain unnoticed, to play into expectations.”

[todayisafridaynight]

[ almost ] seasonal question; what do you think the arakawa family does for the holidays?

jo bbg answered that for us three seconds into y7 now didnt he

[oopey-doopey]

hi, i would kill and/or die for Surv and now i need to know if my boy's brawly enough to lift all four of his lovers into the air (like when they're all on the same couch, or, even better, Bear Hug Style lol)

Okay so I don’t reference it a lot of Surv is scarily strong. Addisons are meant to embody the very aspect of what they advertise so Surv like is strong in every physical aspect. A big reason he tries to be so gentle and calm, even if a natural expressive and emotional guy, is cause the dude could do damage if he comes at a situation frantic with that strength. In chapter 9 I mention he lifts bushes out the ground with ease when he was worked up looking and attempted a dumpster before he was stopped. He could’ve thrown the dumpster if he wanted.

It’s sorta not always like that cause it’s adrenaline activated. Like that level of strength is panic induced cause his body is effectively going into fight mode. He can activate that strength anytime, sure, but tends not to cause he doesn’t always have the hindsight to not be destructive. Generally it goes from lifting the couch with little effort to “Did he just rip that tree in half”.

…So yeah he can lift them all in the air bear hug style.

[autistic-shaiapouf]

Sitting here pondering my age old question of, do I want testosterone?