#it seems to just be such a small thing to them- and a foreign concept that something so small and normal could get someone so bad so fast

[waterfallofspace]

Any variation on a partner (newly learning about the kink) going "Awhhh, that's all it takes to get you going?" after watching you melt from just a few of their sneezes~

[finchandthebard]

The "tiktok ban" should scare you and here's why.

Rant made by an autistic, history-loving, chronically online American tiktok cosplayer. Please let me know if I've gotten anything wrong and I will edit the post.

Reblog to spread awareness!

This is not just about Tiktok, and it's not about national security. The Tiktok ban is wrapped up in the "Protecting Americans from Foreign Adversary Controlled Applications Act" which has the ability to ban any foreign website or app that the United States government sees as a threat to their "democracy." Not only that, but if the gov't didn't want China to gather data, then they would ban things like Shein and Temu (the latter which they advertised during the Super Bowl), which collect similar data that Tiktok does. If they wanted to prevent our data being stolen in general, they would ban companies like Meta, which monetarily supports the Tiktok ban and had to change their name because "Facebook" was associated with the largest data leak in history.

The documentations of the Tiktok court interrogations prove how incompetent our government is. Repeatedly asking the TikTok CEO Mr. Chew if he's Chinese while he repeatedly assures them he's Singaporean. The officials being concerned that they can't find Singapore on a map. The officials then being confused why the app would be able to have access to their wifi because it needs wifi to load.

The possibility of the US buying Tiktok exposes a greater issue in America: monopolies. The Sherman Antitrust Act was passed in 1890 that restricted the activities of large companies known as monopolies, which started out as small companies and would either buy other companies or buy the factories which produced all their materials. This eliminated competition in the market and gave the monopolies almost full control of quality and prices of items, and it was considered very anti-American at the time. Since the US already has multiple major social medias, including Facebook (Meta), Instagram (Meta), Threads (Meta), X (formerly Twitter), Snapchat, and Reddit, adding Tiktok would mean that nobody could compete with the US in the social media market. This makes them a monopoly, and it's incredibly dangerous.

Banning Tiktok breaks several American trademarks. A) the Republicans banning Tiktok are very concerned about their second amendment right to own guns, but they seem to not care about the first amendment right to freedom of speech and press, which Tiktok delivers. Of course there are app guidelines, but for the most part you have fairly uncensored political and ethical commentary like no other social media. B) the only other countries that have banned Tiktok are either heavily demonized by America or are direct targets for American propaganda (ex. China), which really doesn't make the ban look good. C) banning a social media for the purpose of censorship is a trademark of communism, which Americans are INCREDIBLY wary of.

Your country may follow in suit. Because of America's influence as a global superpower and an ally to many other major powers, America banning Tiktok would likely lead to a domino effect in other countries.

The rich get richer. There is a concept called social darwinism, in which it is the rich's beliefs that the poor must fend for themselves without the help of the government in order to make a living - "survival of the fittest." Tiktok contributed around $14.7 billion USD in 2023 and $24.2 billion in 2024, and it supports around 224,000 jobs [source]. The actual Tiktok website says in 2023, they contributed $15 billion USD in revenue and supported 7 million US businesses [source]. Without these jobs, there could be in increase in homelessness, debt, and sickness due to withdrawals (if you're incredibly addicted to Tiktok) and lack of quick dopamine hits (due to the rapidfire nature of the algorithm).

Remember that the president is not your friend !! Many of the political figures rallying to support Tiktok right now, such as President Biden, initially voted for the ban. President Biden is likely supporting now so that Trump won't get credit for it, and future President Trump is likely doing it for brownie points among younger generations.

The Xiaohongshu migration exposed the American government and its lies. The stories from American 'Tiktok refugees' about the questions from native Chinese on the Xiaohongshu / Rednote / Redbook app (considered the Chinese mixed of Pinterest, Instagram, and Facebook) posed a lot of conspiracies and realizations about the American government. The Chinese actually own their homes, they have lower food prices than we do, and they have a slim homelessness rate. Whether this is true or not, it has greatly influenced how we see ourselves in the grand scheme of the American oligarchy, and that is not something that can be suppressed with an app being banned.

Tiktok is not totally Chinese! The CEO is Singaporean, as I've already stated, and there are multiple headquarters in the US, with the main one being in Los Angeles.

In conclusion...

Whether Tiktok is banned or not, whether permanently or not, no matter who saves it or rallies against it, remember that it is harder to scare and control someone when they are in a group. And if you think this was interesting, I'd love it if you could reblog to show some support and inform your friends as well. <3

THIS IS NOT RIGHT VS LEFT❗️IT'S UP VS DOWN❗️

[acid-ixx]

do i look like him?

— just another series concept. please note that talia sexually assaulting bruce is retconned in whatever portrayal i have of her. i will not tolerate any racist or sexist remarks towards her character for a mischaracterized version of her, written by some gooner.

reblogs and interactions are encouraged and appreciated.

i don't know if anybody would be interested in a certain premise i'm planning. taylor's song, "like him" is resonating off of my body, and i've a draft written inspired off of the song featuring yandere batfam x damian's twin! reader x yandere! al ghul family.

wherein instead of being neglected, you're treated like royalty by your own family. your twin is subjected to the cruelty of being raised as an assassin. you're met with scarred hands, nicked back, and calloused skin every time he comes back from your shared room after another particularly harsh training. yet every time you worry for your older twin, he'd silence you with the same bloodied hands that handled bodies like ragdolls, gently like it has never killed, with hushed promises whispered by your ear that "this is necessary for your protection, akhi/akhti."

at first you'd be convinced that this family lifestyle is normal. your mother is doting, she is kind, she is where you learned the word mercy; unlike the fierce image she displays in public. you're often spoiled rotten with her favorite shades of clothes, and her teachings emanate within you a deep sense of loving for animals. you never truly see her cruelty for other humans, as she often makes you sit by her lap upon a seat you call a throne when you were all but a mere five year old, playing with your hair, muttering affirmations and cradling you on her chest every time you ponder too deeply about the word, 'father'.

a word you'd read from those fairytales by the library, a word you craved to know, a word forbidden to be stated by everybody within your castle-like home.

she'll call upon your brother every time your curiosity gets the best of you, and the duo would try their best to sway your attention away with playtime. either it'd be stories, or damian showing you new tricks he'd learn from masters long overthrown by your twin, or it would be as simple as talia dragging both her beloved children to the huge kitchen, demanding the head chefs to bake you and your brother's favorite dessert (a little moment to spoil your brother after a hard-earned day of training, even if damian isn't always fond of sweet confectionaries; your grin would always tempt him to take a bite of your food if it means spending a day being himself).

it seems even damian plays along with the sick fantasy of not acknowledging the possibility of an alive father figure to you. not like you'd be aware of it, too caught up with your grandfather teaching you about rare species' on the verge of extinction, his (rarely) soft gaze fixed on the way your small body would gently pat the face of his wolf companion, or your brother constantly vying for you, his younger twin's, attention, eliminating all possible rivals who could potentially act as your future playmate that only he has the privilege for, or how your mother seeks you, her youngest baby, out, for a day of rest after another mission, doting smooches on your face, her lipstick smearing all over the soft chub of your cheeks, dismissing your pouts

a perfect family, with not much left to desire for your part.

so why is it that talia would often hear damian complain about your sudden fixation about a father figure? you'd mumble, something about one of your servants who mentioned visiting her father for vacation, a man who works as a merchant for his family; you asked them what your father's job was, what his name was, "why isn't he here at the family dinner?"

you asked, with wide, pitiful eyes, a feature long foreign for hardened assassins, but associated only with you. a quality nobody in the league dares to criticize; your gentleness the only thing keeping their leaders sane, keeping most servants alive as you find precious each and every single living being; not exclusive to animals or plants, but to humans too.

you're the league's only hope for reprieve, for softness in the moments of emboldened duties and priorities. you're the fingers that caress on calloused skin and the lips that kiss bloody scars. the hearth that warms even the coldest of hearts.

which was why nobody attempted to answer you, no matter how much it breaks your heart; because nobody wanted to ruin your soft and kind heart, or see the sullen droop in your eyes, or red, sniffling nose.

yet once ra's heard the confession of you being aware of what a father is like through the mouth of your servant, he'd immediately demanded another assassin to eliminate whoever dared mentioned such preposterous concepts to his grandchild.

throughout their rage, throughout damian nuzzling his head on the crown of your, muttering that whatever his baby sibling is sputtering is nonsensical, mere fantasy, arms encasing your entire body. he'd cradle you, run his hands against your hair even with furrowed, always angered brows; all the same questions lingered in the back of their minds:

is your current family not enough? why is it that the more you grow, the more you... wear the same expression of stubbornness, a quality your mother is sure you've adopted from you... father.

she may not be the best mother, taking both you and damian away from the arms of bruce wayne after she had learned about her pregnancy after a night spent together with the man, but she did it for the sake of her children; for your future, too.

bruce wayne will not be a good influence to you. if he tries so much to subject you into becoming another one of his robins, destroying your innocence, your perception of the world into a bleak portrayal of lackluster colors— ra's wouldn't hesitate to destroy the entirety of bruce's home.

and the manor is nothing! nothing, mind you, compared to the castle you call your home. only you deserve the richest of the rich, the shiniest jewels and the best treatment in the world. what more can gotham offer you? what more, if not for broken bones and bruised knees?

and so they settled upon ruining your perception of your father, with no known face to be plastered upon your memory, no known source, or picture— at such an early age.

if you yearn so much for a father, why not paint the image as dark as the cowl he wears?

why don't they feed you lies about him never wanting you and your twin in the first place? you'll be given opportunities to call an empty line, hoping your father would pick up, would respond and tell you that he's coming for you. they'll give you time to write letters, even if it takes your crummy fingers hours to finish a dedicated letter for your father, after years of being unable to meet him; it causes all the more ache in your mother's chest, witnessing her beloved youngest stay up late, whispering whimsical wishes about how excited you are to read your father's reply to you.

all your mother could do was kiss your forehead as she sat by your side, and rub your delicate cheeks with her fingers, mumbling that her baby should sleep now.

your mother never lies to you, no?

at least, not outright in your face.

damian, hates seeing the heartbreak in your eyes, but he's the very same twin who comforts you every damn time you fall to your knees after discovering that the letters you sent to your father's locations were long since unanswered — even if they're all hidden away in a vault of every possession you thought you lost. he'll pick you up with his trained body, and you'll melt even further into his form, shivering at the prospect that you're an unwanted child in the face of your father.

soon.

soon, you'll learn to despise bruce with every being of your soul, and learn to only reserve the association of warmth for your only family. you'll be the spoiled royal of the al ghul, and you'll come to find yourself grateful that you're raised without his presence, deluded into thinking that he abandoned you, that he never truly cared in the first place.

you love your family, you hate bruce wayne.

he is not family.

he is not your father, he lost that status long ago right after you thought he'd ignore all your calls, your messages, letters, gifts, every and any signal sent to the man you once called your father right after learning his name. he made you hope, he left the light flicker once flickering within you now blown away, leaving only an empty husk of your wanting to meet your father.

you hate bruce, you hate him so fucking much, you're ashamed that he's even your father in the first place— even if he's the very same man working tirelessly, day and night, to save you, once he caught news of what his children looks like, and locks eyes with your hopeful ones, a rare sight amongst the imagery of assassin. he plans to retrieve you, to save you, from the castle you call your home; truly what you call your cage.

little did you know that you are more like your father than you are with what you call your family.

— heavily inspired by @anxiousnerdwritings portrayal of twin!reader.

a/n: i honestly don't know half of what i wrote. i'm out of my mind, and i'm honestly not confident with the outcome of this concept. if people do like it (leave comments, or inputs, or whatsoever) i might post a chapter about this (since i do have one written in my drafts a week or two ago). if not, i'm dropping this and leaving it as a concept mostly, a one-time thing at best. so if anybody does like this, please do tell me. i do have a lot in store for this concept, specifically the way manipulation works within this family convincing you the other side is evil; i've been through this once w/ my family actually ngl, so writing this was a bit fun.

[dodgeballstuckonthegymceiling]

headcanons for Breadhead with a fem reader (whose pronouns go by she/her) who’s secretly a human/fallen angel but she keeps her identity under wraps and disposes any witnesses if her true identity is discovered. Bonus if Breadhead is deeply in love with Fem!Reader and Fem!Reader really loves Breadhead but she’s also afraid of him + his family because they are The Smiling Dead and she knows that if they find out that she’s a human/fallen angel, she’s dead or worse. (She does not know Mel is a human here)

Commissioned by the lovely @zodiacfan32 :D

Breadhead x fallen angel Reader

★ Your fall was not a graceful one. It was violent, a nightmare that you couldn't wake up from. Leaving you broken in more ways than one. And adjusting to life in the Gaslight District was a challenge. The memories of heaven haunted you, and every corner of this new, harsh world seemed more dangerous than the last. 

★ Trust became a foreign concept. Quickly learning that survival meant staying hidden. For years you lived like that. It wasn't great but you survived. Until, one day, you crossed paths with a certain yeast golem.

★ He calls you “birdie” on account of your wings. To him, it’s just a fun nickname you seem to like. To you, it's the most adorable thing ever. Every time he says it you light up a bit.

★ If you mess up and get caught, don't be afraid to ask him for help. He's been making people “disappear” for years now. Taught by the best, too. “Don’t worry, I’ve done this before!"

★ After he killed an angel during the egg heist, you felt a bit unsafe. Keeping your distance for about a day. Breadhead just couldn't figure out what he did wrong. According to him, it “tasted gross" and that, somehow, made you feel better.

★ His family scares you. Their reputation doesn't help much, either. You know what'll happen if you cross the Smiling Dead. Drowned, cemented and killed. Best to stay away from them...

★ You were human once. A long time ago. Before the Gaslight District was built and humans thrived on the earth. Despite everything, you still yearn for those days. Everything was so simple, so easy. You didn't need to watch your back. 

★ Life might be complicated, but with Breadhead in it, things feel a little better. It’s the small, quieter moments that mean the most. Like when he pats your head after saying goodbye.

★ When you let your feelings slip out, and say “Maybe if I weren’t so broken, I wouldn’t have to worry so much.” Breadhead turns his head towards you, frowning gently. He doesn't think before speaking. “Don’t be silly, you’re not that broken.”

[ms-snape]

Can you pretty please write an imagine about having a toddler/baby with Snape and him who was originally against kids, suddenly develops baby fever and starts hinting (but it gets progressively worse and less of hints and more obvious and straight up saying) about having another baby?

Thank you in advance!!!!!🥹☺️

Title: Another One

Warning: None

Words Count: 3000+

Masterlist

---

Severus Snape had never been a man for children. It wasn’t that he despised them or lacked the capacity to care, but children had always felt like a distant and unnerving concept to him. They were noisy, unpredictable, and he couldn’t quite figure out how to connect with them. His life had always been consumed by darker thoughts—by the looming shadows of his past, the weight of his mistakes, and the mission that had occupied so much of his energy and time.

So when his wife, Y/N, had approached him with the news of their first pregnancy, he had not responded with joy or excitement. Instead, there was a hollow feeling in his chest, a sinking sensation that he couldn’t ignore. He’d always been content with the life they had built together—a life that had started slowly, cautiously, and with much hesitation on his part.

But somehow, Y/N had won him over. Her gentle presence had been his anchor for years. She had seen past the mask of bitterness and mistrust that he wore, had understood the complexities of his soul better than anyone else ever had. And for reasons he could not fully comprehend, he had agreed to become a father with her.

Their daughter, Ella, had arrived in the middle of the night, a small bundle of soft skin and wailing cries. Severus had stared at her in stunned silence as Y/N held her in her arms, the newborn’s tiny face scrunched up in indignation at the world. He had been terrified. Terrified not of the birth—he had been present, of course—but terrified of the responsibility, of the unknown.

But now, months later, he found himself in the nursery, staring down at the small bundle that lay in the crib before him. Ella was a few months old now—perhaps four, though time had lost its sharp edges in the haze of new parenthood. She was the light of their home, her dark eyes gleaming with an innocent wonder that made Severus’s heart ache in ways he didn’t quite understand.

“Ella,” he murmured softly, bending down to look at his daughter as she lay there, her tiny hands waving in the air, her chubby little cheeks pink from sleep. A soft gurgle escaped her lips, and Severus found himself smiling—an unfamiliar, fragile expression that felt almost foreign.

She adored him. That was the most startling thing about being a father. Ella didn’t just like him. She adored him. She would reach out for him when he entered the room, her tiny fingers grasping for his hands as though she knew exactly who he was. And every time he picked her up, he felt that little pulse of warmth in his chest, that overwhelming sense of purpose he never knew he could have.

But the problem was, he didn’t know how to be a father.

He had spent his life training in Potions, in dark arts, in the art of deception. He had faced death, betrayal, and sorrow. But none of that prepared him for this—being a parent, holding a tiny human who relied on him completely. He had no idea what he was doing.

Y/N, of course, was incredible at it. She had an instinctive ability to calm Ella, to make her laugh with a simple smile, to soothe her with the soft lilt of her voice. Severus had no such talents. His voice was too harsh, too low. His movements were often stiff, and sometimes he felt utterly overwhelmed by Ella’s needs—feeding, changing, the constant vigilance required to keep a baby happy.

But Ella, in her innocent way, didn’t seem to mind. She loved him, and she trusted him. That fact alone terrified Severus.

One evening, as he sat in the armchair by the fire, reading a particularly complex potion manual, Y/N came into the room with Ella cradled in her arms. Ella’s tiny face peeked out from under a soft knitted blanket, her dark hair sticking up at odd angles.

“You’re not reading that nonsense to her, are you?” Y/N asked, a teasing smile playing on her lips.

Severus’s eyes flickered up from his book, irritation curling at the edge of his thoughts. “I’m not reading it to her,” he replied gruffly, setting the book aside with a slight wave of his hand. “I’m reading it for myself. You’ll forgive me if I don’t resort to nursery rhymes.”

Y/N chuckled, settling into the chair next to his. She lifted Ella so that the baby could gaze at her father, her tiny hands reaching out with wide eyes full of wonder.

Severus swallowed, his heart thumping.

Ella’s gaze locked with his, and she gave a small, gurgling giggle. His lips twitched in the faintest of smiles. The noise seemed so absurd to him, this soft, childish sound, but it filled him with a strange pride, a warmth he couldn’t quite shake.

“You’re making it hard to be mad at you when you look at me like that,” Severus muttered, his voice rough.

Y/N laughed softly, the sound a gentle melody that seemed to lighten the weight on his chest. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, careful not to disturb the baby between them. “She’s going to be just like you,” Y/N said quietly, her voice soft with affection. “She already is.”

Severus looked at Ella again, his eyes softening. She was still giggling, her hands now reaching for the thick fabric of his robe. He let out a sigh, a mixture of exasperation and wonder.

“I never asked for this,” he admitted, his voice low. “I never wanted… this.”

Y/N glanced at him in surprise, her brow furrowing slightly. “But you’re doing wonderfully, Severus. Look at her. Look at how she looks at you. She adores you.”

His gaze flickered to the baby in her arms, and he saw that glimmer of trust again in Ella’s eyes. It both warmed and unnerved him. “I don’t know what I’m doing, Y/N. I wasn’t… prepared for this.”

“You never could have been,” she replied gently. “No one is. But you’re doing your best, and that’s enough.”

Severus’s gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers fidgeting in his lap. “I don’t know if it is enough,” he muttered. “I don’t know how to… be a father.”

Y/N’s voice softened, and she leaned closer, placing a hand on his arm. “You’re doing just fine, Severus. You love her. That’s all that matters.”

For the briefest moment, Severus let himself believe her. His mind wandered back to Ella’s first few months—how she would sometimes cry, and he would feel completely useless. How she would smile at him, and it would feel like a blessing he didn’t deserve.

But recently, something else had begun to stir in his chest, something he couldn’t ignore. It was an ache, a longing.

He wanted another child.

He didn’t understand it. It was absurd, really. After all, he had never wanted children. He had thought one was more than enough. But as the days passed, and he spent more time with Ella, he found himself wondering about the possibility of another child. A son, perhaps. Another daughter. The thought haunted him, and he couldn’t shake it.

He never told Y/N. He never even spoke about it, not aloud. He wasn’t sure how she would react. Would she think him mad? Would she want more children, or had she, like him, thought one was enough?

Severus’s gaze lingered on Ella for a long time, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty and hope.

As Ella grew older, the ache only grew stronger. But he kept it to himself. He didn’t want to bring it up, didn’t want to risk disrupting the quiet peace they had found in their little family.

One evening, Y/N and Ella were asleep. Severus stood by the window, gazing out at the darkened grounds of their home, lost in thought. His fingers brushed the edge of the windowsill as he stared out into the night.

What if they had another baby?

The thought seemed both impossible and deeply desirable at once. But he wasn’t sure he could handle the pressure. He wasn’t sure he was ready.

His fingers tightened on the sill, but the decision was still uncertain, and for now, he would keep it to himself.

For now, he would wait.

The night had settled over their home in a tranquil hush. The only sound was the soft crackling of the fire in the hearth, casting a gentle flicker of light across the darkened bedroom. Y/N was curled against Severus’s side, her breath steady and calm in the silence of their shared space. Ella, for once, was asleep in her crib beside them, the rhythmic sound of her breathing an almost comforting backdrop to the otherwise quiet evening.

Severus’s gaze rested on Y/N’s face, the soft contours illuminated by the firelight. There was a serene beauty in the way she slept—unburdened, content. He envied that peace. It had been several months since Ella’s birth, and while he had grown accustomed to the joys and trials of fatherhood, there were still moments when he found himself uncertain, questioning his place in this new life they had created.

His fingers traced the curve of Y/N’s shoulder, and she stirred slightly, a faint smile crossing her lips without fully waking. Her hand found his, and she squeezed it gently, a wordless acknowledgment of his presence beside her.

For a long while, Severus simply lay there, trying to calm the anxious thoughts that kept spinning in his mind. His heart—usually so guarded—had become more and more open with each passing day, and now, with the flickering fire and the soft rhythm of Y/N’s breathing, he knew there was something he needed to say. Something he had been too afraid to admit, even to himself.

He wanted another child.

The idea had lingered in his mind for weeks, growing steadily, quietly. He had always been hesitant about the idea of fatherhood, but now… now he found that the thought of Ella having a sibling—of their family growing—wasn't just a fleeting fancy. It was a longing.

He turned onto his side to face her, watching the rise and fall of her chest. He could feel the weight of the words pressing against his tongue. He needed to say it. He had to. And yet, as always, there was a lingering hesitation. What if she didn’t feel the same? What if she thought he was mad?

Y/N stirred once more, her eyes fluttering open to meet his. Her lips curved into a soft smile, and her voice was a quiet murmur in the darkened room. “Severus?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he began, his voice rough but steady, “about… something...”

Her brow furrowed in the dim light, and she shifted slightly, propping herself up on her elbow. There was a flicker of surprise in her eyes, but she said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

He swallowed, his pulse quickening as he spoke, his words tumbling out more quickly than he intended. “Ella’s growing up, and I…” He hesitated, trying to gather the right words. “I don’t know. I just—”

Before he could finish, a loud, shrill cry interrupted him.

Ella.

The sound of their daughter’s wailing echoed through the room, cutting through the tension between them like a knife. Severus froze, his words forgotten in the face of his daughter’s distress. Y/N immediately sat up, her hand already reaching for the edge of the bed.

“I’ll go,” she said, her voice soft but full of concern. “Stay here.”

“No,” Severus said, his voice sharper than he intended. “I’ll do it.” He swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet touching the cold wooden floor with a soft thud.

Y/N looked at him for a moment, then nodded, though the expression on her face betrayed a hint of disappointment. “Alright.”

Severus stood, his body stiff with the weight of the unfinished conversation. He hesitated for just a moment, casting a glance back at Y/N. She had already settled back down on the bed, her hand resting lightly on the pillow as she waited for him to return.

With a deep sigh, Severus walked toward the crib, where Ella’s cries were growing louder by the second. He found her thrashing, her little hands reaching out toward him in the dark, her face scrunched up in discomfort. For a moment, he felt that familiar wave of helplessness wash over him. What had caused the crying this time?

“I’m here, Ella,” he murmured softly, reaching down to lift her into his arms. The moment her tiny body was against his chest, the crying slowed, though she still sniffled, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. Her small face looked up at him, her dark eyes locking with his, and for the briefest moment, Severus forgot all about his internal turmoil.

She was his daughter. She needed him.

His heartbeat slowed as he rocked her gently in his arms. Her tiny fingers curled around the fabric of his nightshirt, and the soothing rhythm of the moment seemed to ease some of the tightness in his chest.

As he stood there in the dark, holding Ella close, he realized something—he didn’t know what the future held. He didn’t know if Y/N would agree with his desire for another child. But he did know one thing: he wanted to try. He wanted to take that step with her. He didn’t want to regret not saying something.

He sighed softly, looking down at Ella, her cries subsiding into soft hiccups. He whispered a small lullaby under his breath, one his mother had sung to him when he was a boy, though he hadn’t thought of it in years. Ella’s eyelids fluttered, and within moments, she was asleep again in his arms, her tiny chest rising and falling with the slow, steady rhythm of deep slumber.

He placed her back gently in her crib, careful not to wake her again, and lingered for a moment by the side of the bed. The room was quiet again, save for the soft crackle of the fire.

He turned to find Y/N still lying there, her face now illuminated by the soft glow of the embers. There was a quiet sadness in her expression, and it tugged at something deep within him.

Severus hesitated for a long moment, still struggling to find the words. He took a deep breath, his mind racing.

But just as he was about to speak again, a sharp knock at the door cut through the stillness.

“Severus!” came a voice from the hallway—Professor McGonagall’s voice, urgent as always. “I apologize for disturbing you, but there’s a matter that requires your immediate attention.”

Severus cursed under his breath, his frustration mounting. Y/N gave him a sympathetic look, though she didn’t say anything. He stood still for a moment, his fingers curling into fists, before finally making his way to the door.

“I’ll return shortly,” he muttered to Y/N, though he knew it was unlikely he would be able to finish their conversation tonight. The thread of it was slipping away, tangled with interruptions he had no control over.

He opened the door to find McGonagall standing there, her face set with concern. "It's about the Order, Severus. We need your assistance immediately."

He nodded curtly, stepping out of the room. But as the door closed softly behind him, his heart sank. The opportunity to speak his mind—to share his desires with Y/N—had slipped through his fingers once again.

The night stretched on, filled with unspoken words and unfinished thoughts. Severus returned to their bedroom hours later, finding Y/N already asleep, her breathing slow and steady. Ella, too, was peacefully resting in her crib.

Severus stood in the doorway for a moment, watching them both. His heart still ached with the longing he had yet to voice. But for now, it seemed that silence would be his companion, and the desire for another child would remain just that—something unspoken, nestled in the quiet corners of his heart.

He sighed quietly and undressed, slipping into bed beside Y/N. He would try again, perhaps another time. But for now, he let the peace of the room settle around him, his thoughts drifting into a restless sleep.

The weeks passed in a blur of routine. Ella grew steadily, her giggles becoming more pronounced, her tiny hands reaching for new things, her little legs kicking with uncontained joy. Severus was still adjusting to the complexities of parenthood, and despite his initial reservations, he found himself more and more fascinated by Ella’s development.

Yet, as much as he tried to focus on the present—on the quiet joy of watching his daughter learn and grow—there was still the persistent pull at his heart. The thought of another child lingered like a shadow, growing clearer and more urgent with each passing day.

It was early one morning, just as the first rays of sunlight filtered through the curtains, when Severus finally decided he couldn’t keep this to himself any longer.

Y/N was still asleep beside him, her head nestled against his pillow, her breathing steady. Ella, in her crib, was still asleep as well, her tiny fingers curled around her soft blanket. Severus lay still for a moment, watching his wife. She looked peaceful, utterly content in the quiet of the morning.

He had spent so many nights lying next to her, wondering when the right moment would come. When he would finally be able to say the words that had been weighing on his mind for months. Every time he tried to speak, something would come up. Some distraction, some interruption, some reason that felt like a sign that he wasn’t ready to say it yet.

But now, in the calm of the morning, with everything still and quiet around them, he felt like he had no choice. He had to tell her. He couldn’t live with this uncertainty any longer.

Severus turned onto his side, gently facing her. His fingers reached out, brushing the soft strands of hair away from her face, his touch tender and tentative.

“Y/N,” he murmured softly, just above a whisper.

She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing the top of her head. “Y/N,” he repeated, a little louder this time.

Her eyelids fluttered open, and she blinked up at him, a slow smile spreading across her face as she saw him there, so close. Her hand instinctively reached for his, her fingers warm and soft. “Good morning,” she said, her voice low and still heavy with sleep. “What time is it?”

“Early,” Severus replied, though he didn’t truly care about the time. He needed to get to the point.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed slightly, a hint of concern crossing her features as she saw the expression on his face—more serious, more intense than usual. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her voice full of worry.

“No,” Severus said, his voice steady despite the flurry of emotions running through him. “But there’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about. Something important.”

Y/N’s expression softened, her hand squeezing his gently. “What is it, Severus? You know you can tell me anything.”

He swallowed, feeling the weight of her gaze on him. There was a time when he would have kept this hidden, when he would have buried his desires and fears deep inside, keeping them locked away. But now… now, with Y/N by his side, he didn’t want to hide anything anymore. She had always known him better than anyone else.

Severus took a slow breath and met her eyes. His voice was quiet but firm. “I’ve been thinking a lot about Ella lately,” he began, his gaze drifting toward their daughter’s crib, though his thoughts remained focused on Y/N. “About how fast she’s growing. How fast everything is changing.”

Y/N followed his gaze, her smile softening into something more contemplative. “She is growing so quickly,” she agreed quietly. “It’s hard to believe how much she’s already changed in just a few months.”

Severus nodded, then looked back at her. His chest felt tight as he continued, “I want to have another child.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, a mix of surprise and something else—something he couldn’t quite read—crossing her face. She blinked, as though processing what he had said.

“You… want another baby?” she asked, her voice a little uncertain, but not in a way that suggested rejection. It was more like she was searching for clarification, trying to understand.

Severus nodded, though he felt his throat tighten as the words escaped him. “Yes. I never thought I would say this. I never thought I’d want it, but…” He trailed off, shaking his head slightly. “I do. I want another child. I want Ella to have a sibling. I want… I want our family to grow.”

Y/N’s gaze softened, her expression unreadable for a moment. She was silent for a long while, and Severus found himself unable to look away from her, his heart pounding in his chest. His words felt clumsy, rushed, and he was terrified of her response.

But then, after what seemed like an eternity, Y/N sat up slightly, her hand still resting gently in his. She studied him for a long time, her eyes searching his face as though weighing his sincerity, understanding the depth of what he was asking.

“You’ve thought this through?” she asked quietly, her voice calm but full of concern. “You’re sure about this?”

Severus hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching hers. “I’ve thought about it for months, Y/N. I’ve watched you with Ella, and I’ve seen the joy that she brings into our lives. I’ve seen how much love we have to give her… and I can’t help but think that there’s more of that love to give. I don’t know why, but…” His voice faltered slightly. “I feel that we’re not finished yet.”

Y/N’s eyes softened, and she let out a slow breath, as though processing the weight of his words. She reached out, cupping his face with her hand, her thumb brushing gently over his cheek.

“You know, Severus,” she said with a faint smile, “I’ve thought about it too.”

Severus blinked, his heart skipping a beat. He hadn’t expected her to say that. “You have?”

She nodded. “When Ella was born, I wasn’t sure how I’d feel about having another child. It felt overwhelming, the thought of going through all of that again. But…” She paused, her gaze tender. “As I watch her grow, I can’t help but feel like our family isn’t quite complete yet either. Like there’s room for more love, more laughter, more life.” She smiled softly. “So yes, I’ve thought about it. And I think I’d like that too. I’d like to try again.”

Severus felt his breath catch in his throat. He had braced himself for any number of responses—surprise, hesitation, even rejection—but this… this was more than he could have hoped for.

“You would?” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

Y/N’s smile deepened, and she nodded again. “Yes. But I think we should take it slowly. We need to be sure that we’re both ready for it. And we have to consider everything—the logistics, the time, everything. But I’m open to it, Severus. I want to have another child, too.”

Relief washed over him like a tidal wave, and before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead. He felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude in that moment. It was a feeling he hadn’t been sure he would ever experience—this kind of peace, this kind of certainty.

“I’m glad,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ve wanted to say this for so long. I wasn’t sure how you’d react… but now I know.”

Y/N reached up, cupping his face in both hands, her eyes bright with affection. “I love you, Severus. And whatever we decide, we’ll do it together.”

Severus’s heart swelled at her words, and he leaned into her touch, closing his eyes for a moment. It was more than he had ever dared to hope for.

For the first time in what felt like ages, he allowed himself to truly believe in the possibility of their future—of their growing family, of their love continuing to expand.

As the morning light brightened the room, the sound of Ella shifting in her crib broke the stillness, but this time, it didn’t feel like an interruption. It felt like the beginning of something new—something they would face together.

Severus smiled softly, his hand finding Y/N’s once more. And for the first time, he felt a deep, resounding sense of peace settle in his heart.

[justyelln]

Muse ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

; mydei x reader, reincarnation, modern au, artist!reader, titans are myths, mention of [name] (only once), implied chrysos heir reader, spoiler for story 3.1 (?), not proofread.

wordcount : 1,8k

i am not so proud of this. enjoy, regardless!

reincarnation is but a tale- something distant, unreal. the concept of 'another life' does not fit right to her.

one life was already hard enough. the idea of living again, somewhere else, as someone else-what was the point? what would she carry over? her memories? her regrets? her love?

love.. to who?

memories.. if she were living in her another life, was all her dream are from her past life?

a man.. her muse, one who she paint on her canvas. from the first time she saw him in her dream, he had always been her form of inspiration. over and over again, always the same face, the same quiet expression. a face she never met, yet felt achingly familiar.

her fingers knew the shape of him without needing to think. the structure of his face, his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth. it was like remembering— not creating.

a longing feeling so specific, it scared her. a deep ache. everytime she finished a sculpture, everytime she stepped back to look at what she’d made, one name surfaced.

she reached out, brushing her fingers gently over the sculpture’s face.

“mydeimos…” the name left her lips like a prayer, and it surprised her everytime.

reincarnation is but a tale, it is something she'd like to believe, even if the world gave her hints by her dreams.. reincarnation is but a beautiful story to make one believe in a lie.

and yet, someone so familiar is standing right before her eyes.

the same expression, the same face structure, the same name.

he stood quietly in the middle of her gallery, silent. his gaze fixed on a piece she had always been proud of— his sculpture. the one she always came back to, and one she had spent time perfecting it.

“you must be the artist.” the man said, turning his head to her. for a moment, it felt like time folded in on itself. as if the past and present were no longer two separate things.

she stayed silent, not knowing what to answer. that is the face she saw in her dream, one who she couldn't remember his eyes, no matter how hard she tried. he also got the same tear shaped tattoo under his beautiful eyes.

“ah. forgive my rudeness,” his voice, it felt so real. “my name is mydei— mydeimos.” his name, it is him.

reality took a second to catch up to her. “sir mydeimos.. this is a bit awkward, isn’t it? some of the pieces here have…”

“the same name as mine,” he finished for her. “and my face.”

mydei turned his attention back to the sculpture, and then slowly glanced around at the other artworks. paintings, sketches, small sculptures—each one carrying some trace of him.

“miss,” he said gently, “would you mind telling me the stories behind these artworks?”

his tone was soft, familiar. like someone speaking to someone he knew long, the way he talked to her seems familiar, it's not a foreign feeling.

“very well.”

⊹

there were many pieces in the gallery. and one by one, she told him their stories. to a man she had just met today—yet felt like she’d known for lifetimes.

some stories were light, full of warmth and laughter. others were tangled in emotion, too complicated to explain clearly. a few were quiet and deeply sad. but all of them had a shared thread—him. her muse. now standing beside her, real and breathing.

they stopped before another artwork. a large canvas, richly detailed.

in this artwork, it was not just mydei, but other people too, even her. laughing together in what looked like a bathhouse. the mood was bright—carefree, as if time had no hold on them. golden threads shimmered through the water, catching light from somewhere unseen.

"i feel like in this artwork, it is full of someone i've known before. i have no idea how'd i know their faces, but some of them are my actual friends in real life."

some of the figures were familiar to her—faces of her friends, people she had crossed paths with in real life. faces that are not only familiar to her— but also to mydei.

“some people in this painting looks like my friends, too.” mydei said, eyes still on the bathhouse scene.

she only hummed in response, though the quiet tremor in her chest betrayed how much that surprised her.

they moved on. mydei paused in front of another painting. the next artwork, a painting, of a figure just like him— mydeimos. walking away from the viewer's perspective. “then, what about this one?” she looked at the painting he was pointing at.

she stood beside him, eyes locked on the painting. It took a moment before she could speak. “as the title said— ‘the strife’s parting’, it's the last time ‘i’ saw him.” she said quietly

her fingers reached out, gently tracing the familiar tattoo inked on the painted back.

“every one of artwork in this place is connected,” she began, her voice slightly louder. “after mydeimos retrieved nikador's coreflame and became a demigod of strive— he left. he part ways from the city, from everyone, from me.”

her throat tightened. she wasn’t sure if it was from talking so much, or from the weight of those words leaving her.

“he left everything behind. for an endless battlefield.” she lowered her finger from the canvas, the atmosphere here was heavy.

she took a breath, almost too quiet to notice. “the continuation of this piece is not finished yet, and i'd rather not talk about it.” she murmured, her voice barely heard.

it's a painting of the last view she had seen, a white haired man, pierced his sword through her muse. killed the man that is supposedly— immortal. it's a painting, a dream she'd rather not talk about to anyone.

mydei didn’t speak right away. but she felt the quiet understanding in the way he stood beside her.

“you know, it occured to me..” she faced the man beside her, the face she had avoided this whole time. “.. why does he looks like you? his name, his voice that i heard in my dream, even..” her palm unconsciously reached to his face, which she startled herself by doing it.

“my apologize. i don't know what came to me—” her eyes welling up, she didn't dare looking at his face any longer. it hurts. it hurts seeing his face, as if the familiarity makes her feel like she is mourning someone she hadn't even lost or know yet.

“[name].” he called out her name, she looked at him. hesitant.

“would you believe me if i told you that this is not just a dream?” she blinked, a tear ran to her cheek. this is a possibility she'd rather not have. for her dreams, her memories.. are too tragic to be called a memory, a reality.

“we've met before, this— this is not just a dream,” mydei looked to the paintings then back at her again. “would you mind if i explain it to you?” he asked gently as he offered his hand, she nodded.

they walked a little to where the large canvas is, the painting with people in the bathhouse. he looked at it, serious, then sighed heavily.

“you've already known that this timeline— is ancient amphoreus. where titans were the main beliefs at that time.. and myths were written about them.”

“if you know about ancient amphoreus, you must've heard about the flame-chase journey, the chrysos heirs with no names— only described with each coreflame they hold.” mydei's eyes went to a girl right beside of ‘past’ her, a girl with purple themed— butterfly clothes.

“back then, mydeimos– made a deal with thanatos. the deal was, if there were a chance in another life.. he asked for his love to remember her past life, even if it's just mere hints.” he turned his gaze to the previous her, then to the her who was standing by his side.

“though.. it seems like it only makes you suffer, didn't it?” mydei's palm hovered near her cheek. he didn't dare to touch her face, even though he wanted to wipe the track of tear on her cheek.

“i.. have felt empty,” she whispered. “as if losing someone this whole time..”

“i never wanted to forget you,” her voice slowly breaking. “but remembering hurts more than losing ever could."

his lips parted slightly, words forming in the silence but never spoken. instead, he let the moment settle between them, full of things they both knew but couldn’t say out loud.

“it's not like i hated it, but if i could, i would just prefer.. to never have known,” she finally said, almost inaudible. “maybe then, i wouldn’t have felt this hole in my chest for so long.”

mydei is not one for words, he would love to just use actions. he had so much things to say, but never could. mydei’s hand trembled, still hovering near her skin. he let his fingertips gently brush her cheek this time, wiping the tear she couldn’t stop. his touch was warm—familiar. painfully so.

“i was selfish,” he murmured. “i made that deal for me, thinking that if i wanted something for the last time wouldn't hurt anyone. not knowing how heavy it must be for you, to feel love without context. loss without reason.”

“but then, you would've remembered all of this alone.” she replied, her voice soft.

he smiled faintly, an expression that tried to be gentle, but couldn’t hide the guilt behind it. it wasn’t the kind of smile people wore when they were happy. it was the kind that came after regret settled too deep, and all you could do was hold it.

“i would’ve taken that burden,” he said quietly. “without question. if it meant you could live peacefully, without that ache in your chest, i would’ve carried all of it alone.”

she looked at him, this time, it didn't hurt as much. she understood it now, and all has been done.

“were you always been ready to break yourself for the sake of others?” she shook her head with a small smile on her lips, looking at him with acceptance in her eyes, sparkling for one has solved a puzzle in her life.

mydei let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding this whole time as he smiled back at her, “some things didn't change.”

her hand reached up to his cheeks slowly, cupping them in her hands. cupping them with such care, as if afraid he might disappear if she wasn't gentle enough. the warmth of his skin was real, undeniable. no longer a dream. no longer a memory trying to fade.

mydei leaned slightly into her touch, his hands finally resting on her waist, grounding himself in her presence.

“just like how i'll always remember you, even if i don't understand why.”

their foreheads touched, gently, instinctively. as if their bodies remembered what their minds had long forgotten. the closeness wasn’t rushed; it was comforting, full of weight and meaning.

“and i'll always be there to make you understand.”

[authorhjk1]

https://www.instagram.com/p/C492Om1SyVJ/?igsh=NTc4MTIwNjQ2YQ==

Rub your cock all over IU's face while she's sleeping

White

(IU X Male Reader) word count: 1030 words

The first couple of days after she got back were hell. You couldn't talk, you couldn't eat, you couldn't concentrate without staring at your stepsister. Jieun as become more beautiful while she was away. And although you see her on TV almost every day, seeing her in person again is something entirely different.

After her world tour ended Jieun said that she'd spend the week at your parent's house. It's your mother's birthday, that's why you're there as well. But that also means that you and Jieun are living under one roof again. And you can't stop thinking about how sexy she looks. It doesn't help that she always walks around in simple, but revealing clothes. A bra seems to be a foreign concept to her, while hanging out in the house. You see her nipples poke through her tops on a daily basis. And since it has gotten warmer outside she's showing off her midriff whenever she can. The higher temperatures also mean that she is not hiding her legs either. It can be a short skirt, shorts that barely cover her small tight ass, or even just a pair of panties.

And because of all that, you've been living in hell. You can't even count how often you had to lock yourself in your room to take care of your erection. Probably around five times a day. Jieun is just so damn irresistible.

And today is the worst day of all.

Your parents are not home until later this evening, so you and Jieun are alone. While you eat a quick lunch in the kitchen, she walks in and heads towards the fridge. Once more you forget how to eat, too captivated her tight, slim frame. Her tight crop top shows off her nipples and her midriff, while her skirt barely reaches her thighs.

When she opens the fridge and bends over to get something from the back, your heart suddenly stops. Jieun isn't wearing any panties. You get your first full view of the one thing you've always dreamed of. You take in the sight of her beautiful pussy as she doesn't seem to notice you staring. Your cock has been hard since she walked in and now you have the undying urge to disappear into your room again.

As you walk past Jieun's room two hours later, you notice that her door is half open. She usually takes a nap at this hour, so you decide to take a peek. Your breath hitches when you see her lying on her stomach. Her sheets only cover her upper body and her lower body is facing you. You can look right up her small skirt. Unfortunately her thighs are pressed together, but that makes them look even fuller. You admire her tight butt cheeks as Jieun suddenly lets out a sound while asleep. It sounds like a moan to you and your already hard cock is stirring against your pants.

As if you're being controlled by someone else, you slowly walk into her room. You don't dare to touch her, afraid that she might wake up. On tiptoes you eventually reach her upper body. You admire her beautiful face. It looks soft, gentle. Perfect, like a piece of art.

What if you just...

How could you even think that?

Your heart beats faster. As you think about it again. As long as she doesn't wake up, she'd never find out, right?

You take a deep breath and carefully take your cock out of your pants. You stroke yourself, looking at her face. You've used fancams, MVs, pictures and all kind of material before to jerk off to her, but this so much different. So much better.

As time passes, you start to become more daring. You take a step closer and gently let your cock rest on her face.

Oh my god. Her skin feels so soft. Way better than you thought it would.

You let your cock rub against her cheek, nose, even across her lips. All of it makes your head spin with excitement. It's all wrong. All of it. And yet you've never felt better.

After around a minute, you notice how her mouth is slowly opening. Not by much, but a cold shower runs down your spine when you realize, just enough. You let your tip wander from her cheek to her mouth. Carefully you part her lips with your cock and slowly push forward. Your breath hitches as you feel her's on your cock. Soon the tip of your cock is wet with your stepsister's saliva.

A groan almost escapes your mouth as you feel her tongue accidentally flick against your dick. You knees become weaker the longer your tip is inside her mouth. Eventually, you have to pull out, unable to take it anymore. You know that you'll be cuming soon, but you just can't walk away.

Your cock rests on her cheek once more and you slowly move it around to smear her saliva all over face. Just the act itself has you on the verge of your orgasm.

Fuck. Where are you supposed to cum? You know you aren't able to walk back into your room. It's only a matter of seconds. You wish you could just cum on her face. But she'd definitely notice when she wakes up. What if you wipe it off, before Jieun does?

No, it's too dangerous.

Your breath becomes shakey and the only thing you can do is finally cum. You manage to take another step forward, both your knees hitting her bed. Your cum leaves your cock and hits her pillow behind her head. You see stars as you orgasm. You imagine yourself cuming on her face, in her pussy, on her tits...

When you come back to your senses, half her pillow is covered in your cum. You notice some drops in her dark hair as well. You're breathing heavily.

Now that it's all over, you realize what you've done. Your heart beats faster as fear overwhelms you. You pray that she doesn't find out.

You quickly turn around and try to get out of your stepsister's room as quickly as possible.

[4mrplumi]

( crow choir. entry three ) ── cloud pheonix ( m.s | prev/next )

author's note at the end

yeah, you feel gross. snot and tears are pouring down your face like oil, your breaths coming out heavy and painful in attempts to keep them down. you shouldn’t be this emotional really, shame pulsing like a boiling ache under the sad muscles of your chest.

“oh come on (name),” a voice outside the stall drawls, an un-gotham accent to it, too polished to match with the broken tiles on the locker room floor, “literally no-one cares what that hag has to say anyway!”

“you can’t”- go breaking down at every little thing, “go breaking down at every little thing, buddy…”

you manage a string of incomprehensible words, through a sob so ugly you want to curl into yourself and have your ribs cage you in. the cringe in her voice is obvious when she tries to coax you out, so undeniably perturbed you want to beg her to not be repulsed by you.

it’s been only a day since you shifted temporarily into your friend's run-down apartment from your equally run-down one.

you can consider it running away, being a coward, but really it was precaution. after cassandra’s surprise visit and dick and tim’s bugging, you’d decide to do the right thing and get off their minds for a bit. if you truly concerned them in any way, you could play it off as just visiting someone. you hope they forget to follow up on you.

some languid, hazy thoughts circle your head while you peel an orange for yourself, not having been able to stomach much but fruit and fruit-flavoured candy since well… ever. your reluctance to eat and loss of appetite had seemed to lessen from what it used to be, but only in small developments.

you still feel guilty for what you have, but after having lived in so much debt all your life, being guilty’s become second nature. yes, you’ll have to pay for the fruits of your luxury one day. but for now, you’re okay making peace with the bad electric fan in the living room.

today, you feel… self pitying. selfish, even. and you let yourself feel it, musing about the very people you ran- moved on from.

despite your hardened exterior, sharp scowls and reclusivity, you had been a little kid. a question that had haunted you upon their arrival in your life and still haunts you today, is why the whole family could so easily help, get involved, and better themselves together, but so easily managed to avoid you. why didn’t they try as hard with you as they did with everyone else? why was everyone so forgivable, except you? were you really so unlovable?

your mumbles for help could have been so easily heard if they bothered to listen. your fingers would have hooked to theirs if they didn’t so sharply pull their hands away. 

the small efforts you’d made for the first time were so easily dismissed. it’s not like there was much for you to go on, your concepts of affection included your hair being pulled by other children and your foster parents shoving an extra slice of bread (left uneaten either way) onto your plate. but maybe human instincts made you wish for more than was possible, allowed, for you.

it made you guilty. to want. it made you feel selfish. to be loved.

it was in a manner of awe you saw dick ruffle tim’s hair for the first time, beady-eyed and tight lipped. it took a lot of effort to stamp down the ridiculous want to be coddled and more effort to stamp down the disappointment and embarrassment you felt after staring up at dick expectantly, for him to just smile awkwardly at you and leave. 

in the manor, a year after you arrived, you’d observed with keen interest at a birthday party celebration at home. you can’t remember whose. 

streamers in the kitchen, with a lovely cake big enough for everyone, maybe takeout or alfred’s cooking too. but it was so… foreign. 

you’d asked alfred, tugging on his sleeve with hushed curiosity about what they were doing. you missed the slight flash of guilt in his expression when he realised you weren’t in the kitchen with them, instead simply stumbling onto the scene.

with a gentle pat on your shoulder, he’d told you he’d help plan out your fourteenth birthday just like theirs, indulge in whatever sweets or snacks you liked best. the prospect had made you excited, if not a little nervous, and you’d thought out balloon colours and card decorations, indulging in childish wants you hadn’t been able to indulge in before.

when the date came however, you didn’t remind alfred or anyone else, embarrassed at the idea of having to tell them it was your special day. 

not sure what you expected. them to call out to you instead of you going to them? they had so much on their mind, so much work. no need to burden them, (name). it only stung a little, as your excitement bubbled out as the day turned into evening. but it was already so late, you didn’t want to be entitled and tell alfred; risk making him guilty or rush himself into work he didn't plan for. you didn't want to hurt yourself either at whatever micro-expression he used to look surprised.

you went to bed that day with a small stone in your chest and slightly teary eyes. you didn’t cry though, over such a silly… useless little thing. big kids don’t cry, and your sister- no, your family would be disappointed at your immaturity.

you don’t think of it again, and nobody ever brings it up, no one seems to notice you haven’t had a birthday in years, no one noticed.

you’d whispered, insecure and horrifyingly shamefully, at a hand me down stuffed animal, asking the out-of-shape panda; “do you care about me? do you remember me?”

it responded, beady cloth eyes looking at you, that “no. i don’t care about you, and i don’t love you.” 

you’d fallen to sleep after dissolving into tears, pressing the plush close to your chest, hoping it could bridge the gap between your lungs that felt so large it hurt your insides.

you had to be strong, because you had long since come to the idea that no one was going to save you. 

bruce wayne, your father, didn’t save you from the guilt that clawed at you when your sister cried after work, the violent outbursts of emotionally repressed adults and children around you, or the dark crevices of your brain that seemed to get closer and larger everyday. he didn’t save you from your strength, you didn’t need him to.

you were strong enough without him, and care would’ve only made you weak and soft. you don’t need their help. 

a sick feeling stirs in your gut, the smell of the oranges becoming suddenly too strong and sweet. you think you’re going to throw up, exhausted in the speech that slurred through your head. you’re strong, and you can deal with it. on your own.

“what’s with them, huh?” a new, but familiar voice calls out, the rasp of it strangely sweet for such a place. your sobs ebb out, only because they wrack around in your lungs now as you try to shut up.

the shame eats you up alive. the last thing you need is two crows for friends trying and failing at being of any comfort, comfort you didn’t need or want.

you don’t want to waste their time.

you take a shuddering breath, wiping off the fluids on your face, angry and freaked out by your outburst. you mumble before the drawl answers for you, “nothing, nothing.”

the first voice huffs irritably, “i don’t know why you lie. if we had to make fun of you, we’d do it already (name)!”. the second is less unkind, but still a brisk demand of “if you can tell her, you can tell me too, can’t ya?”, possibly upsetting you further. your sentiments are so indebting. you don’t want to drag them down with your moping.

let them forgive you for hoping they could learn to be you.

“you got some nerve being here, grayson.”

you don’t mean for your voice to be as cold as it is, but this resurgence of anger that’s been kept at bay, and your terror at his presence makes it difficult.

dick’s face shifts from nervous to pained, staring down at you with a furrow of his brow so pitiable you want to kill him. he’s not supposed to be here. he’s not supposed to know.

he doesn't much recall what you sounded like, never having the thought oppurtunity of talking to you. but he's almost sure it's different.

“(name)...” “make it quick.” you hiss, interrupting. you can see the momentary frustration, a familiar anger bristle in his face, before it smoothes out perfectly. you’ve always thought him to be so perfect. 

“you’re not answering our calls, your apartment’s empty-" you feel your hear rate spike. they've been to your apartment? "-bruce’s been trying to contact you for days-” he gestures lightly in the air, eyes singling in on the small flinch you gave with grand grief, “-what’s going on?”

you hear your friend call out from inside the house, a loud “(nameee)? who’s at the door?”, and answering it with an equally loud bark of “don’t worry about it!”, before turning back to scowl at him.

“what’s it to you? my house, my damn rules, grayson. i can go where i fucking want to.” you know you're being childish, but don't much care.

he makes a face, one you can’t discern. that worries you deeply. it’s not like you to not understand. you don’t like accommodating change.

“kid, don’t get emotional-” “i’m not getting emotional.” “it’s just a bit concerning because-”

“-because it’s not like you.”

you have to pause, genuinely surprised. by the look dick has at your reaction, you’re not doing a very good job at hiding how appalled you are.

not like you? they don’t know the first thing about you. how the hell do they know what’s like you and what’s not?

how do they have the audacity, to saunter back into your life after being so casual about abandoning you to yourself, and lecture you about… yourself?

dick only hears a detached “what.” from his younger sibling before jumping at the chance to interrupt, salvage their exchange.

“listen, kid, why don’t we discuss this… outside?” he takes a simple tone, so conversant and friendly you feel your blood curdle, “you like coffee?”

“dick.” he snaps to look at you. you rarely ever called to anyone in the family by their first name (you barely called to them at all). a trait somewhat shared by damian. he wonders how well the two of you get along, did your aggressiveness clash or compliment each other?-

“i don’t know how you spied on me and got my address,” you pinch the bridge of your nose, dick’s reminded of bruce, “but man…”

“get out.”

dick pauses. 

what? 

did he say something wrong?

you repeat yourself, like someone trying to get through to a slow dog, an eyebrow raised; “get out. of my house.”. 

maybe being out of the manor and it’s gilded rooms has made you a bit insensitive, forgetting both the manners you’d picked up from alfred and the courtesies from your foster parents, because when he doesn’t leave the second time you tell him to, you shut the door on his face.

it’s satisfying.

he doesn’t knock again, and you don’t bother yourself with the anxiety of watching him leave from the keyhole. maybe he’s more sensible for what you took him to be, and dick lets you be. you really hopes it stays that way. 

care would make you weak and soft. you pop a de-stringed orange piece into your mouth from a bowl in the kitchen, idle and still processing what happened. your friend walks in a moment later, scratching her hair and doing the same, asking through a mouthful of pulp; “who was it?”

you answer in a similar manner, picking out a seed from your mouth; “no one important.”

oh my god. dick grayson was at your secret house. 

the orange becomes tasteless in your mouth , and you grimace.

the school bell rings, the mindless chatter of students drowning out most of it. you stand awkwardly in front of your teacher, your friends waiting at the back, looking anywhere but at you.

“if i was harsh on you earlier (name), you’ll have to forgive me,” she says, voice nearly patronising in its degree of pity, “you must understand that work ethics are incredibly important to our school. but if i may have been too strict in my way of trying to make you understand. i do feel bad.”

you can hear your friend scoff at the teacher’s sentiment, she’s the only one in this god awful establishment who gives a damn about the students’ measly feelings. it makes her so susceptible to rowdy classes and sneering students, you feel bad for her sometimes. 

you manage to mutter through your teeth, forcing your tone into understanding.

“it’s okay, miss…” it’s not, not really, “you don’t have to apologise,” you hope the guilt kills her, “i get where i went wrong.” you hate her.

when’d you become so sour?

hi... been a while crow choir...

finally getting into the main parts (due time) and i'm in a cross road between deciding whether to make batfam yandere before they realise their neglect or after

have most of the next entry planned out, so hopefull it won't take as long to update as this one.

thank you for reading!!

# taglist: @cxcilla @strwberryglass @c4xcocoa @yaoizee @secretsandwriting @sirenetheblogger @charlenexoxo1 @mirabilis-polaris @jsprien213 @tfimherewhy @yuyuzi-ling @crazycaoticsimp @m0na-lis4 @trashlanternfish360 @thehammerx4 @ninihrtss @kaitense1 @eyeless-kun @esposadomd

[harukyuu2]

Hiii can you write a Ivan x reader fic where reader has vision impairment?

Ivan loves stars, so he takes reader to stargaze with him. He yaps about the stars and what they mean (he read a lot of books about them) all night long. Reader doesn't really see anything in the sky, so they don't know what he's talking about but they love hearing him talk. They listen to the things Ivan says about the stars and imagine them themself.

When the nights end, they write down everything in a diary, drawing the stars according to what they think they'd look like. Ivan doesn't know about Reader's vision impairment. So, when Reader gave him their diary for him to read, he saw all the things he said written down with multiple wrong pictures drawn above.

LOVE YOUR WRITING BTWWW!!!

✧╰┈➤ ❝Youre my star!❞ Ivan x Reader *ੈ✩‧₊˚

!! - Fluff, gn reader, ivan and reader are adults already so Alien Stage starts soon!! Reader has vision impairment (i had to do a little research so i hope its writted correctly D:), reader is kinda shy. -> I put a small answer at the endd <3

A star.

A star is a concept you heard many times since childhood, but yet you were never able to see it. A star is always described to you as something gorgeous in the sky, but your eyes arent able to see it— Ah, you feel envy for missing things that are small for others.

Such a foreign concept was explained many times since years ago to you by Ivan, a guy who got into the same season of Alien Stage as you and, luckily, became close one random day —without even asking for permission to follow you around— thanks to ANAKT GARDEN. It didnt feel that bad, the lessons you received there, thanks to Ivan being by your side.

It became a tradition that atleast one night of the week, you two would go to the garden part of ANAKT to look at the sky while he ranted your ear off about the visible stars— something he admired a lot and loved how you heared everything he had to say. Everytime he learned something new, he was excited to find you since you would actually hear him, but he kept them for those special nights at the end.

But still, there were unspoken things between you two, even if those nights were completely honesty for both. The definition of "lie" doesnt enter in this concept, or atleast thats what you two think, since there was never the need to mention that you didnt see the stars as Ivan did— or that he never mentioned that the sky of the garden in ANAKT was artificial and just a recreation of the outside.

Night had fallen, and Ivan came to your room to guide you to the garden, where you lay on the grass to watch the stars together— even if you werent able to. Ivan laughs slightly and started talking as always, but an idea came to your mind. Maybe if you paid more attention than usual, listening to him intently, you could try to draw a star from his descriptions and finally see if you truly knew what a star was.

"You know, the other day i read on a book that for at least part of its life, a star shines due to the thermonuclear fusion of hydrogen into helium in the core of it, which releases energy. This energy travels through the star's interior and is then radiated into outer space!" - Ivan started ranting and you blinked confused

You got frozen for a moment— thermonuclear fusion? helium? The hell is that!? and was he really allowed to read those books? You didnt have an idea what he was talking about right now since it seems today's talk goes more to the scientific side than the 'stars are pretty' side...

Still, you tried your best to hear his explanation, trying to imagine what a star would look like...energy? So its like a ball? a white ball...? You usually didnt interrupt Ivan, letting him make the flow of the conversation, but since today you were curious, you asked him small questions about some words you didnt know the meaning of or tried to figure out the shape of a star

After letting Ivan rant you of the stars a couple of hours, he guided you to your room again since tomorrow the lessons with the guardians start pretty early, he didnt want you to be tired. He smiles teasingly at you while walking.

"You know, youre like my star! Youre just as bright at them!"

You couldnt help but blush slightly, touched by his compliment. Even if you had never seen one, you trusted him— trusted that they were utterly gorgeous, and thats why he talked about them so much to you. Your smile made Ivan's heart ache for warmth. Couldnt he keep talking about stars in your bedroom? Would that be wrong?

"Really...? Then, youre my star too Ivan!" - The smile you gived him spoke volumes between you two, but Ivan rarely decided to not push it. Patting your head and going away so you can rest.

But as you entered your solitary room, you knew pretty well you werent gonna rest today. You focused your energy on making several notes in a small journal you had, filling it with lots of informations, several question marks and certain information marked with exclamations— other totally scratched because you dont remember if Ivan said it or you didnt understand it.

Once you thought that the information was done by now, you started to try sketching it, but it was hard— how could something that produces light be spiky but also different when you see it on the sky? It was a hard concept to draw, more since the only part you remember from how stars look are small fragments of Ivan's rants and the cientific explanation of today— it was making your drawings looks like you were falling into madness, you kinda were though...

Being in a room with four walls, no windows, and no clock made it difficult to know what time it was— but you knew you had been on this for a while. The way your head hurt from trying to understand what the heck thermonuclear fusion meant told you pretty much everything about the time!

In the end, after endless pages of failed attempts, you decided to summarize the most important information on a final page, where you also added three clean sketches of what you thought stars looked like. Did you get it right? You hope so.

For now, you're going to sleep and recharge your energy before meeting Ivan again.

...

The morning started with the usual breakfast, and then you had to go to your vocal class. It seemed that today, Ivan had a different schedule than yours, so, gathering a lot of courage, you yanked him into a secluded hall to talk. Your heart beat fast as you saw his surprised blinks at you— this could get you in trouble! But the journal on your back, held so tightly that you could swear you were about to fold it, calmed you a little.

Ivan got excited! Even if it could be dangerous for you two to miss classes, he grinned from ear to ear and tilted his head - "Aww! Missing me already?? We could had meet later, but if youre that desesperate i guess i can—"

You made him shut up a moment by putting your hand over his mouth, huffing and grumbling for him to shut up a second since you had something to show him, and how could he say no to that? He quickly shaked his head excitedly up and down, what could you want to show him?

As you shyly showed him the page with your idea of a star, he blinked confused, then decided to take the journal from your hands without thinking too much. You knew very well that if he was curious, he wouldnt let you take it back anytime soon, so you felt the need to quickly explain yourself— tripping slightly over your words, as guilt crept in for never mentioning your little problem to him before.

"Uhm, i tried...drawing a star, i uhm— actually never saw them, so i tried to recreate them from what you said to me! Since you admire them so much and all..."

Ivan was in shock, deciding to see through the other pages where you had written down information and sketched other discarded ideas. Even if you felt embarrassed, he didnt notice— too focused on examining them. All the concepts you had sketched were wrong. He wasnt mad, though; he understood pretty well that if someone who had never seen a star tried to draw one based only on a scientific or creative explanation, it wouldnt be easy.

Still, he left a small smile— a genuine one that reflected the deep warmth you made him feel. Even if this was the only way you acknowledged him, who else would want to listen to him rant about stars all night? Only you.

Ivan closed the journal only with one hand and turned to see you, when he saw your nervous gaze, he wondered why couldnt you see the stars, he had a little idea— but you know what? it didnt matter now. He had plenty of time to ask you later. - "They're all wrong."

He simply said and your heart sinked into sadness, he was mad right? after all, you kept that secret from him and...he patted your head? you felt your hair being ruffled, and when you looked up you finded him still with a big smile that showed his fang.

"Heeyy!! You didnt let me finish, dummy... It was my fault though, i gived you too difficult ideas, didnt i? My bad. Lets meet tonight and i'll show you what a true star looks like, how people draw them and why they're so gorgeous...just like you! Anyways, lets meet on the night, i dont want to cause you trouble now, bye lovely!"

He said, pushing you back toward the hall where your vocal class was. He gave you a kiss on the head, and you felt your cheeks grow warmer as you hugged the journal to your chest. He didnt even question you or blame you for anything. No matter what you did, Ivan wouldnt get mad at you… Hearing him talk endlessly about stars is the least you can do for him, after all.

You may have gotten every concept wrong, but hey! That just means tonight's talk will be even longer, you'll have more time with Ivan!

Ivan was truly your light, your star, just as you were his one. It wont take long until you two collide into each other creating a more vibrant light in this space of darkness.

!! - HII ANONNN sorry i took pretty long with this, but i hope you liked it if youre still around!! i hope i did it correctly and keeping the idea you had, i couldnt help but get a little emotionalll, such a pretty request, i loved it :( <3

[henrycangelbaby]

Before she can even react to his arrival, he throws himself at her, half perching himself in her lap; she giggles at him while he throws his arms around her tightly, burying her face in his chest while the flowers in his hands hit her gently on the back; he rocks them back and forward for a second before pulling back. 

Or

Fred Hechinger loves his wife and his babies more than anything.

Late nights aren't exactly a foreign concept in the Hechinger household. Back when he was young(er), he can recall the many nights he and Y/N spent lying awake into the early hours of the morning, staying up late more for novelty than anything. Now it feels like more of a necessity than anything. 

It's not every single night, but more often than not, the late hours of the evening after everyone else has gone to bed are the only times when he and Y/N can spend time (mostly) uninterrupted by small human beings. 

Family life had changed Fred, he liked to think that it was for the better. He could say with full certainty that starting a family with the love of his life was a change that was most certainly for the better; he knew that he was biased considering that she was his wife, but he would testify in court that she somehow managed to get more and more beautiful every single day. He thinks back fondly to when they were young, when he was merely a slightly awkward teenager and had fallen for the prettiest girl in the back of his English class. He had sworn that she was the most beautiful girl he could ever possibly lay his eyes on; now, as she sat next to him in the dim lighting of the living room, she seemed impossibly more beautiful. 

Two kids later and a third one on the way, everything seemed to be perfect. A beautiful wife, two lovely daughters, and a career that was finally going his way, things seemed to be going the way that he and Y/N would stay up late dreaming about. 

This night is another late night. He had been working all day and had missed his family terribly; he tried desperately to get home early, and most nights he did. Getting in during the afternoon so he could help with dinner and bedtime was one of the most scared parts of his days. He didn't make it home till dark tonight; the long day had tired him out and began to get on his nerves the longer that it went on. Of course, he had stayed polite, waving everyone off when it had finally ended, rushing to his car. 

He had a plan in his mind since he had found out he was to be staying late; he had texted Y/N apologizing many times over, but she had just brushed him off like the angel she was, assuring him that it was fine, texting with a few updates throughout the evening. The last text message featuring a photo of his youngest daughter curled up sleeping in her bed, her Christmas teddy (that she kept with her all year round after being gifted him a few Christmases ago). He stops briefly at the supermarket; he knew that Y/N didn't care, that she would never hold this against him, and any problem that they could have would be resolved. They had promised each other a long time ago that they would never keep secrets, any problems they ever had would always be talked about, and they could tell each other anything. 

The flowers sitting in his passenger seat make him feel a little better; he knew he didn't really need to, but in his eyes there is never a wrong time to get his wife flowers. 

He pushes through the front door quietly, well aware that too much noise would wake one if not both of his kids. He spots Y/N instantly, sitting on the couch with her eyebrows furrowed, looking down at something presumably puzzling on her phone. Before she can even react to his arrival, he throws himself at her, half perching himself in her lap; she giggles at him while he throws his arms around her tightly, burying her face in his chest while the flowers in his hands hit her gently on the back; he rocks them back and forward for a second before pulling back. 

“Hi, Freddy.” Y/N says, smiling up at him. 

“Hi, dove,” he responds, leaning down to kiss her softly on the lips. 

He pulls back after a second of lingering in the kiss. He plops himself down next to her, dramatically pulling the flowers out from behind his back and placing them in Y/N's lap. 

“for you,” he smiles cheerily. 

Y/N looks at them, her face dropping slightly. 

“Hey, you didn’t hav—“ she starts. He cuts her off before she can finish, placing his finger over her mouth and mockingly shaking his head at her. 

“I know, but I wanted to, okay?” Fred explains gently, “I’m sorry I couldn’t make it home tonight; did it go okay?” He asks. 

Y/N shuffles closer to him, tucking her feet underneath her legs, allowing her husband to place his arm around her shoulder. 

“Yeah, it was mostly fine; Immy threw a fit about having to go to bed at the same time as Lucy.” 

Fred snorted at this; Imogen had taken to being an older sister enthusiastically until she realized that it would mean more than a few changes around the house. 

“but nothing completely out of the ordinary, I suppose,” she finishes.

Fred moved his hand down to her stomach, gently rubbing over it in what he hopes are somewhat soothing movements.  

“How are you? They've been giving you trouble today?” he asks, referring to the newest little one currently still being housed in his wife's stomach.  

They had left a gender a mystery for this one, but deep down Fred had been hoping for another little girl; of course, he would be happy with anything as long as they were happy and healthy, but he was already so severely outnumbered in his home, and it was the best thing to ever happen to him. What was one more? 

“I mean, my back is a little sore, but what is new?” Y/N jokes, going into her third pregnancy, back pain had become a way of life.  

“Did you eat enough?” Fred asked  

He knew it was patronizing that Y/N could take care of herself as well as their two children, but he worried; he couldn’t help it, especially when she had been very sick with her last pregnancy, feeling far too nauseous to eat much for the majority of her pregnancy. Everything had worked out fine in the end, and Fred had never eaten so many crackers in his life; the worrying had persisted (like it usually did) through her postpartum and onto the next one.  

“Sometimes I think that you will end up worrying yourself sick.” Y/N comments it's half serious. 

“Don’t worry about me, angel; I’m fine. I just want to make sure you’re fine.” Fred replied, smiling a little bit; all this talk of worrying was going to send them both to an early grave. 

“I ate a late breakfast, felt a little bad this morning, but it cleared pretty quick.” Y/N said truthfully, 

She had felt sick this morning, but it had gone away faster than expected. She wasn’t even trying to make her doting husband feel better. Fred cocked an eyebrow, smirking slightly as if he didn’t believe her. Y/N opened her mouth again to defend herself but was instead interrupted by Fred leaning down for another kiss.  

“That's good,” he said between a few quick kisses.  

They don’t make it much longer; midnight has passed, and Y/N’s yawns had become more and more frequent. Fred looked around the room, quickly spotting the dirty dishes and unpacked dishwasher. 

“Dove?” He asks, and she only hums in response, meeting his eye drowsily. “Go up to bed; yeah, I’ll pack the dishwasher and be up soon, okay?” He promises pulling them both up to stand,  

He knew that she would usually go to fight him on this, but she didn’t have the energy today, having spent all day looking after the girls while being multiple months pregnant, tiring her out fully. Y/N only nodded in agreement, placing a soft kiss on Fred’s neck before moving towards the stairs. 

The dishwasher took no time at all, and Fred was upstairs showering quietly before he knew it. His dove had passed out cold in their bed. She looked very beautiful even in sleep, clean and comfortable. He crept quietly to check on the girls. Anabel was asleep peacefully, Christmas plushie still clutched tightly in her grip. He leaned down, pushing her fringe back to kiss her forehead gently. He fought the urge to pick her up and pull her close to his chest; he didn’t want to wake her, but he had missed her so much, a kiss would suffice for now. 

He moved along to Lucy’s room, pushing the door open slowly, his eldest seemingly sleeping peacefully in her big girl bed. He did the same as he had done before, kissing her lightly on the forehead before moving to leave. He was about to push the door closed behind him when a small voice spoke out.

“Daddy?” He turned around at the sound of his “name” to see Lucy awake and now sitting up in her bed.  

“What’s up, baby?” He asked, turning back towards her, sitting down on the bed, allowing Lucy to snuggle into his side.  

“I missed you today,” she pouts up at him; she looks sweet, but she also breaks his heart. He hates the sentiment, hates that his family has to miss him while he’s off working; he loves his job but not the commitment.  

“I missed you too, baby, more than you know,” Fred promises, gently pulling Lucy impossibly close. 

He allows them to cuddle for a while; Lucy should most definitely be asleep, but he can’t resist having her close for a little longer. She babbles for a while, yapping about her day to her ever-loving father. Eventually she begins to tire herself out, yawning frequently and her eyes drooping more and more. Fred put her back now in the bed gently; she attempted to protest weakly, sweet “no daddy’s” falling from her lips, but it was all futile. She gave in to sleep easily, pulling her daddy's hand close to her chest much like she would with a plushie. Fred pried his hand out from her surprisingly firm grip, using it to brush over her forehead. 

“Love you, baby,” he whispered, pulling himself up and gently closing the door. 

The entire house was asleep as he crept into his own bed, his lovely wife already sleeping soundly, much like his girls. Pulling his wife under his arm, his hand resting over her swollen stomach. He soothed over a small kick that made him smile. 

“Goodnight, angel, love you endlessly,” he whispered to a sleeping Y/N.

Even if she wasn’t listening, it didn’t matter; he would say it anyway; it brought a warmth to his cheeks. This was his everything, the love of his life, his family, and they were perfect, so perfect, he would never love anything more.

a/n: yayaya! Ily Fred hechinger I need you so bad. This took so long to finish one. But it’s finally here! Idk if it kinda sucks or not but who cares because I’m having his baby!!!! Anyways much love! Talk to me in my inbox I miss u guys. #fredhechingergotmepregant??

[shawtylex09]

Hi pookie 🥰

Was wondering if you could write Izuku x reader (fem or gn depending on what you prefer) where reader is a foreigner but also newly in Japan so they don't fully understand Japanese yet? I've seen this concept before and it can be so funny and sweet

No rush at all and thanks in advance 💕

The way I got so excited seeing this ask.

Y’all rush me, PLEASE give me ideas.

Anyways here we go!

Masterlist

🌸

Starting at a new school wasn’t exactly what you had on your bucket list for this year. But thanks to a messy divorce between your parents (or insert any other reason you’d move to Japan idk brh) you and your mom end up moving to Japan.

You stare at the uniform you received with an unimpressed look. The last school you went to didn’t have a uniform, and this one looked extremely..uncomfortable.

You give a heavy sigh and throw it on, looking at the skirt with narrowed eyes. Seemed..short. You snatch some spandex from your closet and put them on underneath, they’re visible but who cares?

After saying goodbye to your mother (or father), you leave your apartment, heading down the street to the school you’d be attending, Aldrea Middle School.

You had done a little Japanese study before, but you couldn’t really speak it fluently- and you couldn’t read any kanji at all. You were worried because- well, you couldn’t speak the native language.

You told yourself you’d be fine, taking some deep breaths and assuring yourself that today was going to go great!

As soon as you stepped foot onto the premise, you could feel the eyes of the other students on you. Everyone..stared. It was to be expected, you definitely didn’t look Japanese, you were also a new face in general so..

You brushed off their stares with a smile, waving to the girls who stared at you as you walked into the building. Your face instantly soured as you walked in, feeling dread hanging over you.

God this was not going to go as well as you thought.

You walked to your first class, looking around with tense shoulders, more stares. “Figures as much” you muttered to yourself as you walked to an empty seat in the back.

You toss down your backpack and sit down, pulling out your phone and ignoring the whispers and sounds of the other students.

The bell rang and you let out a sigh of relief as the teacher walked into the classroom, looking up at the man.

“Today, we have a new student, she’s from (insert country), so try not to give her any grief” and with that, class started.

You let out a second sigh of relief, glad you didn’t have to stand up in front of the class and introduce yourself, and also glad that the teacher seemed to speak English pretty fluently.

As you were taking some notes, you watched an eraser whizz right past you, hitting a boy right in the side of the head. The boy simply sighed and went back to writing. Weird.

That happened a few times during class, people occasionally throwing things at the boy with curly hair. You raised a brow and watched as the other students whispered in Japanese while snickering and gesturing to the boy with curls.

You felt a little bad, wondering what he did to earn such treatment.

As class was dismissed, you looked down at the email on your phone with your schedule on it. You sighed and began to pack your things back into your bag, when you heard commotion. You looked up to see a blonde boy with two brunettes talking to the green haired boy.

You wondered what they were saying, but judging by the green haired boy tensed up, you figured it was nothing good.

You tried to ignore it, but a small yelp made you look up, only to see the blonde gripping the curly haired boy’s uniform. Finally, you couldn’t ignore it anymore. You puffed out your chest and walked over to them, before grabbing the blonde’s hand.

“Let go.” You said in English, however, the blonde just looked pissed. He narrowed his eyes and muttered something in Japanese, to which you assumed was an insult. “Hey! I said let go. You’re being rude.” You glared at the blonde boy, clearly not tolerating his treatment towards Curls (you’d affectionately labeled the boy with- you guessed it -curly hair).

The blonde let go of Curls, and turned to face you, to which you crossed your arms and frowned at him. He raised a brow and spoke in Japanese, narrowing his eyes at you and stalking closer to you, almost threateningly.

“You’re being rude. Mean. God you probably can’t understand what I’m saying.” You sighed and the blonde scoffed “You asshole” the blonde shot back. You couldn’t tell if he actually understood you, or if he just knew bits of English, like how to insult people.

You narrowed your eyes at him before huffing. You grabbed Curls by his uniform, grabbed your backpack and dragged him away from the blonde.

The boy with curly hair was staring at you in awe. You were..amazing!

You set him up outside of the classroom, smiling at him “hi, sorry for dragging you out like that” you said in English, hoping he understood you.

He just stared blankly at you and you sighed “oh great..” you mumbled before pulling out your phone, you quickly typed out what you said to him a second ago, and had google translate read it out in Japanese.

He brightened and shook his head, rubbing the back of his neck and holding up his other hand as he said..something.

You smiled a little, he was adorable despite not speaking English. You typed into the translator, asking him what his name was. The boy blushed a little bit smiled sheepishly “Midoriya Izuku” he said with a dimpled grin.

Your smile widened, and you felt a warmth spread in your chest. This boy was absolutely positively adorable. You pointed to yourself “Y/n, Y/n L/n” you spoke slowly, ensuring he actually understood what you were saying.

“L/n-chan?” He repeated, angling his head to the side “no no, Y/n” you corrected, smiling and trying to work with him, despite the language barrier.

Izuku blinked for a second, before smiling sheepishly “Y-Y/n-chan..?” He asked hesitantly, his cheeks a little red and his hands fidgety.

You nodded approvingly “that’s right! Nice to meet you Izuku!” You shook his hand, while he stared at you with a red face. Did you just call him Izuku..?

He smiled shyly and gently held your hand in his. He could tell the two of you were going to be good friends.

I love when y’all send me asks bc like, rhen I know what the people WANT. Anyways thank you for the ask! It was fun to write this!

[empress-simps]

Line That Leads To You

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.

Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!

You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.

The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.

Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.

“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.

“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.

“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)

“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.

Complete each other, huh?

Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.

Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.

That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.

Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.

He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.

“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”

“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.

Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.

You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

“Reggie! Reggie!”

You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.

Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?

You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.

You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.

Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?

The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.

It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.

Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.

“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.

“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.

“What, Moons?”

“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?

“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.

“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.

Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”

Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”

Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”

James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”

“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.

The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.

Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.

Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”

“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.

“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.

You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.

Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.

Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.

[jpitha]

Hospitality

Meandering River and Q'ari sit in the canteen during midday break chatting and drinking some herbal tea. The Humans introduced both the drink and the meal. They call it 'Lunch' and while only the Humans seem to need the calories supplied by the meal, the break and the tea has proven to be a big hit among the other sapients...so long as they stay away from the poisonous teas. There are a lot of poisonous teas. Most everyone can have chamomile though.

The conversation meanders as they do, and eventually, they both come to talking about things they've noticed about the humans, one of the more recent additions to the Coalition. Everybody has their own cultural and biological quirks, but the conversations has been steering towards the humans lately. Everyone is a little too quick to point out that It's not that they're... weird, it's just the differences.

Q'ari puts her tea down with a clink on the small porcelain saucer. "Did you know that the Humans have a whole thing about being nice to visitors? It’s called 'hospitality' and they have almost entire religions about it!"

"What? They have religions about being nice to people you meet?" Meandering River said, as her feathers rustle, reflecting shimmering colors.

"Pretty much! My guess is that living on their world is so hard that they just felt obligated to help people who were passing through their village or peer group or whatever. The idea was that no matter who shows up - even their enemy - you give them a meal and a bath and let them have a nap and point them towards where they need to go if they're lost." Q'ari took another sip of tea. "You weren't even supposed to ask them questions about who they were or what they were doing!"

Meander was baffled. "But that makes no sense! What if the person was going to hurt you or your group? You had no way of knowing. Better to just let them pass by, and not interact."

"Yes, but the idea is the next time it was you traveling, you'd get help from others too." Nancy said from behind them.

Q'ari fur poofed out and Meander's feathers rippled in surprise and they both slid their chairs back to jump away before stopping themselves and sitting down, tea spilled everywhere. Predator/Prey reactions were deeply ingrained in Innari and Sefigans, and Humans were exceptionally good predators, even when they didn't mean to be.

"Sorry! Sorry!" Nancy said, seeing their reaction. "I didn't mean to startle you! I just heard you talking about hospitality. People everywhere don't treat it like the religion it used to be, but it's still a common thing that people do. Here -" she said gesturing on her pad "Let me buy you both another Tea to say sorry for spilling yours. Chamomile, right? I feel so badly about startling you."

"I-It's all right, we know you didn't mean to." Meander says, smoothing their feathers automatically. We were just fascinated by the concept of hospitality. Please, join us." She gestures towards a chair.

Nancy sits down, and wipes away some of the spilled tea with a napkin. "Being polite to strangers is just something that's taught from an early age. It's not done everywhere, and it's not done the same way, but it's still done. It's... complicated though." Nancy said, as a serv platform came over with two fresh cups of tea. After it had left, she continued. "Codifying being nice to strangers and offering them a place to stay and food to eat is a way that people could travel in the time before money and hotels, but also, it could be used as a shield against forming real friendships."

"What do you mean by that? If you're inviting strangers into your house, wouldn't that help make friends?" Meander said, blowing on her tea to cool it slightly.

"Well, it could. But if the whole process is ritualized and formal, then you could use it to keep 'foreign' people at arms length. Sure, you'd invite them in, let them sleep, bathe, eat, but you'd send them on their way in the morning and that would be it. There would be no connection, no friendship. There is a long, long history of being nice without being friendly."

"It's all very confusing." Q'ari said. "There seems to be a lot of implied connections, and ritualized actions that on the surface appear kind, but may - or may not - be, depending on thousands of different things."

Nancy nodded. "Hey, things are never black and white. There is always nuance. I'm sure it's even the same way between you and your people. Q'ari, you're not originally from Sef, the homeworld, right?"

Q'ari's teddy bear shaped ears waggled. "That's right. I grew up on Llamanian, one of our middle tier colony worlds."

"And even though you are a Sefigan citizen, when you go to Sef sometimes you get treated like an outsider, right?"

"Well, I suppose a bit, yes." Q'ari's finely laquered claws slid out of their sheaths, just a centimeter. "They say that my gelbin isn't the same as on Sef. Er, that's a traditional vegetable dish." She adds, for their benefit.

Meander's crest slides up and then back down. "I've had your gelbin Q'ari, it's delicious! What could possibly be wrong?"

She shrugs, a decidedly human gesture. "The spices are wrong, they say. We have different versions due to the ecology and soil of Llamanian, even if I were to use the exact same spices in the exact same proportions, it wouldn't taste the same."

"It's not just humans. Everyone has things that are different, and people - no matter which sapient group they are - will use those differences against them sometimes." Nancy said, taking a sip of tea. "Knowing that it happens, and keeping an eye out for it, and having some understanding, can go a long way. But, that doesn't mean we shouldn't be nice to strangers when we meet them. After all, they might be the Gods in disguise!" Nancy's eyes sparkle when she said that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see a people called the Greeks believed that..."

[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |26|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Twenty-Six: Undercurrents

warnings: anxiety, panic attacks, trauma responses, references to past bullying/harassment, mentions of family abandonment, water-related anxiety, internalized shame, and emotional vulnerability.

note(s): aruba, jamaica, ooooo, i wanna take ya to bermuda, bahama, coooome on pretty mama... we miss you brian.

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots @mikuley @sleepyjackets @wnbawag @eatingouturmomrn

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

The morning air bites at your exposed skin as you make your way down the familiar path to the lake, two empty containers clutched in your hands. The weight of them feels deceptively light—you know they'll be exponentially heavier on the return trip, but for now they swing gently at your sides, creating a rhythmic percussion against your thighs.

Mari walks beside you, close enough that you can hear her breathing, far enough that your shoulders don't brush. It's a careful distance, one you've both unconsciously negotiated over the past few weeks. Close enough to provide comfort, distant enough to maintain the illusion that this is just practical—two people doing a necessary chore, nothing more.

You're oblivious to the way her eyes track your movements, how she times her steps to match yours, how she's been volunteering for water duty more frequently since you started going together. In your mind, Mari is simply being helpful, maybe even friendly. The concept that someone might seek out your company by choice still feels foreign, like a language you're only beginning to understand.

The forest around you is waking up—birds calling to each other across the canopy, small creatures rustling through underbrush, the distant sound of someone chopping wood back at the cabin. Normal sounds. Safe sounds. You've learned to categorize them, to separate the threatening from the benign. It's part of your new survival vocabulary, one that includes the specific timbre of Shauna's worried voice, the way Nat's footsteps change when she's tracking something, the particular quality of silence that means danger.

"Looks like it'll be a clear day," Mari says, breaking the comfortable quiet between you. Her voice carries that careful casualness she's developed when talking to you—warm but not overwhelming, present but not demanding.

You glance up through the trees, noting the patches of blue sky visible between the branches. "Yeah. Good for drying clothes, I guess."

It's such a mundane observation, the kind of practical consideration that's become second nature out here. Everything gets evaluated through the lens of survival—will this help us? How can we use this? What does this mean for our chances? Even something as simple as sunshine becomes currency.

Mari nods, then seems to search for something else to say. You don't notice her internal struggle, the way she's rehearsing and discarding conversation starters. You're too focused on the path ahead, on the sound of your own footsteps, on managing the low-level anxiety that accompanies most of your daily activities now.

The thing is, Mari used to be terrible to you. Not just unfriendly—actively, creatively awful. She'd been one of the loudest voices in the chorus of whispers that followed you through the halls of your New Jersey high school, one of the most inventive when it came to finding new ways to make your life miserable.

Freak. Psycho. Mommy couldn't handle the crazy, huh?

The rumors about why you'd moved had spread like wildfire through the school. Each retelling had grown more elaborate, more damaging. By the time they'd finished their game of telephone, you'd become some sort of monster—a girl so disturbed that her own mother couldn't bear to be around her, so dangerous that you'd had to be shipped off to live with your father like damaged goods.

The truth was simultaneously more mundane and more devastating. Your mother hadn't left because you were dangerous. She'd left because she was exhausted. Worn down by your anxiety, your panic attacks, your constant need for reassurance. You'd been a high-maintenance child in a world that demanded easy ones, and she'd simply... given up.

But Mari hadn't known that then. None of them had. They'd only known the rumors, and rumors were so much more interesting than reality. So they'd built their own version of you—dangerous, unpredictable, worthy of fear and fascination in equal measure.

Mari had been particularly creative in her cruelty. She'd had a gift for finding your soft spots, for knowing exactly which buttons to push to send you spiraling. She'd seemed to take genuine pleasure in watching you fall apart, in being the catalyst for your very public breakdowns.

You don't think about that much anymore. Or rather, you try not to. The person who'd endured those hallways feels like someone else entirely—a different version of yourself who'd existed in a different world, one with lockers and lunch periods and the luxury of caring about social hierarchies.

Out here, survival has reorganized everyone's priorities. Mari's past behavior toward you has become irrelevant in the face of more immediate concerns. You need each other now in ways that transcend high school politics. The girl who once made your life hell is now someone you trust to watch your back, to share resources with, to depend on when everything else falls apart.

What you don't realize is that Mari remembers every single cruel thing she ever said to you. She carries them like stones in her chest, each memory sharp-edged and weighted with regret. The way you'd flinched when she'd cornered you by your locker. The tears you'd tried to hide when she'd made some cutting remark about your mother abandoning you. The hollow look in your eyes when she'd suggested, loudly enough for others to hear, that maybe the rumors about you trying to kill your mom were true.

She'd been seventeen and stupid and so desperately trying to fit in that she'd sacrificed your well-being on the altar of her own insecurity. She'd told herself that you were weird anyway, that you probably didn't even have real feelings, that the rumors might actually be true and you deserved whatever you got.

But then the plane had crashed, and everything had changed.

Stripped of the social structures that had given her behavior context, Mari had been forced to confront who she really was. And who she really was, it turned out, was someone who'd been hurting a person she'd actually been fascinated by, drawn to in ways she hadn't understood or been ready to acknowledge.

The cruelty had been armor, protection against feelings she couldn't name. Easier to make you the enemy than to admit she'd spent far too much time thinking about you, wondering what it would be like to be close to you, imagining conversations where you looked at her with something other than fear or resignation.

Now, walking beside you in the morning light, she gets pieces of what she'd been too immature to appreciate before. Your quiet strength, the way you notice small details others miss, your unexpected moments of dry humor. The person she'd tried so hard to diminish is turning out to be someone worth knowing, someone worth protecting.

The irony isn't lost on her. She'd spent months making your life miserable for attention, and now she has it—your cautious friendship, your willingness to work alongside her, your unconscious trust as you walk together through the wilderness. But it's not the kind of attention she'd been seeking then, and she's not the same person who'd been seeking it.

The path slopes downward as you approach the lake, and you can hear the gentle lapping of water against the shore. It's a soothing sound, one that's become associated with peace in your mind. The lake represents safety—fresh water, a place to wash, a boundary between your temporary home and the unknown wilderness beyond.

But as you break through the tree line and the full expanse of water comes into view, you feel that familiar tightness in your chest. It's not the lake itself that bothers you—it's what it represents. Vastness. Depth. Things hidden beneath the surface.

You've never been comfortable with large bodies of water. Even before the crash, swimming pools had made you nervous, oceans had felt threatening. Something about not being able to see the bottom, about not knowing what might be lurking just out of sight. It's an irrational fear, you know, but rationality has never been a particularly effective weapon against anxiety.

Mari notices the change in your breathing before you do. She's become attuned to your tells over time—the way your shoulders tense when you're overwhelmed, the particular rhythm of your breathing when panic starts to set in, the unconscious way you seek out escape routes when you feel trapped.

"Hey," she says quietly, setting her containers down and turning to face you. "You okay?"

The question startles you out of your internal spiral. You look at her, really look at her, and for a moment you're struck by how different she looks from the girl who used to torment you. Her face has lost some of its sharp edges, softened by weeks of shared hardship. Her eyes, which once held casual cruelty, now show genuine concern.

"Yeah," you say automatically, then catch yourself. You've been trying to be more honest about your struggles, to let people help when they offer. It's hard—vulnerability still feels dangerous—but you're learning. "Actually, no. Not really."

Mari nods, accepting your correction without making a big deal of it. This, too, is new—the way she gives you space to change your mind, to admit weakness without fear of it being used against you later.

"The water?" she asks, following your gaze to the lake.

"Yeah. I know it's stupid—"

"It's not stupid," Mari interrupts firmly. 

Her words surprise you. Not just their content, but their tone—matter-of-fact, accepting, free of judgment. It's so different from the Mari you remember, the one who would have seized on any admission of weakness like a predator scenting blood.

You find yourself studying her face, looking for signs of the girl who'd made your life hell. She's still there, in the sharp line of her jaw and the way she carries herself, but she's been overlaid with something else. Maturity, maybe. Or just exhaustion. Surviving tends to strip away the unnecessary cruelties, leaving only what's essential.

"I just... I don't like not being able to see what's underneath," you admit, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. "It's probably some evolutionary thing, you know? Fear of predators or whatever."

Mari considers this seriously, as if your amateur psychology deserves genuine contemplation. "Makes sense. Out here especially. We don't know what kind of animals might come to drink, what's living in the water."

She's giving you an out, you realize. A way to frame your fear as practical rather than psychological. It's a kindness you wouldn't have expected from her, and it makes something tight in your chest loosen slightly.

"Yeah," you agree, grateful for the rationalization. "Exactly."

Mari picks up her containers again, but doesn't immediately head toward the water. Instead, she seems to be considering something, weighing options in her head.

"What if we stay close to the shore?" she suggests finally. "Just wade in ankle-deep, fill the containers from there. That way you can see the bottom the whole time."

It's such a simple solution, and such a thoughtful one. Not dismissive of your fear, not trying to push you past your comfort zone, just... accommodating. Practical. Kind.

"That would work," you say, surprised by how much lighter you feel. "Thank you."

The smile Mari gives you in response is small but genuine, and for a moment you catch a glimpse of who she might have been if circumstances had been different. If you'd met her somewhere else, somewhen else, without the weight of high school hierarchies and adolescent cruelty between you.

You walk to the water's edge together, your boots crunching softly on the rocky shore. The lake stretches out before you, its surface reflecting the morning sky like a mirror. It's beautiful, you have to admit, even with your anxiety humming underneath your appreciation.

Mari wades in first, her movements slow and deliberate. The water is clear enough that you can see her feet, see the stones and sand of the lake bottom. It's reassuring, this transparency. You can catalogue what's there—rocks, a few small fish, some aquatic plants swaying gently in the current.

You follow her lead, stepping carefully into the shallows. The water is shockingly cold, even through your boots, and you have to resist the urge to immediately step back onto dry land. But you can see the bottom, can see that there's nothing threatening lurking just out of sight, and that helps.

"Okay?" Mari asks, glancing over at you.

"Yeah. Good."

You both begin filling your containers, the simple task requiring enough focus that conversation lapses into comfortable quiet. The water makes soft sounds as it moves around your legs, and gradually your nervous system begins to settle. This isn't so bad. You can do this.

It's while you're focused on angling your container to catch the cleanest water that Mari speaks again, her voice so quiet you almost miss it.

"I'm sorry."

You look up, confused. "For what?"

Mari's eyes are fixed on the water, watching it flow into her container with intense concentration. "For... before. At school. I was..."

She trails off, and you can see her struggling with how to finish the sentence. How do you apologize for being someone's personal tormentor?

"We were kids," you say finally, because the silence is stretching too long and you can see how much this is costing her. "Still are."

"That's not an excuse."

"No," you agree. "But it's an explanation."

Mari looks at you then, really looks at you, and her expression is so raw that you have to fight the urge to look away. There's guilt there, and shame, and something else—something that looks almost like grief.

"I used to tell myself that you probably didn't even care," she admits. "That you were so weird, so different, that normal things didn't affect you the same way. I knew it wasn't true, but it was easier than admitting I was just being cruel for no good reason."

Your chest tightens, but not with anxiety this time. With recognition. How many times had you told yourself similar things about the people who'd hurt you? That they probably didn't mean it, that they didn't understand how their words affected you, that they were just playing around and you were being too sensitive?

"Why?" you ask, and the question comes out smaller than you intended. Not accusatory, just... curious. You've never understood what you'd done to earn such focused attention, negative though it was.

Mari is quiet for so long that you think she might not answer. When she does speak, her voice is barely above a whisper.

"Because I couldn't figure out how to talk to you any other way."

The admission hangs between you like a bridge neither of you knows how to cross. You stare at her, processing what she's just revealed, and slowly the pieces begin to rearrange themselves into a pattern you hadn't seen before.

The intensity of her focus on you. The way she'd seemed to know exactly which words would cut deepest, as if she'd been studying you. The almost obsessive quality of her attention, even when that attention was harmful.

"You..." you start, then stop, not sure how to finish the thought.

"I had no fucking clue what I was feeling," Mari continues, the words spilling out now as if a dam has broken. "I just knew that I couldn't stop thinking about you, and that scared the shit out of me. So I turned it into something else. Something that felt safer."

She's looking at the water again, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment or shame or both. "I know that doesn't make it okay. I know sorry doesn't fix anything. But I needed you to know that it was never about you being weird or different or any of the shit people said. It was about me being t a coward."

The revelation recontextualizes everything—every cruel comment, every public humiliation, every moment when you'd wondered what you'd done to deserve such targeted harassment. It had never been about you at all. You'd been collateral damage in Mari's war with herself.

You should probably feel angry. You have every right to. But instead, you find yourself feeling something like pity. Because you understand, in a way. You know what it's like to be so overwhelmed by your own internal landscape that you lash out, that you hurt people without meaning to. Your weapons of choice had been different—withdrawal, self-destruction, the kind of implosion that takes only yourself as casualty—but the root cause was the same. Fear of feelings too big to handle.

"I get it," you say quietly.

Mari's head snaps up, surprise clear in her expression. "You do?"

"Not the... targeting someone else part," you clarify. "But the being scared of what you're feeling part. Yeah. I get that."

A small silence falls between you, not uncomfortable but thoughtful. Around you, the lake continues its gentle movement, indifferent to human drama. A fish jumps somewhere near the center, sending ripples across the surface.

"For what it's worth," you continue, "I never thought you were a bad person."

"You should have," Mari says with a bitter laugh. "Anyone else would have."

"Yeah, well." You shrug, focusing on your container again. "I've never been anyone else."

It's such a simple statement, but it carries weight. An acknowledgment of your own otherness, your tendency toward understanding rather than judgment. It's one of the things that had made you an easy target in high school—your inability to respond to cruelty with cruelty, your instinct to look for explanations rather than reasons for revenge.

Mari stares at you for a long moment, and when she speaks again, her voice is thick with emotion. "You're too fucking good for this world."

The words hit you with unexpected force. Not because they're particularly profound, but because they're said with such conviction, such genuine feeling. When was the last time someone had described you as good? When was the last time you'd felt worthy of such a description?

"I'm really not," you protest weakly.

"You are," Mari insists. "And I'm gonna spend however long we're stuck out here trying to make up for being such a piece of shit to you before."

"You don't have to—"

"Yeah, I do." Her tone is firm, final. "Not because you need me to, but because I need me to."

You can understand that, too. The need to balance scales, to find some way to live with the weight of past actions. You've carried your own burden of guilt—for surviving when Jackie didn't, for the thoughts you'd had about wanting to join her, for every moment of happiness that feels like betrayal.

"Okay," you say simply.

Mari looks surprised again, as if she'd been expecting more resistance. "Okay?"

"Yeah. I mean, we're stuck together anyway, right? Might as well make the best of it."

It's pragmatic more than forgiving, but it's also an olive branch. A way forward that doesn't require either of you to pretend the past didn't happen, but doesn't let it define your future either.

Mari's smile is small but real, and for the first time since you've known her, it reaches her eyes. "Yeah. We are."

You finish filling your containers in companionable silence, the earlier tension dissolved into something manageable. The water is still cold, the lake still vast and unknowable, but somehow it all feels less threatening now. Maybe it's the honesty, the clearing of air that's been thick with unspoken history. Maybe it's just the simple human connection of being understood.

As you wade back toward shore, Mari speaks up again. "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"The rumors about your mom. About why you moved here. Was any of it true?"

You stiffen slightly, old defensive patterns kicking in. But when you look at Mari, her expression is curious rather than cruel, genuinely interested rather than seeking ammunition.

"Which part?" you ask carefully.

"The... the part about you trying to hurt her."

You're quiet for a moment, considering how much truth to share.

"No," you say finally. "I never tried to hurt her. Or anyone else, for that matter."

Mari nods, accepting this without question. But you find yourself wanting to explain further, to provide context she'd never bothered to seek before.

"She left because I was... a lot," you continue. "Panic attacks, anxiety, always needing reassurance about everything. She couldn't handle it anymore. Couldn't handle me."

The admission stings even now, months later. The fundamental rejection of being too much for your own mother to love.

"That's fucked up," Mari says bluntly.

"Is it?" You're genuinely asking. "I mean, I was pretty exhausting. Am pretty exhausting."

"You're her daughter. That's literally her fucking job—to handle whatever you need, to help you figure out how to manage it. Not to just... give up and ship you off."

Mari's indignation on your behalf is fierce and unexpected. You've spent so long accepting your mother's narrative—that you were the problem, that your needs were unreasonable, that her leaving was somehow your fault—that hearing someone challenge it feels revolutionary.

"I used to think maybe if I'd been different, less anxious, easier to deal with..." you trail off.

"No." Mari's voice is firm. "Don't do that to yourself. You were a kid dealing with something beyond your control. She was the adult. She's the one who failed, not you."

The words settle into your chest like seeds, small but potentially transformative. You've never thought about it that way before—your mother's abandonment as her failure rather than your inadequacy. It's a radical reframing, one that might take time to fully accept, but the possibility is there now.

"Besides," Mari continues, her tone lighter, "if you'd been different, you wouldn't be you. And you're... you're pretty great as you are."

The compliment catches you off guard, makes heat rise in your cheeks. You're not used to praise, especially not from someone who once seemed to take pleasure in tearing you down.

"Thanks," you manage.

You've reached the shore now, your containers full and heavy with clean water. The sun has climbed higher while you've been talking, warming the air and burning off the last of the morning mist. It's going to be a beautiful day, you realize. The kind that makes survival feel less like endurance and more like living.

"Ready to head back?" Mari asks, adjusting her grip on her containers.

"Yeah."

But neither of you moves immediately. There's something about this moment—the honesty, the forgiveness, the unexpected connection—that feels worth preserving. Like if you start walking, you might lose whatever delicate thing has grown between you in the past hour.

"Mari?" you say finally.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you. For the apology. And for... this." You gesture vaguely at the lake, at the accommodation she'd offered for your fear.

"Thank you for letting me give it," she replies.

And then you are walking, side by side up the path toward the cabin, carrying water and something else—the beginning of understanding, maybe. Or trust. Or just the radical possibility that people can change, that the past doesn't have to determine the future, that sometimes the person who hurt you might also be the person who helps you heal.

The weight of the containers makes your arms ache, but it's a good ache. Productive. You're bringing something essential back to the group, contributing in a way that matters. And beside you, Mari is doing the same, her pace matched to yours, her presence steady and reassuring.

Behind you, the lake continues its ancient rhythm, holding its secrets beneath the surface. But for now, that's okay. Some mysteries don't need solving. Some depths don't need exploring. Sometimes it's enough to take what you need from the shallows and leave the rest alone.

The path ahead winds through trees toward home—or what passes for home now. A cabin full of people who are learning, like you, how to survive not just the wilderness but each other. How to build something new from the wreckage of what came before.

Your arms are getting tired, and your shoulders are starting to ache, but you don't suggest stopping. This is good work, necessary work. And you're not doing it alone.

Beside you, Mari adjusts her grip on her containers and keeps walking, her eyes on the path ahead but her attention still partially focused on you. Ready to slow down if you need to stop, ready to take some of your burden if it becomes too much, ready to catch you if you stumble.

It's more consideration than she's ever shown you before, and more than you've learned to expect from most people. But maybe that's what growth looks like—not grand gestures or dramatic revelations, but small acts of kindness. 

Apologies offered and accepted. Fears acknowledged without judgment.

[xiaojunsdiary]

admire from afar

shen quanrui x m! reader

prompt: your classmate ricky dyes his hair and you just cannot take your eyes off of it. but someone else can’t take their eyes off you either

warnings: flirting, blushing, flustered reader, ricky being a tease, RED HAIR RICKY

word count: 992 words

************************🎀************************

you have had a crush on your classmate and fellow acquaintance, shen quanrui, for a while now. the two of you sharing a few classes over your high school years. now both in your senior year.

he went by ricky in class but you never looked at him and thought of him that way tho. the two of you weren’t close but you had worked on some projects together in the past and greet each other in the hallways. ricky was nice, but the boy was also very popular.

he had gained popularity when he arrived halfway through your sophomore year as a foreign exchange student and had decided to stick it through to the end of high school here as he enjoyed the environment.

the other leading factor to ricky’s popularity was his undeniable beauty. the boy was stunning and had everyone infatuated. you were no different. for you couldn’t help but catch yourself staring at him from time to time, wether it be a few glance or an extensive stare, you admired generously.

* 🍒*

today started a new week of school. a lousy monday. you had done your normal routine of getting ready, brushing your teeth and walking walking to school as it wasn’t far but something was a little different.

the normal crowds that would gather about outside of school seemed to be louder today. gossip was spreading like a wild fire as you tried to listen in while making your way to your first class of the day. you heard ricky’s name slip a few times but never heard any follow up as there was so much going on.

when you had finally reached your first period: mathematic concepts, you eyed the main topic of today: shen quanrui but with red hair. a bold shade that was very different from the normal ice prince-blonde the boy had usually worn.

you didn’t realize you weren’t moving from the doorway until you heard an “excuse me” behind you. you quickly apologized and moved to sit down in your normal seat.

you began to get your belongings out on your desk as you stole another glance at ricky. the bright shade of red really complimented his features and even exaggerated them in the process.

your eyes had managed to catch his and he gave you a smile but you quickly looked away, embarrassed of being caught. you didn’t understand why as many other people were staring as well. probably because he had seen you in particular. ricky went back to conversing with his friends.

your math teacher walked in to begin his lesson while trying to ignore the flutter in your chest.

stupid, stupid, stupid you thought.

*🍒*

the lesson had went on for a moment and you had started to zone out due to boredom. your eyes wandered back over to ricky who was just a few seats away, taking notes down that your teacher had insisted you write down.

he felt someone staring at him and he looked up and locked eyes with you. you felt your face heat up in genuine embarrassment as you were supposed to be taking down notes, not ogling down your classmate. he gave you a small smirk and continued taking down notes.

you decided it was time to actually do some work yourself as well. the red hue on your face not leaving anytime soon as you recall the incident that had just occurred moments prior.

stupid, stupid, stupid.

*🍒*

the bell rang signaling the end of your first period. as students gathered up their materials and begin to exit the room, it took you a minute longer to pack up your things delaying your departure.

as you were putting the final notebook into your bag, you saw a pair of exquisite shoes perch their way beside your desk. looking up to meet eyes with…RICKY?

what could he possibly want? you thought

while there was only a few inches between the two of you, you felt much smaller as he gazed down at you this closely, an undisclosed meaning behind them.

“u-uh, hello?” you asked, zipping up your back back while attempting to hold eye contact. attempting to anyway.

“hi, mn. how are you?” he asked with a small smile.

“i’m okay. you?” you asked, happy you didn’t make a fool of yourself of stuttering again.

“i’m doing great, thank you. didn’t know so many people would be staring at me today, although, there was one pair of eyes that just couldn’t seem to stop” he replied, his smirk from earlier returning to his face.

your face went aflame as he had called you out for your looks you had given him earlier .

“i’m s-sorry, i hope i didn’t make you uncomfortable” you apologized, heat prominent on your cheeks.

“it’s okay. although, i’m curious” he said stepping a little closer.

“to what?”

“as to what your schedule looks like this weekend” he replies, slyly might you add.

“u-uh…,” you were in shock. what do you say?? “i’m unoccupied” a bit of hesitation near the end of your reply. shen quanrui wanted to potentially spend time with you?

“would you like to go out to dinner with me? i could pick you up” he asked, now a smile was stationed upon his face.

“yes!” you replied a little too enthusiastically, you cleared your throat” “yes, that sounds lovely”

omgomgomg, your crush just asked you out!!

“then it’s a date. how’s friday night at 7pm work for you?” he said, shifting more body weight onto his right leg, making his current pose even more attractive.

you nodded with a smile.

“great, well, see you then, gorgeous” he said while leaning in to press his lips to your right cheek before he made his exit.

you stood and stared at the door from which ricky had just left through. your face burning

what the fuck just happened

****************************************************

A/N: this shit deleted halfway though so sorry if the way i wrote it changes like halfway LMAOO. but OMGGGG, RICKY’S RED HAIR HE DEBUTED WITH TODAY, I’M FUCKING SCREAMING. I CALLED THAT SHÍT. i need him so bad, i’m blushing

posted: 03-10-24

edited: ???

****************************************************

comments & reblogs are very appreciated!! <3

[a-spes]

Before the Storm. (N. R. x W. M. x R.) — Part Three, 'The One Made Out of Fire. (2.515 words).

| Summary — from the ashes of a fallen kingdom, a threat that everyone thought was defeated shall rise once more, sentencing a second realm to the same fate. The prophecy foretells that the apparition of a young woman where she never belonged will herald the end of everything. Can the impending doom be forestalled, or will the destruction of Earth become inevitable?

| Tags & Warning — Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff x Enhanced!Reader. panic attack. violence, blood, injuries. strangulation (nat' trying to choke r). a bit of comfort (because wanda is the sweetest). natasha being protective and mean.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - TO SAY SOMETHING. previous part. - next part.

You woke up in a dark place, and it was a sharp contrast with the hospital room where you remember waking up first. There, there was no light, just a thick darkness that left only your hands and ears for you to try to guess where you were.

But no matter how hard you tried to think about it, you couldn't find an answer. This.. it felt foreign, and even if you had little to no memories, you were sure you had never been here before.

You followed the curve of the cave's walls, a fifty steps long lap — you counted them, multiple times. The walls were cold under your fingers, the stone having sharp edges that left marks on your skin when you desperately tried to find a way out.

Except there was none, and you soon had to accept that you were stuck in this prison of stone. At first, you fought, desperately hitting the walls, scratching them until you drew blood from your fingers, your skin now raw. But the stone did not move.

"No, no, no," you muttered, "please! Please, let me out of here!" You screamed at the top of your lungs. But no one was here to listen to your pleas and you had to accept that no one was coming — you were on your own.

The realization left a dreading feeling in your chest as you eventually let go of the few hopes you had. Suddenly, the cave felt smaller — too small — and soon the comforting silence was replaced by the sound of your own breath. Short, rapid and shallow as you realized the extent of your situation.

It is your legs that gave up first, and you were soon forced to sit down, unable to stand up for longer with the way your head was spinning. Your knees found their way against your chest, held by your arms in a position that was comforting.

You had no idea for how long you have been sitting like that, time being an odd concept that did not seem to exist down there, but at some point your thoughts started to wander.

You were thinking about the woman that had been here when you woke up last time, and you even surprised yourself missing her. Despite how harsh she treated you, it was her presence you were now craving and her absence you were regretting.

There was something in her attitude that made you want to trust her as much as she was scaring you. She had this quiet confidence, a way to hold herself as if she had everything under her control, and a way to look at you as if she knew everything about yourself, even things you were still ignoring.

“It is okay, you are okay," a voice softly said, and you felt the woman's touch on your knee way before you could see her face.

It was not the one from your thoughts, but someone new, someone you have never met before but seemed to know exactly who you were. A second was enough for you to decide that you prefer this one; there was something softer in her eyes, and you could discern some genuine concern in them.

"Just breathe honey, do you think you can do that for me?" She asked softly, and you nodded, a part of you desperately wanted to please the woman.

Her presence was calming, and you could now barely remember the reasons for your panic. She was the only thing on your mind, occupying all your thoughts with the way her thumbs were soothingly rubbing circles on your knees.

There was a smile as soft as her touch that formed on lips when she noticed that your breathing returned to normal, one similar to the smile you were now wearing too.

If you could see the woman's face so clearly, it was thanks to the faint glow that was enveloping her, a reddish aura. You held out your hand, but as soon as the tip of your fingers touched it, you felt a slight electric shock. It wasn't painful, but it was surprising enough for you to withdraw your hand immediately. You realized that the woman in front of you may be softer, but no less powerful than the other — They both were, just in completely different ways.

"How~" did you get there, who are you, what is that. The questions on your mind are numerous, but you are cut off before you could even say the first few words.

The smile that was on her lips previously is now gone, replaced by a much more serious expression. She put her index finger in front of her mouth, a clear invitation — order — to stay silent.

The woman seemed to have noticed something you did not. And if you have tried to see what had caught her attention, you can't, even when following her gaze to the other side of the cave. For you, there was nothing else than darkness, the same as when you first opened your eyes — Thick, and scary.

"We have to go," she said, but the softness of her tone didn't match the seriousness of her expression. Her eyebrows were furrowed, revealing a wrinkling between her eyes. "Hurry up, there is something here, with us," she added, and this time you felt the urgency in her voice and actions, the woman getting up even before the last words have been spoken.

"But~" you began to protest, but the woman did not let you finish — She did not have time for explanations.

Yet, she yanked you to your feet, urging you to go faster, and when she started running, she did not hesitate, and did not fear to hurt a wall. To your surprised you left the cave you were in to run in a corridor that was as dark at the place you just left, as

Instead, she pulled you to your feet, pulling you behind her. But things were moving fast, too fast for you to be able to keep up and the only question in your mind was — where?

A question that did not seem to bother the witch because she ran without any hesitation toward an exit that was not here before. You were sure of it, you had walked around the cave multiple times with your hand against the walls, you couldn't have missed it — Could you? It was fifty steps long, no breach, just the cold stone — Then how was it possible?

When the witch eventually stopped running, it was so sudden and unexpected that you almost ran into her. And even if at first you saw no reason for the woman's sudden stop, you then understood that she, again, was ahead of you, feeling things way before you could.

It is only when the ground begins to shake under your feet, and the sky falls on your heads, that you finally understand that something was wrong, now painfully aware of the reality.

"What's happening?" You asked while trying to protect yourself from the stones that were falling from the ceiling.

"I do not know," she replied, and you could sense the concern in her voice, "but stop it. Now," she added. Her tone was not soft anymore, it was firm and made you feel like a child being scolded for a mistake they didn't know they had made.

At first, you thought she was talking about your complaints, and so you immediately bite your lower lip in an attempt to not let slip the words that were on your mind.

"You are going to kill us!" She yelled this time, and that is how you knew the situation was serious because her concern was growing with every passing minute.

"I am not doing anything!" You screamed back, her worry was beginning to get to you, feeding your own fears.

But it was now obvious that the woman knew much more than what she was willing to share with you, and the thought left a bitter feeling in your chest.

"Damn it," she grumbled before turning to you. And just when you thought she was about to snap at you, for real this time, the fear replaced any trace of anger that previously was on her face. "Run, now. And do not look back," she warned you, grabbing your forearms again to force you to move along with her.

But she was fast, much faster than you were — And definitely less clumsy. At some point, you tripped over your own feet, meeting the ground seconds later without the woman being able to help you before it was too late. A grunt of pain escaped your lips, but you tried to ignore the aching in your hands and knees to get up, aware of the urgency of the situation.

And that is when you saw it. The threat that the witch had felt way before you did. It was a creature you couldn't quite discern, maybe a wolf — A huge. And one made of fire. It had piercing eyes that were glowing in the dark and fangs so sharp they could pierce any flesh.

For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still, and no one was moving — You were barely daring to breathe.

"Get down," the witch ordered you, and you barely had time to obey, sticking on the ground, that a blast of red magic was thrown over your head, striking directly at the creature — If you had moved a second too late, you would have been the one to be hit.

What you just witnessed was a demonstration of pure strength. Where the creature was standing a second ago was now... nothing. Only rubbles and dust.

"Are you okay?" She asked, rushing to your side the moment she was sure the creature was gone. And even if you nodded, the woman couldn't help but check your hands and knees for any sign of injuries. It is only when she is satisfied, and convinced that you will be fine walking on your own, that she helps you to get up.

The witch said a few more words but you did not hear them, your attention caught by a movement behind her — Something that was coming at you. It was so fast that you had barely enough time to react, even less to think about your actions.

And so you just moved, exchanging your place with the witch's to be the one to take the hit. But you were bracing yourself for an impact that will never happen.

The creature had ignored you, passing through your body as if you weren't really there — And you realized that it was not aiming at you because, for reasons you ignored, the witch has been the target since the beginning.

The last thing you saw was the woman's surprised gaze before she was ripped from your arms, sent crashing against the cave walls with a thud that makes you fear the worst.

But the worst was yet to come. The worst, it was the creature that sinked its fangs into the witch's abdomen. You wanted to scream, to move, to do anything you could to help the one who did not hesitate to do the same previously.

But you could not, held in place by forces beyond your control, and you were then reduced to be a mere witness of the bloody carnage that was to come.

⊱ ⋆ ⊰

You woke up with hands wrapped around your throat, gasping for the air that they were stealing from your lungs, scratching their skin in a vain effort to free yourself. But the person was unwavering, and only tightened their grip on your neck.

"It is your fault," she said through gritted teeth.

Soon, your vision was clouded by black spots on the sides and redhead hair falling in your eyes — Natasha's. You thought you were about to die. And it wasn't surprising to you, you knew the woman could and would kill you without any hesitation, you read it in her eyes the first you met.

"Natalia. That is enough," someone else said in a language that was foreign to you. But if you couldn't understand the words, you could recognize the voice that spoke them. A heavy silence followed the witch's words, and for a second you thought the redhead wouldn't listen.

"I will make you pay for what you did to her. And that is not only a threat, but also a promise...," she whispered in your ear, her voice low so her wife couldn't hear the threat. Wanda has always been too soft, even with the ones who didn't deserve her kindness.

It is only after a few seconds of hesitation that the assassin eventually let you go, but not without huffing first. You were coughing so hard you thought you were going to throw up, but it did not seem to worry the woman who was walking toward her wife.

The woman you saw in your dream. Except that she did not seem as strong as in your memories, she seemed... pale, hurt. And she was holding herself weirdly, leaning for support against the walls of your hospital room as if standing was already too much.

The room was the exact same as before, you now realize — Did you ever really leave it? As you glance around, you notice that everything is the same as in your memories, even the restraints on your wrists and ankles, the ones you had tried to fight, in vain.

You wanted to observe the nice woman for a bit longer, her presence soothing, but the sight was stolen from you by Natasha. The latter purposely put herself between you two, hiding her wife from her gaze — Maybe she was scared you could hurt her again.

You wished you could say something, but the words were stuck in your throat as you watched them leave — What would you have said, anyway? That you did not do anything? You were not even sure it was true. In the end, the only word you managed to force out of your mouth was a weak excuse that the women did not even hear, the sound of your voice covered by the door slamming behind them.

You spent minutes staring at where they just disappeared, trying to understand what just happened. But disentangling truth from falsehood, dreams from reality, was no easy task, and you could already feel the headache forming behind your eyes — Could you really have hurt her? But you thought... you thought everything has just been a dream, a bad one.

When you looked at your hands, you saw it. The blood you drew out of them earlier, when you were scratching at the walls of your prison.

It is when you look at your hands that you see it. The blood, the one you drew from them earlier, when you were scratching at the walls of your prison. The same blood that was now staining your sheets — And it was real, you could feel it.

| SERIES MASTERLIST - MAIN MASTERLIST - TO SAY SOMETHING. previous part. - next part.

| Tag list — @beggingonmykneesforher / @queen-of-chaotic-surprises