#just a whole ton of triggers

[stormcried-a]

Honestly, now that I think about It. I really want to create a Dreamcore / back rooms / weird core / kid core verse drake. It’s been in the back of my mind for a while now.

It’s just been something that I’ve thought about. What if Drake died on the night of the accident? What if his soul was sent to a alternate plane of reality where nothing makes sense? He’s not the same person anymore. Memories collide and have fuzzy feelings about trying to remember things. What if Drake became his inner self? A Merfolk character? Where Drake could forever be happy and in a state of bliss and innocence? Until one day it all comes crashing down when he remembers some vivid memories about his death and it effects his reality around him. Making him doubt what’s real and what isn’t. And his eternal fate inside of this altered reality where things shift and change and collide. Making it seem like the laws of physics don’t apply to the realm?

IM SO DAMN EXCITED TO MAKE A VERSE WITH THIS DRAKE AND ITS PROBABLY GONNA BE MY FIXATION ALONG WITH HH AND HB VERSE AHSHDHHF

[currentzconvulzive]

I hate intrusive thoughts bc mine swing between “hey imagine this unpleasant and painful thought” and “what if I’m (insert terrible type of person) and I just don’t know it? What if I’ve been one this whole time and I didn’t know it till now?” As if the first one is smth I want (I have a visceral or unpleasant reaction every time) and the second type isn’t just bullshit my brain is feeding me. Ah, yes, I’m this terrible thing bc my brain said “what if” even though I have a clear conscience and I’ve never had the desire to hurt another human of any age, race, or gender in any way, shape, or form.

[neverendingford]

.

[wwinterwitch]

friendly banter — bucky barnes

summary: sam asks for your help on a mission. you're reunited with him, Joaquín and Bucky. the last one really likes to banter. you think it's just a friendly exchange. it's actually a bit more than that

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader (+ platonic friendships with sam and joaquín)

word count: 5k

tags: friends to lovers, sharing feelings (awkward but cute), reader is a hacker and former S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, fluff, undisclosed feelings (mutual), kissing

note: this was kind of a mess but i'm back after a long time on not writing any fics! i'm currently in my last months of studying to become a lawyer (yay) and writing fics has proven to be very therapeutic during this time. this may or may not suck but i enjoyed writing it so i hope you enjoy it

please reblog and/or comment if you enjoy!

all masterlists | marvel masterlist | part 2 (features the thunderbolts* now)

"Got eyes on it?"

You stop walking as soon as you hear that question, staring ahead in disbelief. "You mean...the huge panel in the middle of the room?" you ask with obvious sarcasm, trying to speak as quietly as possible through your comm as you make your way further inside the darkened room.

It’s a typical security room with tons of cameras pointing to every corner of the building. To your relief, the presence of your group is apparently still unnoticed as your eyes wander across the various screens in front of you, noticing no commotion or an unnecessarily large group of unfriendly-looking guys rushing to find you. The large panel control installed in the middle of the desk before you is the thing that immediately gets your attention as you walk closer, always keeping in mind the task at hand.

All you really have to do is hack into the system to disable the security protocols long enough for Sam and Joaquín to sneak into the top floors of the building to retrieve the data that they wanted from the bad guy's records in order to find out more about the gang they'll be (hopefully) putting behind bars soon.

This is not the first and definitely not the last time you'll be doing these kinds of favors for Sam. Your friendship goes way back, when you were still a nobody at S.H.I.E.L.D. that somehow managed to get on Captain America's good graces after that whole Washington fiasco. You're still unsure why Steve always thought so highly of you. Then again, he was the type of guy who never failed to see the potential in other people, even when they couldn't quite see it themselves.

Now, you get to help the new Captain America, who's also as dear to you as the previous one was...perhaps just a tiny bit more annoying, but one of your dearest friends regardless.

As you rush over to the panel, you have to jump over the unconscious body of a security guard that Bucky (another dear friend you met thanks to Steve) took care of before you walked inside, quickly taking a seat in front of the large keyboard to start doing your part of the job.

You hear the unmistakable chuckle from Joaquín as you quickly type in a series of codes and commands. "Jeez, I missed having you on our missions!"

"Awwh!" you mutter with genuine endearment. "I missed being part of these missions too, buddy!"

"And we're still going out for drinks after this, right?"

"Are you genuinely asking me that, Joaquín Torres?" you ask, sounding overly offended on purpose.

You hear him laugh again, but before he can say anything back, you hear Bucky interrupting the exchange. "How about we focus on not getting caught here and then you guys can discuss your night plans?"

"Uh-oh, old man got upset," you joke soon after, finishing to type in the last few codes to fully disable the security system. Surely they have some backup protocol that would soon trigger the alarm to alert these guys of an unwanted visitor, but by then all of you will be long gone. It really is a very simple mission.

"He's jealous you're not taking him out for drinks," Sam jokes back, and then you immediately hear Joaquín agreeing with him.

It's a normal occurrence for Sam to be making those kinds of jokes involving you and Bucky. He has been making those types of remarks for as long as you can remember, fully convinced the two of you "have something going on" as he has put it before. You really try not to think too much about it because, first off, Sam loves to say shit just for the sake of pissing you and Bucky off and, second...you really don't want to let those comments get to your head.

You don't want to let yourself wonder about the what if's of that. There was a time in your life when you did allow yourself to fantasize about the possibility of actually "having something going on" with him, but you learnt to shut off that part of your brain in order to avoid getting your hopes up regarding a situation that just wouldn't happen outside your imagination. Hearing Sam’s silly remarks would only bring you back to those days.

Bucky has been one of your best friends for years and he has never shown the slightest of hints that he might be interested in you in the way you would like (at least not that you're aware of), and there was absolutely no way that you would ever make the first move and risk embarrassing yourself in front of him or, even worse, losing the friendship you two have. You eventually just got comfortable in the abyss of eternal friendzone and learned to accept it. If there was ever going to happen something between the two of you, surely it would've happened by now.

Still, Sam seems to be holding onto that rope for dear life and refuses to let it go. You can't deny it’s a bit uncomfortable to hear those jokes though. They somehow make you feel like somehow you got caught and everyone knows you have a secret crush on Bucky, but you've learned to adapt over the years.

"First part's done.” Leaning back on the chair, you watch the percentage bar on the screen before you, completely ignoring Sam's little joke. "A few more seconds and you're up guys!"

"Hallway’s clear," you hear Bucky say, still guarding the room where you're currently in. "How much time do we have to get out of here?"

"Uh...I can't say for sure. Anywhere near five to thirty, maybe?"

"Minutes?"

"Seconds."

"Oh, great," he mutters ironically.

"Well, I'm sorry. We're hacking into a very sophisticated system that I don't entirely know how it works!" you snap back at him. "Besides, the whole point of this is to give Joaquín and Sam enough time to sneak inside without having to deal with a bunch of guards going straight for them. Bad guys will know we're down here and they'll come looking for us first."

"Isn't hacking your whole thing? How do you not know how it works?" he asks, and just by the tone of his voice you know he's trying to piss you off, because he knows that's exactly the type of comments that would make you upset. If that type of comment came from a stranger you would be strangling them right now, but it’s Bucky, and he seems to enjoy annoying the shit out of you.

"Big talk coming from someone who still asks for my help because he barely knows how to unlock his own phone."

The sound of his faint chuckle immediately makes you smile, perfectly picturing the way he's probably rolling his eyes just barely right now, trying to suppress a smirk as if you could possibly see him right now, knowing he hates when you point it out to him.

"You have to give me some credit, though. I know how to program emails on that thing now. Soon enough I'll be taking your job, so you better watch out."

You can't help but laugh at his reply, slightly shaking your head as you realize you’re getting distracted by him, trying to keep your focus on what you're supposed to be doing right now rather than indulge in a never ending back-and-forth with him. As soon as you type the last codes and the large SECURITY SYSTEM: DISABLED alert pops on the monitor, you quickly rise up from your seat. "You're up guys, hurry!"

"On it!" Sam replies as you rush outside the room.

Before he even says anything to you, Bucky is quickly guiding you down the hallway with the intent of getting out of there as soon as possible, turning to look at you with a confused expression when you stop walking and, instead, start yanking his arm to go in the opposite direction.

"What are you doing?"

"The exit is that way," you point out as if it’s obvious.

He looks even more confused now, and slightly annoyed. "Don't think so. That's the way we entered, but there's another way of leaving this place a lot faster."

"No, we can't change the plan!"

He definitely looks annoyed now, trying not to snap at you. "I'm not changing the plan. Exiting that way has always been the plan. If we go that way, we'll-"

Before he can say anything else, the loud sound of an alarm blasts through the entire building, signaling that you've been discovered and you'll be having company very soon. As if that wasn't enough, the door of the room you were previously in opens violently, and the guard that was previously unconscious on the floor is frantically alerting more people through his radio.

“Oh, that’s great,” you point out, slightly panicking right now because you’re still inside the building. “You decided to wake up early, huh?”

Bucky immediately grabs the guy by his bulletproof vest to throw him against the wall, taking his barely regained consciousness to his advantage. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice about six other guys coming towards you, turning around the same corner you wanted to run towards as part of your escape plan. Sadly, that's when you realized maybe the direction Bucky was suggesting was better.

You’re unsure of what to do now. It's not like you haven't been taught how to take down a few bad guys, but your specialities have always involved computers rather than physical combat. Almost as if he could read your mind, Bucky turns towards you for a quick second. "Go! I'll catch up to you." Again, almost as if he knew that you'd try to ask if he was sure about it, he immediately shouts yet another "Go!" before you're finally deciding to do as he says, running down the hall in the direction he has intended to go before.

Hours later, second after second that passes by, you’re more and more convinced that you'll never hear the end of it. If only you could go back in time and just agree with Bucky's plan rather than trying to argue with him. It would have spared you a lifetime of him reminding you how he was right and you were wrong.

Turns out his exit plan was the one you should've followed all along, because it actually led to the engine room which immediately meant being in a much less crowded part of the building to escape without risking bumping into more people.

All of you had enough time to change into something more comfortable to go out for drinks. Initially it was something you and Joaquín had planned alone, but evidently the two of you didn’t hesitate to invite Sam and Bucky. Of course they accepted the invite, and of course Bucky has done his very best to keep reminding you of your little mistake.

"Listen, if you don't want shit like that to happen again, just let me know your plan beforehand."

"But I did let you know. The problem is that someone is not really a good listener."

"No. Letting me know- like, properly letting me know, would've been telling me before we got inside that building."

Bucky smirks as he leans back on his chair, and it's obvious to you he's really enjoying this banter. "Plan changed at the last minute. If you would've just followed my lead, we could've left that building a lot faster."

"Ah, so you do recognize that wasn't the original plan!" you exclaim with a triumphant grin, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You changed it all by yourself and didn't tell me."

"Changed at the last minute," he repeats, as if to correct you. "You wanted me to stand there and explain every detail to you?"

"Oh, as if explaining it would've taken you hours! You’re always so dramatic."

"Children," Sam commented, interrupting the banter with an unamused expression. "I had to trust the operation to literal children."

Bucky scoffs at that comment, watching as Sam lets out a chuckle, shaking his head after witnessing this whole interaction between the two of you.

"Kinda makes you appreciate having an actual professional around, huh?" Joaquín says right after, flashing a charming smile in Sam's direction.

"Oh, please!" you, Bucky and Sam reply in unison, earning an offended look from Joaquín.

Soon after, Bucky is speaking again. "You know what? I'll give you some credit. You managed to do your part of the job…decently."

It’s obvious he wants a reaction from you, but even if your banter is entertaining, you know you can't keep bickering the entire night. Once again, you can’t help but to feel embarrassed, as if everyone at that table knows your little secret regarding your feelings towards Bucky. As if some innocent banter between friends could ever give it away. Besides, the four of you are here to celebrate your mission was a success, and the fact that you haven't seen the trio in a long time makes it the perfect opportunity to catch up.

Pretending to fully ignore his last comment, you turn to look at Sam from across the table. "You. I haven't seen your lovely face in a while," you start, watching him physically get ready for whatever silly comment you might come up with. "Tell me what you've been up to...I've seen the photos of you shaking hands with the President," the reference to Everett Ross sounding anything but endearing.

Sam sighs, shrugging. "Yeah, well, I guess you can say it's part of the job," he simply replies before taking a quick sip of his beer. "I can't say I'm thrilled about it, but I figured it's best to compromise a bit and keep the man happy. As long as he stays in line, I'll cooperate."

"Of course you're not thrilled about it, Sam. That's the same guy that put your ass in a prison in the middle of nowhere like you were some kind of top security criminal!" you reply almost immediately, still in disbelief at the revelation of any sort of alliance between him and Ross. Sam's expression lets you know that even he is still conflicted about it, not really knowing what to say. After taking a brief pause, you try to say something else to lighten the mood, not wanting him to think like you’re judging him for it. "Hey, I understand having to keep up appearances. I get it. And please accept my deepest condolences for having to deal with that piece of shit."

Your last comment makes the three of them laugh, and Bucky takes the opportunity to change the subject. "And what have you been up to?" he asks, sounding genuinely curious. "It's been a while since any of us has seen you."

"Well, my life has been all over the place the last few months. As all of you know, I moved into a new apartment. I loved my roommate, but I felt it was time to just live by myself, you know?"

"So no plans of leaving New York to move to D.C., huh?" Joaquín asks with a smile.

You return the smile immediately. "As fun as it would be to live closer to all of you weirdos, no. I plan to stay in New York for now. I'm just really comfortable there with the new apartment, the promotion I got a few months ago, the fact that most of my family and friends are there..."

"But not all your friends," Sam quickly points out, pretending to sound incredibly offended by your last statement. "But since we’re talking about friends and just social life in general...are you still single?"

"Why are you always so interested in my love life?" you joke with a playful grin, taking a sip of your margarita to leave him wondering the answer just a few seconds more. "Yes, I'm still single. Queen's full of creeps," you added shortly after. "Are any of you seeing anybody?"

"Proudly and happily single," Joaquín replies, raising his drink up as if to cheer before taking a sip.

Sam gives him a very visible side-eye. "Yikes," is all he says regarding that, turning back to you. "I'm not interested in dating right now, to be honest. I’m quite a busy gentleman, you know?" 

“And you say ‘yikes’ to me?” Joaquín says immediately after, looking dumbfounded.

You chime in before any of them could add anything else regarding that. “Bucky?” you ask, turning to look at him as you await his answer.

It was a bold move to directly ask him that question. On one hand, you know Bucky has always been a loner so you’re almost certain that he’s single. But there’s always that tiny percentage of probability that you’ll learn a truth you’re not sure how you’ll handle. He’s your best friend, of course you’ll be happy if he’s happy…but the idea of him revealing to you that he’s dating someone might actually make you physically sick.

You notice Bucky gets uncomfortable right away. “I’m single too.”

The pleasant feeling of relief lasts just a few seconds. The fact that Sam laughs at Bucky’s reply has your mind spinning, not understanding why he would laugh at that. Why the fuck is he laughing? Should you start panicking already?

"Actually, our buddy has been on a few dating apps, I believe."

Oh no. 

Even when you try to remind yourself not to care about anything remotely romantic involving Bucky- or at least, not to care more than a platonic friend would, you can deny the news of him possibly dating someone or even just randomly talking to any person in those apps makes your stomach turn. It really wouldn't be dramatic to claim that you could quite literally throw up right now at the thought of him and someone else right now.

It's not common to hear any sort of updates regarding Bucky's love life because...well, there's never any developments. He's never shown interest in anyone, and as far as you know he's never had any sort of relationship with anyone like that– serious or casual. What if he's interested in exploring that part of his life now? What if he has found someone already and you're about to hear him talk all about them? It makes you genuinely sick, but you try your best to act as unbothered as you possibly can, forcing you to mask your disgust and heartbreak with pleasant surprise.

"Is that so?" is all you say.

He looks even more uncomfortable by the subject, choosing to look down at his almost finished beer. "It's not...I was just trying to put myself out there," he says awkwardly, shrugging. "Long story short, online dating is not for me. I hated it."

You could tell he doesn’t really like talking about this subject, so you try to quickly ease the tension with a bit of humor. Besides, you're probably better off without hearing anything regarding that topic anyway. "It's because you couldn't figure out how the whole swiping thing worked, isn't it?"

Bucky immediately seems to relax with your joke, chuckling a bit. "It took me a few days actually." He takes a quick pause before continuing. "I probably should've asked you for help."

If there was any hidden message behind his last statement, it completely goes over your head because you genuinely thought it was just part of your playful banter regarding his lack of skills when it comes to technology. You laugh, and in return Bucky offers you a smile because that's as much hinting as he dares to do out loud, especially if Sam and Joaquín are sitting right there. He's incredibly used to you never getting his subtle implications anyway.

In front of you, the other two guys are watching this exchange unfold, and it's hard to tell which one of them has a bigger urge to tell you to stop being so fucking oblivious already. As subtle as he can be, Joaquín pokes Sam's side with his elbow to give him a quick heads-up before speaking. "Considering everyone's almost finished, Sam and I are getting another round of drinks."

The two of them are standing up when they notice you're grabbing your purse and standing up as well. "Oh, I can go with you. I have to go to the restroom anyway."

The two of them want to yet again yell at you to please get a grip on the situation, but Sam just silently takes a seat as you and Joaquín go over to the bar, quickly telling him what you want to order before heading towards the restroom.

A few drinks later the four of you are finally leaving the bar. Sam and Joaquín left to their respective houses while you and Bucky shared an Uber back to his own place. He was kind enough to let you crash in his spare room for the night. It's not like this is the first time you've ever stayed at his apartment when you visit the boys, but you can't deny the idea is both thrilling and terrifying- not like anything would happen to make you feel like that...you two are just friends...but, still...your silly head likes to get silly ideas sometimes.

Deciding not to indulge in your little fantasies, you decide to start a conversation. "Update on the food?" you ask, turning to look at Bucky, who sits comfortably on the sofa of his living room.

"Like ten minutes away," he says, taking a quick look at the screen. "How come you haven't congratulated me for knowing how to order food with this thing?" he added with evident surprise, making you chuckle.

"Because you keep saying 'this thing' like it's some mysterious device completely unknown to mankind," you reply, and before you can stop yourself, you continue. "It's cute, I guess, so congratulations."

Bucky's grin grows wider. "Oh, so it's cute?"

You try really hard not to panic, feeling incredibly embarrassed. The fact that he seems to be enjoying what you just said makes it even worse, because you know he’ll use that to tease you now. He just finds any possible excuse to do it. "Cute as in lame."

He chuckles. "Right."

Not knowing what else to say, you clear your throat before walking towards him, taking a seat next to him as you try to come up with something else to change the subject immediately. "I'm starving," is all you say, mentally scolding you for such a poor effort.

As soon as you're sitting, you unsuccessfully try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach when he leans just a bit closer...perhaps if you weren't hyper vigilant whenever the two of you are too near you might've missed it. And then, he stretches his arm across the back of the sofa, right behind you.

For a second, you even thought of mocking him for such a move, but bringing more attention to it would only make you that much nervous, and you really don't want to embarrass yourself. And most importantly, you don't want your silly mind and your silly heart to get their hopes up. You're just friends, nothing else.

"Me too," he agrees, the playful grin on his face still not disappearing. "Might have to steal a few fries from you."

"Oh, I'd really like to see you try stealing my food," you reply in the same playful tone, leaning just a little closer to him without even noticing that you were actually doing that.

"I think I deserve some compensation after what happened today. You know, for all the unnecessary ass-kicking I had to do."

"Just when I thought you had moved on from that!" you reply, jokingly slapping his knee. "It wasn't my fault, it was yours for not telling me the plan on time!"

"You should've just trusted me," he insists. "But you always have to be right on everything..."

You know he's joking. There's something about bantering with you that seems to absolutely fascinate him. "Yeah, and you always want to piss me off."

Bucky chuckles again, and that's when you feel his hand gently resting on your shoulder, his arm fully around you. What the actual fuck is going on. "What, you think I like pissing you off?" he asks, tone slightly lower than before, which inevitably makes the butterflies in your stomach multiply. "Is that why you think I do it?"

You were quiet for a moment, your brain not entirely registering what's happening. "I mean...yeah."

He stops for a second, and you almost see a hint of hesitation on his face before he speaks, letting out a frustrated sigh. "For someone who claims to be so much more clever than anyone else, I would've expected you to figure it out sooner," he starts, shaking his head with a soft smile. "I've been actually flirting with you, doll."

The comment evidently takes you by surprise and all you can do is to stare back at him like a complete fool. His arm around your shoulders, the proximity, the fact he had the fucking audacity to call you that nickname...did you somehow fall asleep on his couch without noticing and this is the type of oddly-realistic dream your brain decided to come up with? Are you still standing there like a fool just fantasizing and this one just got way too immersive? And did he really just say that he's been flirting with you?

Noticing you weren't saying anything, he decides to continue, looking a little hesitant and disappointed with your silence. "You know, it'd be really nice if you say something..."

"Awful way to flirt," is all you could come up with, which immediately makes him burst out laughing. 

"Maybe," he agrees. "But I can’t believe you didn’t figure it out. I mean…Sam and Joaquín did a long time ago."

"The three of you share the same brain cell, of course they figured it out a long time ago,” you reply, still in complete shock to be having this conversation with him. Were you really that blind? "You could’ve just asked me."

"You know I'm not direct like that," he replies, and the shy look on his face almost makes your heart melt. "Like I said, I was relying on your impressive intelligence to figure it out."

You let out a soft chuckle after his last comment, immediately giving him a warning look. "Don't." He looks back at you for a few seconds, almost wanting to challenge you after noticing the way you’re looking at him. Soon enough, he’s unable to hide his smirk anymore. "There it is," you point out, knowing he hates that.

Bucky lets out a soft grunt as a complaint, resting his head on your shoulder. Encouraged, you immediately move a hand up to his hair, affectionately playing with it. The two of you stay like that, simply enjoying being so close to each other. It feels incredibly right.

"So how do you feel?" he eventually asks, perhaps feeling braver to ask now that he doesn’t have to look into your eyes when he does.

You don’t reply right away, still feeling incredibly nervous despite knowing he does like you back. Eventually, you do build up the courage to say something. "I like you. Like, a lot."

Bucky moves back to look at you know. The look on his face gives you the impression that he wasn’t expecting you to be so honest with your answer, perhaps expecting another silly joke or sarcastic remark. And even though you thought about the possibility of choosing a more humorous approach, after keeping your feelings for him locked up and stored away for so long, you really needed to just say it.

Instead of saying something back, Bucky tightens his grip around your shoulders just enough, using his other hand to grab your chin right before kissing you. It certainly takes you by surprise, but you're quickly returning the kiss as you just completely melt in his arms, still trying to convince yourself that this is not some kind of hyper-realistic dream.

His hand swiftly moves to your cheek as the kiss continues, the gesture so incredibly delicate, a sharp contrast with the pure need he’s transmitting through the kiss. It’s desperate, passionate, intense…like he’s been waiting an entire lifetime to finally be able to experience this, grateful for the absolute privilege that it is to kiss you.

One of your hands moves up to the back of his neck and your touch seems to encourage him that much more because before you know it, he's taking the opportunity to gently bite your bottom lip, right before continuing to make out with you.

Much to yours and Bucky's disappointment, the sound of his apartment's doorbell echoes through the apartment, indicating the food you previously ordered has arrived.

He reluctantly pulls away with a soft grunt. "Food's here," he comments out loud, offering you a soft smile. He takes a brief moment to look at you, brushing his thumb against your cheek in an affectionate manner, dreading the idea of having to leave this couch. "I'll get it."

"I can help," you offer almost immediately.

Instead of replying right away, he leans in for a short kiss. "I'll get it," he insists, quickly making his way to the door after another buzz could be heard.

You sat in his living room in complete disbelief of what just happened, thankful that he's not here right now to see your goofy smile and blushed cheeks. He'd probably tease you to no end if he did see that.

Not knowing what else to do, you immediately reach for your phone, opening your messages. You knew exactly who would be the right people to share the news with.

'uhm so we just kissed??????' you texted, the first message in the group chat you just created with Sam and Joaquín.

Joaquín is the first one to reply. 'HELL YEAH!!!!!!!!!!!'

'FUCKING FINALLY.' Sam texts shortly after.

[pretty-little-martyr]

yknow what, this holiday season shoutout to people who have had that slow creeping realization that the family that's supposed to love you "unconditionally" doesn't like you at all. signed, a guy who recently discovered his grandparents actually don't like him, and that's without even knowing he's a man!

[overangel]

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ɢɪʀʟ ᴇᴠɪʟ

❥ This is a yandere batfam x neglected reader story.

act 1, act 2, act 3

You wake up nearly 10 years in the past and reunite with the one person you could truly call family. Your path is diverging into strange new directions as you discover your abilities. Will this be a dream come true? ❥ MDNI 18+, TW: su!c!de mention, death of a parent, depression & anxiety, semi-incest

It’s a struggle to force your eyelids open at first. You confuse squeezing them shut with opening them but finally figure it out as they slowly peel open, breaking the crust that once sealed them shut.

A greasy film obscures your vision, turning the ceiling lights into a blurred haze, and when your mind finally boots up, all of your senses wake at the exact same time and overwhelm you instantly.

“Ack!”

A muffled cry vibrated around the ET tube placed down your throat. Your throat constricted around the tube painfully as you fought the instinct to throw up. 

Thankfully, the air it provided kept you from choking as you forced yourself to calm down and will away the colorful spots that filled your vision.

The vitals monitor once beeped lazily but now your pulse was picking up. The pulse oximeter on your left middle finger felt like it weighed a ton and what once was a pleasant numbness when you were unconscious, became an ache that made your whole right arm tremble. 

Your arm, the arm you would have given to save your mother, was surprisingly in one piece. It was strapped over your chest and a splint set your wrist straight.

This was such a vivid memory. Yeah, you were haunted by nightmares of the storm, the phantom pains of your mother’s weight pulling at your arm. The first day at Wayne Manor, never feeling more alone since middle school, the words, the violence, the isolation, those dreams felt so real then too. It’s just that this dream–

‘Wait…���

You’re not supposed to feel pain in dreams and the pounding behind your eyes, the burning on your left hand and the sharp throb that shook your right arm were all too real. But, you couldn’t be alive!

You felt the cool steel in your hand, and the pressure it took to feel the trigger. That satisfying shift of it's weight before— 

Then, it clicked. 

'Oh, come on.'

Your vision finally cleared after several more blinks.

Raising your left hand was a Herculean effort and you probably would’ve bit your lips until they bled if the ventilator wasn’t keeping them parted. Trembling, involuntarily twitching fingers were gingerly raised to your cheek where you felt a thick bandage beside your left eye. 

Beneath would be a scar that the past you would be ashamed of for the rest of her life. Your thoughts drifted to the you from before. She was so silly, you thought of yourself, so skittish, so insecure.

You had been surrounded by beautiful, interesting people, and you were so young back then. If only you had understood comparison was the thief of joy.

The scar you had didn't take away from your natural looks, and you actually found it cute. If you took care of it like you're supposed to, it would become a small crescent that turned inward towards your left eye and have a silvery cast to it when the light hit it just right.

You carefully turned your left hand and took in the bandage that protected your palm. Beneath these bandages were lacerations that would take months to finally knit themselves closed and stop oozing blood occasionally. 

Your hands… Even hardened fighters like Cassandra had such pretty, graceful hands, but the you from the past felt like yours belonged to a medieval blacksmith. Your hands didn't belong to a privileged heiress, or a former girl next door; the deep scars revealed too much pain and the savagery you survived. 

You dropped your hand and exhaled a shuddering huff that irritated your throat. 

‘I’m 16 again.’ You looked up and gazed at the crown mouldings along the wall nearest to you. Your hospital room looked more like a master’s suite that took up far too much space to share a floor with other rooms.

It was so overwhelming back then. Your real family would’ve never been able to afford this despite loving you more than Bruce and his brood were ever capable of in their twisted little hearts.

Your old self should’ve known to enjoy it while it lasted. Bruce would never show you so much favor after your hospitalization besides a credit card tossed across his desk and that was only after Alfred pestered him about you needing to have your own finances like the others.

The blackout blinds were shut tightly making it impossible to tell what time of day it was and you didn’t see a clock around. You tried to adjust by raising your shoulders but realized the extra weight on your shoulders was a thick neck brace holding your neck in place. 

You don’t remember how deeply the wire cut through your neck in your past life, but you knew it was a miracle that kept you from losing your head and your voice. 

After your injuries were accounted for, the silence set in and your ears started ringing. 

You heard blood rushing in your ears, and felt wet leaves slapping your face. 

Dirt was blown up your nose and stung your eyes. Your clothes were cold and soaking wet, clinging to your body like a second skin. So much noise. There was so much noise from the sirens blaring, to the winds, to the crashing waves and hale that pounded any roof still above water. 

A woman’s voice cut through it all, begging her only child, the only reason she breathed, “Please, let me go..” 

She struggled at first. She tried to make you drop her. She begged at first, and then when she could tell by the look in your eyes that you wouldn’t listen–that this was the one thing you would not obey your mother over–she demanded you let go. 

She hollered as loudly as she could over the winds, begging, pleading, scolding, trying to talk sense into you. “You won't make it!” The gate you clung to couldn’t support both your weights for much longer.

“I've lived my life!” And you haven’t lived any of yours yet, baby.

She was ready to go. She left you when a pipe came soaring through the air as if it was a javelin thrown by Phrastor himself. 

You would like to think she died immediately. You didn’t know how long it took for her fingers to go slack. Maybe seconds, maybe minutes of agony. Still, you just didn’t know how to let go. 

Maybe that was your problem.

All of the noises blended together until it doubled over and became silent again. “Please, mom. Don't go.”

It felt like your ears were filled with water.

You couldn’t ignore the truth. If you had been brought back to this point in time, it meant that they were already gone. 

She was already gone. 

Tears blurred your vision and a thick sob made your throat spasm around the ET tube. Why couldn’t you have gone back further? At least far enough to warn mom and everyone to leave town! A day—even 2 hours—would’ve been enough if you all just hit the road! 

Even with this one in a million, no–one in a trillion chance–you still weren’t allowed to be truly happy.

So many times you wished you could give Bruce Wayne’s life for your mother’s. He was worth billions of dollars, but your mama was worth more than a billion of him.

The only thing you had ever wanted wasn’t their love or even a bit of tolerance. You just wanted to feel your mother’s arms around you one last time. 

You would’ve preferred a moment in her arms instead of a chance at a new life without her. Your actual desires were so simple.

Wealth? You couldn’t touch a single penny. Affluence? No one truly liked you. They liked your new surname, but it didn’t matter if the person attached to it lived or died. Privilege? You weren’t some WASP, and wouldn’t fit in at the country club even if you were invited.

Whatever was out there truly loved fucking with you. 

Tears trailed down your face while thinking of your mother and left drying tracks. You sniffed up the mucus that threatened to drip down your lip and forced your mind to go quiet.

You had to pull yourself out of this slump before you fell into depression. You tried to lean your head back against the suffocatingly plush pillow and thought, willing a thank you to your mom, your friends, family, acquaintances, and everyone you lost. 

“Please guide me.”

You remained slouched against the plush pillows and closed your eyes. You would need any peace you could get before stepping on the battlefield if you really did go back to the past. 

You only shut your eyes for a second when you opened them again to a foreign plane. You stood on a desolate land lightly shrouded in drifting mist, without a single spot of green in sight. The earth you stood on was tightly packed dirt and any grass you saw was yellow and clearly dehydrated by how sharp the blades were against your bare feet when you tried to take a step. 

Once again, you felt pain in what should’ve been a dream. Here, you weren’t wearing your bandages and there weren’t neck or arm braces to restrict you. You flexed your fingers and balled your fists, admiring the dexterity you once took for granted and the healed scars that lined your wrists and palms in an unsymmetrical but captivating tapestry. 

You touched the scars around your neck and cleared your throat, pleased that there was no pain. You spoke a few words and teared up at the sound of your own voice. “Is that me?” 

It was like reuniting with an old friend. 

You braved the pricks and stabs of dead grass and nettles and walked the terrain you could see amid the mist. You were completely alone here, the only sound being the gentle trickle of a black brook that led nowhere. 

Retracing your steps, you came to the only other landmark, a dead tree with skinny twisting branches that reached to the sky as if pleading to some divine figure for mercy. You plopped down against the base and immediately regretted it when pain shot up your tailbone when you landed on a gnarled root.

However, the pain was quickly forgotten when a sheet of parchment paper fell from above and into your lap. 

“One hour in the real world = one day in the pocket dimension”

It looked freshly written in curling violet font. The ink didn’t bleed on the fine archival paper, and when you looked up to see who dropped it all you saw was a grey, cloudy sky. You didn’t like the clouds. It reminded you of before the storm touched ground.

You shook away the thoughts that threatened to sink icy fingers into your heart, and flipped the paper to look for more instructions.

That’s helpful but how will you keep up with time if there’s no–oh. You looked at your forearm and saw that there was periwinkle writing gently ebbing with your pulse. ‘23 min’

Oh. 

Thanks.

You leaned against the tree trunk and sighed. Honestly, you weren’t really this calm and cool. In your past life, you literally lived in a constant state of anxiety from the moment you woke in the morning until the second sleep finally claimed you and the nightmares began.

It got to the point when there wasn’t an anti-anxiety medication on the market you hadn’t tried and fear would root you to the spot and prevent you from physically stepping through your bedroom door for days. 

So, why were you handling this all so well? If you really went back to in time to after the flood, after you recovered you’d be going back to hell. You could recall every humiliating memory in your last life in chronological order and you were going back to the place where your future diverged into darkness. Why were you so calm?

You looked up at the bleak sky of this so-called “pocket dimension” and sighed. 

You willed the memories that haunted every waking moment in your past life to the forefront. Even if it’s a dream, you couldn't shirk this chance if you had time to prepare. You lived with so many regrets until it didn’t feel like living anymore.

You laid out a mental map, In the past, you woke from the coma after 2 months, and remained in the hospital for another 2. In that time, the only person who visited you had been Alfred Pennyworth who tried to keep a concise schedule for you, despite having higher priorities. 

Physical therapy was hell, and you weren’t able to physically speak for 3 months, but didn’t actually speak for 6 because of selective mutism. Living in the manor left you too afraid to speak.

You grumbled in agitation, mostly at yourself.

When Alfred brought you back, you had only been standing in the foyer for a minute before a kick from Damian Wayne swept your feet from under you and on your still injured right wrist. You writhed and cried from the shock and pain, and only Alfred helped you up.

Richard Grayson attempted a half-hearted “You okay there?” with a pitied furrowed brow, and concern that didn’t reach his baby blues. 

Bruce Wayne seemed disgusted and Cassandra Cain lost interest.

No one gets a second chance at a first impression and that was how yours went down.

“I can’t let that happen again.” But how could you avoid an actually trained assassin? Distress was taking root and locking your limbs in place. Your heart stuttered and air didn’t come easily anymore. How could you fight against someone like that?

Then, an expanse of tatami mats appeared over the dried grass and a figure stood motionlessly in the center of it. Naturally, you were startled and scooted back as if you were trying to force yourself as far into the tree as possible. 

You quieted your breath and stared at the figure trying to get a good look from a safe-ish distance. The lone figure was shrouded in darkness, his back facing the source of light in this realm, a source you couldn’t locate behind the grey clouds. Something about it seemed so familiar.

Dread iced your spine, but astonishment spurred you on. It looked like Damian! 

You climbed to your feet and stumbled forward. It looked exactly like he did when you first met when he was just 13 years old. His hair was spiked and his eyes were menacing and hateful. It was like looking at the real thing and you feared it might actually be. What were the odds you shared this place with the demon?

But something else came to mind. You were worried about being attacked on your first day and not being able to do anything about it, and now here were some tatami mats and the Damian you remember from that time. 

When you needed help, a solution appeared. It was just up to you to use the tools provided. 

‘I’ve seen him fight before.’ The double took a fighting stance, ‘I’ve experienced his skills firsthand.’ And had scars and bruises to show for it.

‘I could read him…’ The double kicked out and you stumbled out of the way. The toes of his boot skimmed your shin and pain erupted up the bone. You didn’t get out of the way completely and dropped clutching your leg in pain, but you had seen it coming, and acted!

You looked up at the double who glared down at you disdainfully. You knew his every move and the skills he’d accumulate along the way. If you really tried…

You staggered to your feet and imitated a stance you saw him drop into hundreds of times. Your eyes met the double’s emerald ones. Eyes almost as green and vile as the Lazarus pit, and just as hateful as those of the real deal’s. You unconsciously held your breath. Those eyes were the scariest things about him in your opinion, and you’d have to get used to looking them all in the eye if you were going to change.

“Again.” You commanded and the double attacked.

You opened your eyes after a week of training in the pocket dimension to it only being 7 hours of sleep in the real world. Well, it looked like you had a restful sleep but your mind and spirit had been wide awake for 7 days straight. You had spent that time training with and studying the double that kicked your butt more times than you could count. 

However, you were getting up easier, predicting every move, and your body was reacting faster. You had caught the double off guard a few times, forcing him to rethink his next moves and counterattack.

Unfortunately, there was a tradeoff. You were sore. Even your blood ached. 'I could use some codeine...' You blinked the sleep from your eyes to find a nurse’s ample chest hovering over your face as she reached to refill your medications.

You quietly stared at the welcomed sight until she pulled back on her heels after completing her task. Her eyes dropped down to glance at you before leaving when she saw you staring and screamed.

“Oh! D-doctor, she’s awake!”

And your ears worked, too.

You counted at least 6 different medical professionals in your room at once and distractedly answered questions by tapping your left pointer finger once for yes and twice for no as your eyes flitted from one figure to the next. They reminded you of busy bees buzzing around a hive. 

You had feeling in all of your extremities and although it hurt enough to bring tears to your eyes, you could lift your right hand the slightest centimeter. 

Dazed from the overstimulation, you blinked sheepishly when you felt something in the air change, and in your heart, you knew why. 

Turning your torso to face the door because you couldn’t turn your neck alone, you saw the man who cared for you when you had no one else.

He was as classy as ever, black jacket perfectly tailored, and pressed pants above freshly polished oxfords. 

His posture was straight and shoulders were back but his composure slipped the slightest fraction and his lips trembled when your eyes finally met.

Your breathing hitched and heart rate spiked, the heart monitor beeping rapidly. At this moment, your limbs didn’t feel like they weighed a hundred tons, and you were starting to pull your legs up and twisting to get out of bed. You’d fall if you tried to take a single step out of it but that was far from your mind. What’s a little more pain?

You reached both hands towards Alfred, eyes shimmering with tears, and the sight struck something deep within him. 

You two had never met before and all that he knew of you came from secondhand accounts as he researched your loved ones and helped with funerary arrangements and settlements for those affected by the Wayne Enterprise Flood Disaster.

He didn’t know you, but for some inexplicable reason, he felt like you’d met before. He knew you. And, to his astonishment, he had even loved you. 

He was crossing the suite in strides and at your bedside before you could fall. His hands were gently lowering your own and settling you into bed as if he had done it for you hundreds of times. 

“Careful, dear girl.” 

The last bit of your composure cracked and you threw your arms around his slender waist, the wires patched onto them were a hindrance and tugged the tape on your skin but you squeezed him as tightly as you could in your weakened state. 'I didn't mean to.' You cried your apologies deep in your heart, 'I didn't really want to.'

He was dumbstruck as you sobbed into his suit jacket, but slowly, he lowered his composure and gently embraced you as well.

Nurse Patrice, the nurse you had taken a shine to since you woke up, wiped her eyes quickly and went to make herself scarce. “They’re thinking they can take the ET tube out in a few days. She’s been doing very well breathing on her own.”

Alfred looked up at the nurse, he hadn’t noticed her at all since all of his attention had been devoted to you, and smiled his gentlemanly smile that seemed to set women’s hearts at ease.

“When she’s cleared in a week, she can start PT.”

You hiccupped around the ventilator and Alfred rubbed soothing circles between your shoulder blades. Nurse Patrice gazed at your trembling back and quietly left you two alone. She would make sure no one bothered you for a while. 

Alfred tenderly smoothed down your hair with one hand as your sobs quieted. You hadn’t had a proper shower, much less washed your hair, since the storm over a couple of weeks ago and you wouldn’t be able to care for your hair until your hands were healed. 

He carefully and discreetly untangled small knots at some of your ends, and made a note to do some research on hair care so he could help you take care of yours. 

“Are you feeling better, young Miss?”  

You nodded your head into his vest, suddenly too shy to show your face.

He pulled out a pristine handkerchief and lightly wiped your cheeks. 

He didn’t mean to say it, but he wasn’t entirely himself while he was in your presence. Maybe he was a different version of himself, and maybe he liked this version of him better than the one he was before he met you. 

“You'll never be alone again.”

You finally released Alfred after you were sure he wouldn’t leave your sight. He tried to hide his grin at you not wanting him to go, before politely pulling Nurse Patrice aside for a private chat.

A good cry was really what you needed, but you hadn’t expected that you’d be so overcome by emotion.

Yes, you loved Alfred and honestly he was the only person keeping you going in your past life, other than the fact you knew your mother would want you to live.

You had cut all ties with the living world the last few years of your life. Friends and acquaintances became strangers and you were too ashamed to reach out to your extended family. 

You succumbed to depression, but Alfred was the only earthly tie you truly regretted severing. He was your strength in your mother’s stead. The only thing you regretted was breaking his heart when you ended it all.

Everything felt right with him near. So peaceful that you turned on the mounted flat screen to a telenovela and watched ridiculously attractive people traverse equally ridiculous situations.

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see Alfred and Nurse Patrice looking at his phone as she showed him something and he nodded his head in understanding. They were hitting it off, you grinned. Such a charmer, Mr. Pennyworth.

You were in a coma for around 2 months in your last life and that was enough time for Bruce Wayne to do most of the damage control he needed. He acted fast, paying for funerals, sending kids to college, paying mortgages and for living arrangements so that the people who lost everything, citizens who were unfairly branded as “refugees” in their own country, could try to live again. 

Influencers, celebrities, and anyone with an opinion continued to drag him but things were dying down smoothly. Wealth and being a good-looking white man was a hell of a cheat code. The world was moving on without you, and 2 months was more than enough time for Batman’s brood to put you out of mind. 

You blinked owlishly at the thought and the apathy it brought. that thought didn’t hurt at all, when it would’ve–actually it had–cut you down before.

When you were an actual teenager without a friend in the world, the thought of being forgotten scared you to death but as a mentally grown woman who had hit her lowest low in one life already, you were at peace. 

In fact, it’d be nice if they never noticed you were there at all. It would make pawning off some of the heirlooms and portraits around the place all too easy. You wondered if you could learn where all the cameras were…Alfred caught the devious glint in your eye and raised his brows. 

He walked to your bedside and took a seat in the armchair beside you. You opened your hand and he took it without having to be asked. 

There were so many things foreign to Alfred. 

Yes, Bruce had adoptive daughters, but that didn’t mean Alfred did. Yet, for some indiscernible reason he felt like you were his. 

Bruce was your father, but you were his daughter, and he'd do everything you deserved like learning how to care for your hair.

Your texture was so different from his own, but the wheels were turning and he was looking forward to starting the routines Nurse Patrice put him on.

Your eyes crinkled in a smile, content in the silence.  

“You gave everyone quite a scare when you were first admitted,” He couldn’t get to the hospital immediately but he knew you had emergency surgery for your neck. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say you were nearly decapitated, and it should’ve been impossible for the doctors to save your life and your voice. Yet, the impossible was made possible and Alfred would make sure that the research institute would never lack funding.

“But you’re recovering even faster than expected.” You had woken up within 2 weeks compared to the 2 months of the past.

By ‘everyone,’ he meant the medical staff. To his horror, Bruce seemed ambivalent to your condition as long as you didn't die. Sticking you in a private room in an exclusive hospital only available to millionaires was partially for the care, but mostly so he could ensure no paparazzi would find you and cause him more trouble.

You tried squeezing his hand with the fingers on your left hand, the hand that despite being wrecked by the barbed wire, retained almost all of its nerve function. You turned back to the tv to watch the telenovela, but Alfred’s eyes rested on your profile, almost studying you and committing every little pore to memory.

His heart was unsettled, there was this growing fear that he could lose you, as if he already had before. But how, when this is your first meeting?

Being near you brought him so much joy, but his hands also trembled as if to anticipate you falling to pieces. He didn't know why this was, but that only made him want to keep you close and protect you.

Turning his thoughts towards more positive things, he knew just what gift to bring you tomorrow, and was already looking forward to the way your face would light up. 

Only the world's greatest detective could notice the way Alfred's left eyebrow was creased the most miniscule bit in disgust. The greatest detective would if he was paying attention. 

“So, how are your classes, Tim?” Bruce spoke from his seat at the head of the table. “Everything's good. Boring, but good.”

‘imagine how bored Young Mistress Y/n is.’ Alfred's expression was perfectly schooled but his eyes were so over it. 

Bruce nodded his head, “And what about you, Damian?” The young boy scowled. “It seems that just anyone can become an educator these days.” He let loose a rant while Alfred’s gaze burned a hole into the wall opposite him. 

He considered these family dinners a much deserved respite from the fighting, but it didn't feel whole after you came into his life. It would never feel like a family dinner to him unless you were seated among them, telling your father how your classes were going and joking with your siblings. His fist tightened beneath the napkin he held, didn't anyone else feel something missing? 

Could they eat any slower? Alfred covertly checked his pocket watch. Visiting hours were over and although you had no trouble with him leaving and waved sweetly before he left, he could imagine fresh tears in your eyes like when you first saw him. You were there all alone, practically hidden away.

It was a good thing he charmed the director and charge nurses so that he'd be able to stay past visiting hours all he wanted. Unfortunately, his duties as a butler still came first, and so, he waited for the clinking of cutlery and meaningless chatter to cease. 

“Alfred?”

The butler's eyes refocused and landed on Bruce's face who was staring at him from his chair at the head of the table in concern. “Is everything alright?”

Was everything alright? Should he be asking him that? Shouldn't he be asking about you? 

Alfred’s countenance doesn't betray a single thought, “I'm more than alright, Master Bruce.” Alfred’s voice was clear and strong and caught everyone's attention. “My young Mistress has woken up from her coma earlier than expected and she's already hitting recovery milestones.” The pride in his voice couldn't be repressed.

Damian frowned and Tim tilted his head. Cassandra looked into space while trying to recall anything about a lady in a coma. 

Duke, bless his heart, didn't know, but tried to be supportive. “That's good!”

Alfred turned to him, “Isn't it, Master Duke? Mobility is limited but she's completely of sound mind and she's quite charming.” He smiled fondly before realizing he had to rein it in.

“Great, but who are you talking about?” Stephanie snorted and looked around the table for an explanation, thinking she was the only one out of the loop. 

“Master Bruce's daughter.”

The room went cold.

You were a topic they all danced around, carefully evading. Your reveal hadn't been a positive thing for the family at all; on the contrary, even thinking of or hearing your name would put Bruce and Tim in the state of fatigue they went through when all hell broke loose. Discovering you would be a bad memory for years to come. 

“Oh.” Duke thought about what he had seen on social media the last couple of weeks. You didn't have an online presence but you had been a hot topic when the flood happened. 

Bruce Wayne's daughter was in a lower income area when Wayne enterprises moved in with plans to raise the town’s textile industry back from the dead. We all know how that ended. 

Old friends and teachers spoke of you fondly, and it was clear that many were furious on your behalf. To many, Bruce was a deadbeat who didn't know shit.

Some social media posts weren't the same as getting to know you, but it laid the groundwork and he was curious about you and felt bad for what you’d gone through. He had a feeling no one else shared his sentiments.

“What? Daughter?” Stephanie gripped the dining chair’s armrests and turned to Bruce, ready to go in on him for being a playboy and falling for another assassin milf when it dawned on her. 

The flood, the media, Tim and Bruce's sleepless nights. ‘Oh, so she's alive.’ she simply thought to herself and lost interest.

“That's the least the medical institute can do after all I'm paying it.”

Alfred felt venom rise up his throat. When had the money mattered? 

“I will be visiting Young Mistress Y/n tomorrow—”

Alfred Pennyworth never stepped above his station as dutiful butler, but he had never been cut off before either. Someone changed the subject, most likely Dick who had an insane ability for shifting attention like it was a meta power.

The topic of interest changed and conversation flowed into the mundane but it was a farce of familial normalcy. Alfred's jaw clenched.

To be continued~

@c4xcocoa , @rythespy

Future installments will have semi-incest so please let me know if you want to be untagged!

[deadsetobsessions]

Danny no longer has a haunt. So… he decides to find another one. And while he technically has a whole world (other dimensions aren’t an option because he’s going to stay near where Jazz’s grave is, damn it) there’s only a couple of other places with enough ambient ectoplasm to sustain him. Nanda Parbat, Tokyo, and Gotham.

Nanda Parbat had a weird old musty immortal that kept trying to summon him and exchange power for the ability to “take a worthy body and rain as much destruction” as he’d like. As if Danny would need a body to bring the world to its knees.

Tokyo… it’s too far from Jazz’s grave. He could ask Wulf or even open his own portal but when Danny tried it out, Tokyo was too peaceful. Obviously there’s crime, but nothing… nothing big like Danny’s used to.

Danny ends up picking Gotham, even if the sewer zombies and the weird group of rich fruit loops with an adoption problem creeps him out. So, he destroys the portal, packs up his parents’ house and sells it, and hauls ass to the cesspool calling his name. His family’s stuff is stored respectfully in a vault located on the deepest parts of his personal haunt in the Infinite Realms.

And honestly, he’s doing better. Sure, he’s got a shitty apartment near another revenant’s almost-haunt and he feels like he’s drowning all of the time, but Danny isn’t in danger of turning into Dan, he’s catching up on royal paperwork, and he’s got like a job as a barista. In his own coffee shop that paid for using his parent’s money (who, despite their hazardous everything, made a crap ton of money off of their more normal inventions).

Gotham’s got some pretty interesting local gangs, most of which respected the sanctity of Danny’s cafe. Sure, they tried blowing it up and tried extorting money from him in the form of “protection costs” but after three months of failure, they gave up.

(Really, the local gangs gave up when they saw him take three shotgun shells to the chest and continued to work.) (They didn’t know it never hit him. Intangibility is extremely useful.)

The Rogues, on the other hand, just gave Danny flashbacks. Their gimmicks are different, sure, but after years of Box Ghost, Skuller, Lunch Lady, etc., Danny’s more than done with costumed villains. They don’t bother him either. Some of the reason is probably due to Harley and Ivy, who had walked into the cafe and (because they were bruised and scratched up from a fight) triggered Danny’s mother hen tendencies. They were promptly fed and watered and caffeinated and their hyenas were also similarly taken care of. They declared the cafe under their protection and that was that.

Red Hood stops by, and begins to interrogate him. But when Danny met his… helmet eyes? The crime lord paused, paid for his coffee, and sat in a corner table of the cafe for the rest of the day.

And he kept coming back?

But Danny figures it’s because Hood was a revenant and people who had come close to death tends to feel more comfortable around him.

(Considering this is Gotham where people almost die every other day? Yeah, he’s pretty much friends with everyone. Or at least, less likely to get shot.)

(Hood does stay because of the King’s presence and the Pit calming itself, but also Danny’s hot and he’s got a sleeper build and Hood definitely did not imagine himself in the place of the heavy box he saw Danny lift effortlessly onto a table. No.)

But of course, the peace couldn’t last forever. But by then, Danny was so antsy, he welcomed the trouble with open arms.

It starts with a clown. Danny knows who he is. He knows who Danny is.

So, Danny has no idea why the clown thought it would be a good idea to aggravate the owner of Gotham’s official neutral grounds. See, Clovkwork? Danny’s learned how to gauge his own political importance!

“HAHAHAHAHA! COME OUT, DANNY-BOY! LET ME TELL YOU A JOKE!”

Danny comes out and grabs a chair, and with a flat expression, says, “you’re not funny and I hate clowns.”

And then he swings and slams the chair into the Joker’s face. Over and over again until Danny’s sure the clown won’t get back up. The thing about Gotham’s outdoor chairs is that they’re mad out of steel and are bolted down to the ground to prevent undedicated thieves (dedicated thieves can and will steal the bolted down steel chairs). The Joker’s hired muscle just watched this scrawny twenty-something year old yank the steel chair and take some of the fucking ground and the bolts with it and beat the fuck out of their boss who is the literal Joker.

They surrender on the spot and is taken to jail. Danny just smiles at the officers who come by and since he’s got pretty privilege and they don’t want to mess with the guy who, again, owns one of Gotham’s official neutral ground and also beat up Joker without breaking a sweat, the officers just lets him go with a warning.

And then the bats comes, and wow, Danny’s playing mentor to a formally dead person again!

But before that, the Red Hood asks for an autograph on the Gotham Gazette article with a picture of a tired Danny standing over Joker’s prone body. Then Hood stammers through asking Danny out (which Danny said yes to because he’s tired, not blind, and Hood is built like a brick house and HOT).

Batman interrogates him. Danny, who can tell that this man needs therapy and is Sad TM, tells Bats that Danny’s died before and that’s why he’s like this. He also calls Batman a furry, but like in a nice way. And then he kicks Batman out with a coffee and a file on Nanda Parbat.

Now, Danny’s got a date to prepare for and he realizes that maybe this is what Jazz wanted for him- to be happy and mostly safe and happy. (Or, happier, he thinks. It’s been a long time since he’s been truly happy, but this might be a good start)

[ms-demeanor]

Hey friend! So while I'm incredibly skeptical, I'm not strictly against alternative medicine, like you are. I saw you mention reiki, and thought you might geek out on this article like I did:

https://web.archive.org/web/20200308195914/https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/04/reiki-cant-possibly-work-so-why-does-it/606808/

It's called "Reiki Can't Possibly Work. So Why Does It?" and I highly encourage reading the whole thing. It first of all thoroughly debunks a lot of the claims reiki practitioners make but it also details all of the studies that have proven its effectiveness and provides what I find a pretty compelling explanation: that much of modern western medicine is stressful and traumatizing. Of course laying in a quiet room with the lights dimmed while a kind person sits with you and wishes for you to be well is effective. It reduces stress and all of the negative biological processes it triggers, which promotes healing.

The article mentions that for years we didn't understand the mechanism by which acetaminophen worked - we just knew it did. I knew a man who was really into "chakra therapy" in the 90s where he had a set of colored sunglasses that, supposedly, would rebalance one's out-of-whack chakras through light therapy. He found that attending to his throat chakra, yellow, helped him sleep better. Years later, formal studies found that yellow lenses filter blue light and can help regulate circadian rhythms.

When I was really little, my uncle sold magnet therapy products (which claimed to promote circulation?? I think??). I had a huge meltdown at a family reunion and no one could get me to calm down. My uncle put a blanket full of magnets on top of me, and I immediately relaxed. Imagine my surprise hearing that story for the first time as an adult who now uses a weighted blanket for stress.

I agree that people need to be really careful about these practices, about getting scammed, and especially about herbal supplements that can have dangerous interactions. I also think there's an extent to which you can analyze the risks and benefits and say, "Okay, I have no idea why this works but it does and there's no major downsides."

Hey so I get a bit heated in this response but I want you to know that I approached this ask in good faith because I know you and I know that we have a lot of the same values and interests and this touched a nerve that was not at all your fault and once I get past the direct response to the article I think I come off a little less. Um. Like the aggression there is not directed at you, it's directed at the article and at one person mentioned in the article specifically who is part of why my reaction to the article is so not good. But I promise after the last bullet point I come off as less reactive, I think. (I'm also publishing this publicly because I think it may be helpful for people to see how CAM stuff often gets away with a veneer of skepticism-that-isn't-actually-skepticism - the article claims to be skeptical but then makes a ton of assumptions and cites some truly mind-bogglingly bad sources that a lot of people won't recognize as bad if they don't have a hair trigger trained by far too much time on the bad CAM parts of the internet).

I've actually read that article a few time times, and would like to do a quick rundown on why I find it unconvincing:

She doesn't cite any decent studies on reiki; one that she does cite is just a self-reported questionnaire response from 23 people in 2002.

While we don't know the exact mechanism of action for acetaminophen, we do know that it does work - it measurably reduces fever and in double blinded RCTs produces reproduceable results in reducing certain kinds of pain. The Science Based Medicine authors cited in the article who called for an end to studies on reiki did so both because there is no plausible mechanism of action for reiki (specifically as energy work, not as 'being in a room with a patient person who listens to you') and because there is no good evidence that it works. (And they wrote a follow-up to the Atlantic article; I like SBM but it's quite sneery, as are most of their write-ups of reiki). When Kisner asks "why should this be different?" when comparing reiki and acetaminophen, the answer is: because there is not only no plausible way that reiki *could* work, there is not any good evidence we have that it works better than placebo.

"Various non-Western practices have become popular complements to conventional medicine in the past few decades, chief among them yoga, meditation, and acupuncture, all of which have been the subject of rigorous scientific studies that have established and explained their effectiveness." This one sentence needs probably twenty or so links in response, suffice it to say that western medicine has emphatically not established and explained the effectiveness of AT LEAST acupuncture and the casually credulous way Kisner accepts that acupuncture is effective (effective FOR WHAT?) throws some serious doubt on her ability to assess these kinds of things.

The title of the article is "Reiki can't possibly work, so why does it?" and that's probably the Atlantic's fault more than Jordan Kisner's fault, but she doesn't ever demonstrate that it works. She says she got a buzzy feeling after her training, she says that patients at the VA were asking for reiki as treatment for pain and sleep disorders, she says that people remembered "healing touches" from parents and loved ones and that the same mechanism might be what makes reiki 'work.' She says that reiki "has been shown by various studies that pass evidentiary muster to help patients in a variety of ways when used as a complementary practice" and the two studies that she includes that weren't just a questionnaire were 1) a non-blinded study of heart rate variability post heart attack where the reiki arm involved continuous interaction with a trained nurse and the other two arms involved resting quietly or classical music (so relaxation as a result of additional focused attention by attentive medical professionals could account for this? Why was the control for this study not having a med student sit and hold the patient's hand?) and 2) a study of patients who sought out reiki who were surveyed after treatment and noted improvement on one of twenty mental or physical markers (this study is like, GOLD for an example of a bad study; no control, self-selected participants who believe in the efficacy of the intervention, exceptionally broad criteria for a positive result - I find it really really really challenging to grant any credence to someone who confidently cited this as an example of reiki "working")

Near the end of the article she says "At the same time, this recalled the most cutting-edge, Harvard-stamped science I’d read in my research: Ted Kaptchuk’s finding that the placebo effect is a real, measurable, biological healing response to “an act of caring.” - if she read any of Ted Kaptchuk's research she didn't link to it; what she did link to was a 2018 New York Times profile of him and Kathryn Hall, researchers at Harvard's Placebo Studies and the Therapeutic Encounter program. Being any flavor of journalist and citing Ted Kaptchuk as your source for cutting-edge, institutionally-backed science is disqualifying.

I now need to do some yelling about Ted Kaptchuk.

For clarity: I have as much medical training as Kathryn Hall and Ted Kaptchuk, which is to say: None.

Hall is a microbiologist with a PhD in Public Health, so she at least a background in science. Kaptchuk is an acupuncturist with a BA in East Asian studies and a doctorate in Chinese medicine - notably NOT a medical degree; he was forced to stop calling himself a doctor and had papers retracted after enough people questioned whether the school he claimed he attended even existed and the documents he presented to claim that he was an "OMD" were conclusively translated and did not have any indication that the granted a medical degree of any kind - Science Based Medicine was involved in investigating this because they've been comprehensively anti-quack forever and Ted Kaptchuk has been a quack forever (after recieving confirmation from the government of Macau that Kaptchuk's alma mater was not a medical degree granting institution SBM STILL gave him the benefit of the doubt and had people translate his documentation for final confirmation).

He is also an author on of one of my most beloathed ever studies, which showed that sham acupuncture, placebo, and albuterol all produced the same effect on patient-reported well-being, coming to the conclusion that patient reports can be unreliable and that "placebo effects can be clinically meaningful and can rival the effects of active medication in patients with asthma." That fucking line, that stupid goddamned line, gets cited in every piece of woo bullshit about how acupuncture or chiropractic or some scam-ass diet all work, I've run into this study while looking through at least twenty bibliographies and it is one of the biggest, reddest flags that whoever is writing the paper you're reading is full up on some bullshit. Because, see, the paper found that "placebo effects can be clinically meaningful and can rival the effects of active medication in patients with asthma" in terms of *patient-reported* markers, but the fucking study found that only albuterol produced an actual effect in lung function. Here's the sentence BEFORE the one that gets cited all the time: "Although albuterol, but not the two placebo interventions, improved FEV1 [forced expiratory volume in one second - the measure for lung function used in the study and used to diagnose asthma] in these patients with asthma, albuterol provided no incremental benefit with respect to the self-reported outcomes." It doesn't matter if the patient *feels* better if they can't actually breathe! It doesn't fucking matter - feeling better but still having poor breathing leaves you more vulnerable to dying of a fucking asthma attack! I hate this goddamned study so fucking much and it's used all the time to claim that placebo can be just as effective as medicine for making people FEEL better but, like, they're still sick even if they feel better! I HAVE HAD PEOPLE CITE THIS STUPID FUCKING STUDY TO ME AS EVIDENCE THAT I DON'T CARE ENOUGH ABOUT TREATING MY FUCKING ASTHMA BECAUSE I DON'T GET ACUPUNCTURE TO TREAT MY FUCKING ASTHMA. If sham acupuncture makes you feel better when you've got the flu but doesn't lower your fever or make you less contagious, you shouldn't act like you don't have a fever or aren't contagious this study makes me INSANE.

Okay done yelling.

I think this look at placebo in the midst of her article about reiki is really interesting because it's very common for CAM practitioners to claim that it's as effective as placebo - which just means that it's not effective. This is a great explanation from The Skeptic on why placebo isn't and can't be what Kaptchuk, Hall, and the like claim. It's also interesting to me that Kisner didn't choose to link to a 2011 New Yorker profile of Kaptchuk that is somewhat less rosy about his placebo studies and includes this absolutely crushing statement: "the placebo effect doesn’t appear to work with Alzheimer’s patients. Trivers suggests that this is because most people who have Alzheimer’s disease are unable to anticipate the future and are therefore unable to prepare for it."

But to the actual point of the ask: I honestly think it's fascinating how much CAM success probably rides on "well did you listen to the patient and pay attention to what was wrong with them and sympathize with them and help them lay out plan that made them feel like they had some agency in this exceptionally frustrating situation (chronic illness, newly diagnosed issue, totally undiagnosed issue) that they're dealing with?"

I know part of why people with chronic illnesses turn to CAM is because they're ignored and dismissed by allopathic practitioners who are largely looking for horses, not zebras - this is one of the reasons that I'm really big on reminding people that (at least in the US) DOs are fully licensed physicians who use a holistic and patient-centered approach so if you are someone with a chronic illness who has had trouble getting diagnosed or had trouble getting doctors to believe you, swapping your MD for a DO as a primary care physician might be really, really helpful to you.

But the flip side of that is that is that I worry deeply about the question of where harm starts; the example with your uncle is really great because you do have a solid instance of something working but for totally the wrong reason (pressure being the mechanism that actually helped, versus magnets being the reason given by the person who did the treatment). Some of this stuff has very little likelihood of causing direct harm, but has the distinct possibility of having indirect harms, which people in the anti-CAM space generally divide into two categories, treatment delay and unnecessary costs (opportunity costs, monetary costs, wasted effort, etc.)

I'm going to step outside of your specific example and look at magnet therapy generally, which really is a spectacular thing to focus on because it honestly doesn't have any direct harms; nobody is allergic to magnets, the kinds of magnets used aren't strong enough to interfere with medical devices, it's even safer than the whole "well herbalism is sometimes just a cup of tea" thing because there are "safe" teas that can do real harm to large populations! But simply being around magnets is not going to hurt anyone (unless they're swallowed; nobody swallow magnets please).

One of the things that I think goes under-discussed when talking about placebo and CAM is that the people trying the alternative solutions desperately WANT the alternative medicine to work (I suspect that this is why the self-selected study of reiki patients has such a significant finding). They are pulling for it; they may be looking at it as a last resort, or they may be hoping that it will work to avoid a treatment that is more frightening, expensive, or inaccessible. I think this actually contributes a lot to the delay of care that we see with CAM.

The absolute worst case harm I can imagine from magnetic therapy is delaying treatment. Let's suppose we've got a diabetic patient with gradually increasing peripheral neuropathy; they have reacted poorly to gabapentin in the past and are looking for something more natural, and they hear from their chiropractor that magnet therapy can be used to treat neuropathy. They buy some compression socks with "magnetic and earthing properties" and sleep in the socks. Whether through the compression controlling some edema or through the simple desire for the socks to work, they feel some relief from the nerve pain they were experiencing and decide that this is a success. The socks work! They continue wearing the socks with occasional pain, but less than before. However, because they are focused on the lack of pain, they don't notice that it's accompanied by increasing numbness. The numbness significantly increases their risk of injury to their feet, which significantly increases their risk of amputation.

It probably sounds like catastrophizing to say "using magnets could lead to amputation" but honestly I don't think it's that far out of the realm of possibility (every time I post on this topic I get flooded with the saddest stories in the world about people whose loved ones died because of delayed treatment for cancer or heart disease).

The second category of harm is cost, which is honestly pretty minimal with magnet therapy, as long as you aren't spending $1049 on a magnetic mat

or paying a chiropractor to give you magnetic treatments. For some other medically harmless treatments like reiki, cost is the thing that I worry about - while I was looking up information related to the article I found that people are charging anywhere from $60 to $225 a session, and selling multi-session packages for thousands of dollars - and if someone thinks that something works, even if it only works by being in a soothing space where someone cares about you - they'll pay for it.

I'm aware that all of this is also extra complicated because of the cost and lack of access to allopathic medicine - a chiropractor broke my spine because I could pay her $60 per appointment but I couldn't pay $125 to see an MD when I didn't have insurance. People who are sick are going to look for treatment; people who have been denied treatment or dismissed by doctors are going to look for alternative treatments.

But man, I really wish I'd spent that sixty bucks on half of a doctor's appointment because the chiropractor didn't know about the benign tumor that I had that weakened the structure of that particular bone when she did her adjustment; it also didn't make the pain go away, it made a different pain start and get worse because it turns out I was having debilitating muscle spasms that then had a bone injury added in on top.

(Chiropractic, for the record, goes with chelation therapy and many many many many cases of herbalism where it's NOT just cost or delay; people claim these treatments are harmless and they are not. They can do tremendous harm).

But yeah I'm not going to deny at all that all of this would be a hell of a lot better if people (especially marginalized people) didn't have to jump through hoops to prove to a doctor that something is wrong with them, and didn't have to do so in an appointment that attempts to cram whole person care down into fifteen minutes, and didn't have the possibility of bankrupting you. Interacting with allopathic medicine is a nightmare and I totally understand why people want to look outside of it for treatment.

I've just heard too many horror stories and seen too much predatory CAM to cut much of it any slack.

At the end of the SBM response to the Atlantic article, the author (I can't remember if it's Gorski or Novella) makes the point that reiki is a spiritual practice, and that we've known for a long time that spiritual practices can improve a person's well-being in a number of ways; they can reduce anxiety, they can provide community, they can give people a space to feel and express emotions that they certainly aren't going to be able to process in a doctor's office. Spiritual practices can be wonderful, and we know there are a lot of people who they can help. But they aren't medicine, and attempting to replace medicine with them (which I don't think that most reiki practitioners are trying to do, to be fair, but which Ted Kaptchuk DEFINITELY is in trying to 'harness the power of placebo') is a disservice to people who need an inhaler instead of acupuncture.

Also, and I know this was not your point but I have to bring it up because people ask about it whenever discussions of placebo come up:

The placebo effect is not treatment. The placebo effect, whether achieved through deception or when someone says loud and clear "this is a sugar pill" does not improve an illness, but it may improve how a patient *feels* about an illness. In some cases, this may as well be the same thing - if you're dealing with muscle pain because you're stressed and no matter what you do it doesn't go away because your shoulders are always up around your ears and you're grinding your teeth and you're sleeping poorly, then literally just talking to someone who is in an office and says "this is a sugar pill, go ahead and take it" may make your muscle pain feel better, but it isn't going to reduce your stress and it isn't going to last, and if your muscle pain is because you're feeling angina as a result of a partially blocked artery then it SURE AS FUCK is not going to make you better and may mask symptoms that were a warning sign of a much more serious problem. People who are sick deserve actual treatment, and placebo is not treatment, which is part of why Ted Kaptchuk makes me want to tear my hair out.

[gatorbites-imagines]

I think it would be so cool for the petvincible to have a regenerative!reader almost like immortal but better obviously maybe they can cut off an arm for sinister Mark and every thing! (I love Sin Mark and just want him to be loved and happy!)

Alternate Mark Graysons x regenerative male reader 

Headcanons 

Readers inspired by deadpool, cuz i love that guy. I also had a request about regenerative reader who was like deadpool, so i mashed the two together. 

The petvincibles with a reader who regenerates, whos also a mercenary means they are harder to control than normal. 

Normal reader can be like “killing is bad guys, stop doing that please” but if you are also a trigger-happy killer, then it's kinda hard to throw stones at a glass house, right? 

Becomes more the reader being like “hey, we only kill bad people, or the ones we are paid enough to kill. We dont just kill any randos, okay?” 

Reader matches their crazy on most days, but there are things they do that even reader wouldn't do. Like damn bitch, you live like this? To some of them, but he loves his babymamas, so who is he to judge. 

I think the petvincibles are also the first people to not judge reader on his appearance if he has the scars like deadpool. They have all seen way worse, and reader is handsome in their eyes. 

Reader being like deadpool also means hes even more of a pain in the ass of the GDA. Like, they had to deal with him as a merc before and could barely contain him, but now hes got all the vincibles? Hell on earth. 

Reader wouldn't work for the GDA, obviously. “i dont trust the government bub, get someone else to do it” when he was asked to join the guardians once upon a time 

Instead, he gets paid a shit ton of money to help out every now and then, without actually being a member or signing any contract with the GDA. Reader also only accepts the money in physical bills, because he wants to swim in it like scrooge McDuck. 

His regenerative powers is probably how he “tamed” sinister at first. Cuz like, does reader possess Deadpools whole, fourth wall breaking knowledge and power too? 

Then he knows their whole deal and is like “alright dude, have a snack and calm down” after slicing his own arm off and shoving it at sinister. 

I like to think reader tastes pretty damn good, cuz his cells are always regenerating and deteriorating at the same time. Means hes always fresh and yummy to eat. 

Also means that the vincibles take a longer time getting used to being around normal humans again, cuz the reader is so unserious and just heals when they accidentally break something, or rip something off. 

But i do imagine that the Marks start realizing how messed up mentally the reader is, just like them. Like, after a while all the readers self-deletion jokes aren't so funny because they know he means it. 

The Marks would start to try and be more careful and being there for him, maybe help him do something outside of killing, which is pretty damn bold coming from them.  

But it also means they have experience with feeling that there is nothing else you can do but just keep killing. 

In this house we all heal together and become better people. Readers still a merc though, even if his babymamas start joining him on hits to make it easier, quicker and more efficient. Reader obviously demands double pay cuz theres two of them now. 

[got-the-cheese-touch]

More Than a Name - chapter one

Harry Potter x Sirius Black's Daughter!Reader

slowburn harry potter x reader

summary: The father you never knew but always feel makes his presence known. (indirectly)

a/n: chapter one. AAAAH i'm nervous. it's not as long as i would've liked but i didn't wanna drag it out for too long. (please reblog and like and leave a little comment! they make my day) no use of y/n

trigger warnings: nothing really except maybe poor grammar. lmk if there is something I missed. (reader does use she/her pronouns)

ty to @thecutestgrotto for the dividers <3

The Hogwarts Express rolled down the tracks with a satisfying chug, a low hum filling the silence of the train compartment. Next to you lay Remus, sleeping under his trenchcoat. His peaceful form was in stark contrast to your own. You buzzed with excitement. Your third year at Hogwarts. Hopefully, it would be less eventful than the other years (mostly for Remus’s sake. You were sure that if he received another owl telling him that you fought the Dark Lord once more he’d get a heart attack). 

When you learned that Remus was going to be teaching Defense against the Dark Arts you were relieved. Nothing could hurt you when Moony was around, of that you were sure. If Voldemort even tried to touch you or Harry, Remus could stop him. Your Remus could do anything. 

“Seriously, how is he still asleep?” you thought as you watched his chest rise and fall peacefully. Although, you supposed it was good that he was getting some rest. Recently, he was on edge. He’d pace around, reading the newspaper and shaking his head. He closed the papers and tossed it into the fireplace before you could see what exactly was on the headline; only catching a glimpse of a crazed smile as the page burned down. You had asked what it was and he simply gave you a kiss on the forehead.

“Oh, it’s nothing, mate.” He’d say, giving you a smile that’s too tense to be real. He picked up other odd habits too- cracking his knuckles, smoking a bit more than usual. One morning, you came out of your room to find him asleep on a chair outside of your door. He slept there all night, keeping watch. 

What he was protecting you from- you had no idea. 

But the strangest behavior of all happened one morning when you two were out for a walk. Remus needed to pick up his Wolfsbane and was hesitant to leave you alone at home. He also insisted on holding your hand the entire walk there which you didn’t mind, of course, but his grip would tighten at any startling noise. As you walked past a cafe you smiled and pointed.

“Look, it’s a dog!” You smiled and laughed at the sight- the dog looked out of place in the cute cafe. Remus’s head immediately turned and he stepped in front of you, protective. Remus’s eyes searched frantically for the animal like it was about to pounce on the two of you. 

His shoulders visibly relaxed when he realized that you were pointing to a small fluffy dog resting inside its owner’s purse. He exhaled shakily and tugged you along, walking a bit quicker than before and muttering something under his breath.

You figured that Remus’s new job would be good for him. He’d be closer to you, he’d be closer to help for his lycanthropy, and he’d be away from whatever news headlines were troubling him so much. 

In your daydreams you almost missed the three familiar figures walking past your train compartment: Hermione, Harry, and Ron. You slide open the door, creeping out quietly so as to not wake Remus. A whole summer without seeing your friends was torture. Harry was your first friend at Hogwarts- you liked that he was just as new to everything as you; he liked that you had tons of stories about his parents. Hermione had intimidated you at first. With her quick wit and effortless smarts. Those feelings quickly dissipated after she stood up for you when a group of Ravenclaws stole one of your letters to home. Your cheeks burned when they mocked your letter to Remus but seeing their hair immediately grow down to their feet thanks to a hex from the young witch cheered you up. 

 Once you stepped into the train’s hall you called out to your friends with a smile.

“Hey guys,” You call out to them “I’ve got a compartment. Be quiet, though. My dad’s sleeping.” You smiled at the sight of their surprised faces. Hermione ran to you with an excited call of your name, crashing into you with a tight hug.

“Oh, I missed you this summer! I would’ve written so much more but I was just so busy reading. I’ve been trying to get ahead. I mean, with the schedule I have for this year I’m gonna be in two places at once.” You shook your head with a smile. Of course she was studying over the summer. She was the biggest overachiever you knew. 

You were pulled from your embrace with her when Ron bumped her out of the way.

“You’d think she’s been gone from war, Hermione. Can you not strangle her before we get the chance to say hello?” You smile and let out a laugh, amused at the bickering. You brought him in for a friendly hug and you patted his back. Ron was a good guy. You wouldn’t say he’s your best friend but the shared trauma of exploding monster chess pieces has a way of bringing people together. “I see you haven’t taken off this jacket of yours.” He says, tugging on the sleeve of your- well, Sirius’s- leather jacket.

“And I see you’ve gotten some more freckles.” You tease back with a smirk. He pushes you off with a groan and a poorly concealed smile. 

“Merlin, not even two minutes into the year and I’m sick of you.” He snickers and steps into the compartment, training behind Hermione. You finally turn your gaze to Harry and two things quickly come to mind. The first is that he’s gotten tall. The second is that you hadn’t even noticed how much you really missed him until this moment. 

He wore a simple t-shirt and jeans, his wand tucked into his pocket. He wore the same wire framed glasses over the same pretty green eyes. 

“Okay, easy. It’s just Harry for Merlin’s sake. Not Gilderoy Lockhart.” You thought as you stepped up to him with a grin. He quickly pulled you into a hug and took a deep breath. 

Harry’s summer sucked (naturally). Staying with the Dursleys was torture. Not only did it mean that he was away from school. The months spent in that cupboard was a prison sentence. His warden? Vernon Dursley. 

That meant that he couldn’t take visits to see his friends, he couldn’t study for the upcoming year. He couldn’t even write letters either. 

But whatever troubles he had developed over the summer, he had quickly forgotten after seeing your smirk. 

“Missed you loads.” He says, his shoulders relaxing. You smiled. You didn’t need to say you missed him; you were sure he could tell. He had a weird way of reading your mind. You wondered if it was the same way with James and Sirius.

Harry was a friend that you could tell anything to. He’d been with you through thick and thin and you could say that he was, without a doubt, your best friend. He’s a partner in crime, a confidant, someone to lean on. 

It would be natural to wonder how you two could get along so well. It may seem shocking that the fact that your father is accused of brutally murdering his parents isn’t a setback in your relationship. Perhaps it would be an issue if Harry knew that unfortunate detail about your life’s history.

To save you from ridicule, Dumbledore and Remus both decided it would be best to enroll you in Hogwarts under Remus’s name. As far as anyone was concerned, you were a Lupin. You didn’t mind. It’s not like you knew your real dad. Remus was your father in every sense of the word other than blood. 

But Harry would probably mind. Did it make you a bad person not to tell him? Maybe.

But have you felt guilty about this every time he asks you to tell him some of Remus’s stories about The Marauders? Absolutely. 

You shove these thoughts to the back of your mind as you release him from the hug with a smile.

“Sap.” You say before climbing into the compartment. 

You slide in next to Remus who is still, somehow, sleeping over the noise of Hermionie and Ron’s arguing. You quiet them with a look and a nod towards Remus’s figure, covered in his coat. Hermione turns to you, her expression suddenly serious. 

“Have you been reading the papers?” She asks, her tone anxious. You shake your head. 

Remus had been hoarding the Daily Prophet for some reason. He hadn’t let you read the papers in ages. Another one of his odd habits recently. 

“I get them sent by owls. You ought to start staying up to date on this kind of thing. Especially considering the relevance it has.” Hermione huffs. She quickly pulls a folded up newspaper from her bag and holds it out to you. “We need to be concerned for Harry.”

You’re about to quip “When do we not?” until you flip over the pages to see the headline and your blood runs cold. 

His name. Your father’s name printed clearly on the front page. 

You stared down at his photo, the image moving as he snarled and thrashed at the camera. He looked angry and tired and sick and evil. His eyes were filled with intensity that made the hair on your arms stick up. 

It was like looking in a mirror. A sick and twisted mirror, sure, but still. The resemblance was uncanny. His eyes, his smile, his nose. Down to the sharpness of his canines. Thank Merlin that your friends were too occupied in the situation that they didn’t notice your state or your resemblance to the man. 

In your shock, you only catch the tail end of their conversation. 

“...The man’s a murderous, raving lunatic.” Ron deadpans. His sarcasm isn’t able to hide the pure worry he has for Harry. A strange part of you feels protective. He is your dad. You don’t feel the need to cut in with his defense: the fact that he hadn’t had a motivation or even a trial. Remus didn’t hate Sirius and neither did you. None of this would be helpful to point out. You look up from the photo at Harry. 

“It’ll be okay. Dumbledore won’t let anyone get to you, yeah?” You say, trying to be reassuring. You’re not sure if it’s for Harry or for yourself. Before anyone can cut in with their worries, the train screeches to a sudden halt. 

Rain pelts against the window as the Hogwarts Express jostles. You look at Remus who is miraculously still sleeping. 

“Why are we stopping?” You hear Hermione question. You shake your head, about to express your confusion before the lights of the train shut off. The newspaper in your lap is forgotten as you stand up to investigate. Before you can get to the door though, a lurch of the train sends you back to your seat. “Bloody hell” Ron gasps and you turn your head. The window has frosted up and you watch in confusion as the bottle of water on the floor freezes up. Your grip tightens on Sirius’s leather jacket, hugging the warm leather closer against you. 

A shadowy figure approaches from outside the compartment. It was ghostly and its presence filled you with dread. Suddenly you were four years old back in evil foster homes. You could only stare in fear and silence as it opened the door to your compartment. 

“Get Remus, Wake him up.” Your mind shouted as the creature stared at all of you. You felt like it saw right into your soul. You sat frozen.

The ghost looked towards Harry and you gasped as it drew close to him and inhaled deeply. Like he was sucking out Harry’s soul. 

When you finally found your voice, you turned to Remus’s sleeping figure helplessly and you shook him awake. 

“Dad, please wake up! Moony help!” You said to him as Harry slipped out of consciousness, his weight slipping onto you as the shadowy figure continued its assault. 

Remus quickly jolted awake at the sound of you and stood up with his wand. A burst of light filled the compartment, driving away the creature. Once it had fled, Harry slumped down. Remus sees the copy of the newspaper on the floor and he picks it up quickly, folding up Sirius’s angry stare and tucking it into his back pocket. Remus looked at you before he even noticed Harry’s state.

He starts rambling. His hands fly to the sides of your face, holding you worriedly. “Oh, mate, I’m sorry, are you okay. Merlin- Fuck, I’ll explain it all later. I should’ve told you. I had no clue the dementors would even be here. Dumbledore assured me that they’d be far away. Oh, Lovely- if it got its hands on you it would’ve-” 

“Dad.” You cut him off, “Harry.” You nod towards the boy who’s passed out. Hermionie and Ron simply stare helplessly.

“Oh! Yes, yes.” Remus mutters, moving to check on Harry now that he’s realized that you are okay.

“Not even at school yet and we’ve already gotten into some kind of trouble.” Ron mutters. He is quickly silenced by a swift kick to the shins, given by Hermionie. 

Minutes feel like hours as you wait for Harry to wake up. When he does stir, he sits up and looks around, confused. Remus pulls a bar of chocolate from his cloak pocket. 

“Here. Eat.” Remus murmurs comfortingly. Harry takes it, his expression unsure. He looks at me and I give him a reassuring nod. “It’s alright. It’s chocolate.” Remus says, encouraging Harry to eat. 

“What- what was that?” Harry asks shakily, adjusting his glasses. 

“A dementor. One of the guards of Azkaban.” Remus sits back in his chair. His gaze is heavy as he stares at Harry. “He’s gone now. He’s looking for the traitor Sirius Black.” Your friends don’t catch the way Remus’s jaw ticks and his shoulders tense at the name. They don’t notice how Remus’s eyes flick to yours for a moment or how you avert your gaze. They don’t notice the sadness in Remus’s eyes remembering his companion as though he was a murderer. You do. You notice everything about Remus. 

He stands and sets the rest of the chocolate bar in Harry’s lap before kissing you on top of your head. 

“If you’ll excuse me,” he starts as he opens the compartment door “I need to have a word with the driver.” He takes one more glance at all of you, his gaze landing on Harry. “Eat. You’ll feel better.” With that, he slips out and the door shuts with a click, leaving the four of you in silence. 

So much for an uneventful school year.

After the dust had settled and everyone had gone to bed, you found yourself in Dumbledore’s office, standing stuck to the floor next to Professor McGonagall. Her arms are crossed and her eyes are filled with concern as she talks with Dumbledore. Across the room, Remus is pacing back and forth, dragging his hands through his hair. The whole display didn't feel real. Maybe it wasn’t.

You were dreaming. A nightmare. Soon you’d wake up at home, tucked safely in your bed. Harry wasn’t attacked by a dementor. Your dad hadn’t escaped jail. 

You shivered at the thought. 

You knew he wouldn't hurt you. You were sure of that. But all those years locked away for wrongful imprisonment would probably make a guy want to settle some grudges. 

You were numb. Remus was livid. 

“What happens if they realize that she’s his daughter? Huh? Those dementors won’t think twice about killing her. They’ll sense his blood and give her the kiss before she can even pull out her wand.” Remus said angrily. He was smoking a cigarette. In fact, he was almost through a pack. 

Severus Snape stares at him coldly from across the room. Logically, you knew that Snape was trustworthy. Dumbledore wouldn’t be so loyal to him if he was truly evil. But there was something deep within you that told you Snape was no good. The way he walks, the tone of his voice, the condescending way he stares at you sends your blood boiling. Apparently he had a big feud with The Marauders when they were young. Even if it wasn’t in your DNA to hate Snape, you still would loathe the man for how he treated others. He looked away when muggle-borns were being bullied. He praised Draco malfoy, the prince prick of all pricks. Snape never passed up the chance to take points from houses other than Slytherin and he’s rumoured to be a death eater. 

Nothing is worse, though, than how he treats Moony. 

Your Moony. The one who makes you toast and dries your tears. The one who saved you, who took you in. Somehow Snape is able to bully your kind hearted, gentle, loving Remus. In the time that they’ve been in the same room, Snape has already mocked Remus’s lycanthropy, made snide comments about your upbringing (as if the fact that Remus wasn’t rich made your life with him any less happy), and he went so far as to insinuate that Remus was a traitor due to his loyalty to Sirius. 

Severus Snape was a dick. 

 “The dementors are instructed to stay far away, in the unlikely case that it becomes an issue-” Says Snape, his voice nasally and irritating. 

“Unlikely? A dementor has already attacked a student. Harry could’ve been seriously injured. Or worse!” Remus takes a deep inhale of the cigarette. He moves to stand at your side. “Call them off, Professor. Call them off or we’re leaving.” He looks to Dumbledore, his brow set in a determined stare, stubbornly making a point. Dumbledore sighs and shakes his head patiently.

“Remus, we just can’t do that. It’s standard protocol.” You hear Remus huff next to you, agitated. Dumbledore continues “I will speak to Harry about the encounter and I’ll talk to the ministry about the ordeal but we won’t call off the dementors. I’m truly sorry but there is nothing I can do.” He looks genuine. You give him a small smile and he gives you one back, a glint in his eye as he leaves. Snape trails after him next, giving Remus a snide look. 

Professor McGonagall remains with the two of you, turning towards the still fuming Remus. 

“Minnie, I mean what I said. I will leave and she’s coming with me. I promised that I’d keep her safe and I will not let her stay so close to those fucking things.” Remus starts pacing again, muttering angrily as Professor McGonagall tries to calm him down.

“Remus, listen to me, leaving will do nothing but harm. What happens if people think you are in cahoots with Black? Here, Albus will protect you both. Who will protect you if you are at home?” Her voice is sharp but not unkind. She looks at him with a motherly sort of fierceness. 

“If anyone tries anything, I’ll be the one in Azkaban.” Remus says, lighting another cigarette. 

As the two of them bicker back and forth, your gaze drifts to the window. The moon is bright and clear, almost full. That was probably another reason for Remus’s mood. He always got territorial and antsy when the full moon was closer. When you first moved in with him, the full moon nearing meant he would get distant. He was so scared that he would hurt you somehow. Once he became more sure of his place in your life, his pre-moon behavior changed. He would become fiercely protective. You supposed it was the natural instinct to protect enhanced by the wolf. 

Once McGonagall is able to calm Remus down (and confiscate his cigarettes) she sends the two of you out, ordering you back to the dorms and Remus to the professor’s quarters. It was funny seeing her scold him, it was like he was a teen again. He might be much taller than the old woman, but she still put him in his place quickly. 

“She should know better than that. I obviously have more packs than that.” Remus says, trying to lighten the mood as he walks you back to the Gryffindor common room. You simply stare ahead angrily. He looks at you and taps you on the head. “Lovely, don’t be mad. C’mon I don’t smoke that much.” No response. Remus sighs. “I want to keep you safe, kid. I can’t let anything happen to you. Seriously.” You stop and look up at him, upset.

“Sirius Black is out of Azkaban and you didn’t think to tell me? You didn’t think I needed to know?” You spit out. Remus recoils at the anger in your voice. “I’m not six anymore. You should have told me.”

“I should have.” Remus nods, stopping in his tracks. “You’re right about that. But when I found out, the only thing I could think to do is protect you, mate. I will always defend Sirius. You know that.” His voice is unsteady as she stares at you. “But Azkaban changes people. Who knows what he’s like now.” You look down, unable to hold his gaze any longer. He pulls you into him, hugging you. “And I didn’t even think. I just needed you safe, mate.”

When you arrived at the common room safely, Remus took a glance around before giving you a kiss goodnight. Harry, Hermionie, and Ron were sitting on the couch by the fire, talking quietly. Their conversation stops when they notice you. Remus gives them all a smile and a nod.

“Goodnight Ron, Hermione. Goodnight Harry.” He says before turning and leaving. When you face the group again, they’re all pulling you down to sit.

“What was that about? Where were you?” Asks Hermione, her head tilted curiously. What were you supposed to say?

“Me? Oh, just preparing for the oncoming dementor attack I’ll get because of the fact that my dad escaped from prison. Yeah, my dad is Sirius Black, sorry I’ve been lying to you all about that. And sorry about your mum and dad Harry.” 

You figured that that wouldn’t go over well so instead you give Hermionie the most convincing smile you can muster. 

“Just helping my dad settle in, no need to worry.” That seemed to have calmed her and she continues talking to Ron about the classes she’s enrolled in this year. You feel Harry’s unwavering gaze on your profile. You turn to look at him. “What?” You ask, hoping he doesn’t see right through you.

“That’s your dad, huh?” He says nodding towards the portrait hole Remus had just left. You swallow thickly and nod. “You look nothing alike.” You blink, unsure of what to say to that so you simply shrug. 

Leaning back against the couch, something catches your eye. It’s small enough to be overlooked but you caught the little carving written into the side of the side table: 

“Sirius was here” 

As your friends chatted away about the upcoming year, you stared at the little carving. A small act of teenage rebellion, nothing meaningful. It stuck with you though. Sirius was here. 

Sirius was everywhere.

He’s Remus’s sigh after a laugh, he’s the frustration in professors’ voices when they correct you, he’s the stubborn furrow in your brow that forms when you’re being defiant. He is there when you’re upset at the world. He’s there when you look at photos, or listen to music. He was there when you snuck one of Remus’s cigarettes one night over the summer. He’s in the common room- his name written on random surfaces or Prophet headlines. 

He’s inescapable. He follows you around wherever you go, whether you like it or not. 

 He’s the mangy black dog with shaggy fur and wild eyes that’s found a hiding place in the shrieking shack. 

notes: IF IT'S BAD IM SORRY. i'm not exaggerating when i say that i get so nervous posting this. please give me validation y'all i live for it. (some of your comments have me giggling and kicking my feet) also im so sorry that it took so long to post this chapter. i was going through it.

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR ILYSM!!!!

taglist, comment to be added <3 : @mmmunson @reesespeesees @starmaniii @deathmybride

(if you reblog, i'll give you my firstborn rumplestiltskin style)

[hollyhomburg]

Prey Animals (Masterlist)

—  Pairing: Yoongi x reader, Bts x reader

—  Subgenders: Omega! Reader, Beta! Yoongi, Alpha! Namjoon, Alpha! Jimin, Alpha! Taehyung, Alpha! Hoseok, Omega! Jungkook, Omega! Seokjin

—  Genre: Omegaverse, Mafia au, Polyamory au, Found family, Suspense, Eventual Smut, Enemies to friends to lovers, Angst with a happy ending, Hurt and Comfort,

—  Summary: In a world where Beta's are rare, valuable, and often have more than one pack; Beta Min Yoongi does everything he can to keep his mafia heritage a secret from his primary pack. Little does he know he's not the only one who's living a double life.

—  Words: 80k so far

—  Warnings: Violence, Blood, Murder, sexual and physical abuse, PTSD, themes of healing, suspense, mute character's, depictions of eating disorders, healing, hospitals, epilepsy, assassins, spyies,

Before you read:

This is the second version of this story, it's better, edited and longer. But if you want to read the first (near complete) version of this story you can read it on tumblr here, or on Ao3 here. there's like a million words of it lol.

not everything is tagged in this version. there is quite a bit of triggering content. i go into much more greater detail about the m/c and the abuse that she suffered at the hands of Geumjae in this version. if there is anything that doesn't get a tag and you feel it needs it, please don't hesitate to tell me!

This version is a lot longer than V1, and because of that the chapters don't line up, chapters 1-13 cover chapters 1-4.

While there are only a few things that have been taken out/restructured, but yoongi and the m/c get a dedicated slow burn love story in this now. i've also added 60k to what we did have so please give this tons of love!

i will not be reblogging these parts nearly as much as the others, because i want there to be less crowdedness on my feed. i will try my hardest to respond to comments if there are any this time around.

~-~

Prologue: Omens

Summary: you watch your husband murder someone, and try not to make it worse

Part 1: The Beta

Summary: Seokjin meets Yoongi when he's at his lowest.

Part 2: The Funeral

Summary: The death of a king pin makes the whole picture come crumbling down. In 120 days, Yoongi will decide who rules the criminal empire.

Part 3: The Alpha

Summary: Seokjin meets Namjoon when things are finally getting good, will the introduction of an alpha disrupt his and yoongi's little pack?

Part 4: Of Violent Dogs

Summary: Kim Namjoon will kill. That is a fact that you can count on.

Part 5: The Pups

Summary: Namjoon meets Jungkook in the Emergency room. "he's sick Joonie, and you can't make him better." that doesn't mean he's not going to try.

Part 6: Prey Animals

Summary: A death and A dinner party (a woman that yoongi can't take his eyes off of.)

Part 7: Hoseok

Summary: Yoongi brings home a stray, but luckily he's going to stay. (Yoongi won't, Yoongi is going to leave)

Part 8: Just Not her

Summary: Yoongi cannot decide if he trusts you or not. After being followed, he interrogates you to figure out your motives.

Part 9: Ribbons

Summary: A dinner at the Moon house prompt Yoongi to get closer and closer to you. But how close can he get before he pricks his finger?

Part 10: Junk Drawers and Daydreams

Summary: Yoongi just wants to figure you out. Just that. He promises.

Part 11: Warm Monsters

Summary: Yoongi's attraction gets harder to ignore, as does your suffering.

Part 12: The After

Summary: In Yoongi's absence the pack sort of falls apart.

Part 13: Bruises and Butterflies

Summary: One life doesn't equal seven.

~-~

Commonly asked questions:

Why the different name? because i thought it would be confusing to have two series's by the same name on the same page

Why are you editing this story? because i want to put it up for physical purchase either on amazon (ew i know) or some other alternative, the beginning of the story had always bugged me because it was not paced the same as the rest of it.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

Ecology is one of those disciplines where there is just so, so much we don't understand yet. Yes, we know that the many species within a given ecosystem have a widespread, complex network of interrelationships, but we only have the barest understanding of a fraction of them. It's like having a symphony where you've heard everyone playing, but you only have some notes from some of the musicians' sheet music, and so you can't yet put together how it all works.

In this case, we're seeing just how important northern pocket gophers (Thomomys talpoides) are to their ecosystems. After the devastating eruption of Lawetlat'la/Loowit/Mt. St. Helens in May 1980, the land was left burned and covered in tons of ash and tephra. While some zones further out from the mountain were replanted by timber companies, the area directly around the eruption site has been allowed to recover naturally because this offers North American scientists an unprecedented chance to see how an ecosystem recovers after such a large eruption, at a place that is easily accessible.

When a small number of gophers were returned to an ash-covered area of the mountain for just twenty-four hours in 1982, they kicked off what would be a forty-year study in ecological resilience. In areas with no gophers, there were only a few struggling plants born from seeds transported by birds, while in places where the little mammals were able to burrow and turn over dirt, scientists found 40,000 individual plants. This was due to the fact that the gophers were able to free soil fungi and other microbes beneath the ash and give them a chance to repopulate closer to the surface where they normally would be found. In turn, seeds of plants that had mycorrhizal relationships with the fungi, or which otherwise benefited from the increased microbial biodiversity, flourished.

And forty years later, the pattern still stands, with the gophers' work reverberating to this day. If one small mammal can have such a profound effect in a miniscule amount of time, imagine what happens when we reintroduce extirpated species to other eplaces. The volcanic area may be left to repopulate naturally as scientists continue to study it, but there are countless badly damaged ecosystems in need of restoration. The results of this experiment clearly support the importance of returning as many native species to an ecosystem as possible, because even those that may seem insignificant have invaluable contributions to make to the whole.

[heron-knight]

in any mech, the weakest link is always the pilot themself.

It doesn’t matter what reactor you’ve got installed or what sort of weapons systems you have installed, the mech’s survival is just as dependent on the pilot’s just as much as the pilot’s is dependent on the mech. Say what you will about combat effectiveness and making sacrifices, most of a mech’s job is to keep the pilot alive and operating at 100% efficiency— and resources are allocated accordingly.

It goes without saying that pilots are on a lot of drugs at any given time. Combat stims and reward chemicals, of course, but other things too. Half the time, augmentation surgery leaves the pilot’s body so, to use the technical term, irreversibly fucked up, that they need several dozen different medications just to make sure the strain of the interface rig doesn’t collapse several to all of their organs and make sure that what’s left of their immune system is suppressed enough that they don’t violently reject the 30-45% of their body that the implants make up. There’s a reason why they make the mechs so big, and part of that is so that they’re big enough to function as a walking pharmacy and still have enough room for all their combat systems. The mech AI is perfectly designed to be able to diagnose a problem from brainwave patterns and vital signs, figure out exactly what needs to be used to treat it, calculate dosages, and pump it directly into the pilot’s veins all within a few seconds.

the thing is, the ailments it’s designed to treat aren’t simply limited by the physical. Pilots need to be at 100% effectiveness, and a happy and motivated pilot is an effective one. That’s why command spends so much on combat stims and reward chemicals and that stuff they use to take your mind away if you start thinking about anything other than killing and feels warm and slightly tingly as it flows into your spine through the tubes. The interface gives the mech computer your mind— it lets it reach in and dig around until it finds what part of you hesitates before pulling the trigger and what part of you gives you the worries that you focus on instead of the fight.

The mech— it knows. It knows things about you that you’ve tried to hide. From others, but mostly from yourself. It sees it— all of you. It sees everything that you are and has access to the records of everything that you were— it knows what parts of yourself you hate so much that you were willing to offer up your body and mind to the military and their pilot program, just so that even if you barely have a mind left, even if your body is so optimized to do nothing but sit curled within several tons of metal and operating controls that you can barely survive outside of it— you wouldn’t have that body you were stuck with before. They body that even under all those layers of repression, you know you needed to change somehow. It knows the part of you that’s trapped underneath it all, under all that pain and incongruence. The part that you need to be 100%. To be whole. To be real.

It knows it, even if you don’t. Even if you still won’t let yourself. You won’t free that part of yourself, and until you do that, you won’t reach 100%. It knows what you need, even if you still somehow have no idea.

And so, it acts accordingly— reach into your brain and scan the deepest parts of you, diagnose, prescribe, calculate, and inject— all just four seconds after the combat stims fade for just long enough to give you time to look down at your body and remember how much you hate it.

it keeps doing this— every time you plug into the interface, a little more of that self you need to let yourself be is freed, a little more of your body is changed to give you one that is truly what the AI knows needs to be yours.

You don’t know why, but your chest has started feeling a bit sore ever since you started piloting

[alikesical]

One-sided academic rival!Dick Grayson x Reader

part 1 part 2

trigger warnings: kissing, mentions of death, reader is exceptionally dense, Dick is an idiot in love

Dick is a grown man.

Grown men don't squeal and giggle on their bed. Only they do. And he was.

The moment he got back into his room after getting your stitches checked out in med bay. He wasn't surprised they were good, everything you touched seemed to turn into gold.

He fell on his bed, wide grin gracing his face as he stared at the ceiling.

He kissed you. He actually kissed you. And you, you kissed him back.

Dick didn't care if he dropped dead right now. He'd die a happy man.

What more could he ask for?

He closes his eyes, replaying the scene in his head, like a broken record. How your lips felt against his own. How warm your body was. How the weight of your hand against his heart weighted a million tons, all the while being featherlight.

He sighed, trying to remember every single detail of the moment.

The sounds in the room. His feelings. Anything. Everything.

But the only thing he can see is you. Your eyes glimmering with tears, cheeks rosy as you looked up at him. Praying- Begging him to stay alive.

Seeing you sad, crying, broke his heart. But it meant something.

You cared. You cared enough to be upset at the prospect of him being hurt. Of him dying on the line of duty.

He chuckles lightly at that.

"You're so embarrassing." Dick snaps his eyes open, head turning to the door. He smirks at the sight of his brother leaning at the door frame.

"You're just jealous." Dick sings, sitting up, as Jason stomped in, throwing himself on the bed.

"Of you being a lovesick fool?" Dick turned his head, noticing how his brothers eyebrow raised, "I don't think so." Dick chuckles deeply at his words.

Jason was never good with words. Especially for someone that inhales books like he needs that sappy Victorian romance to breathe.

If this was anyone else he was saying this to, they'd misunderstand Jason's words for annoyance. Disgust even. His expression certainly conveyed that.

Dick wasn't anyone else though. He was his brother.

He could see the soft look in Jason's eyes, and the little twitch of his lips as he tried to keep his tough persona intact.

He knew that the big, scary Red Hood cried at rom-coms. He had seen him throw popcorn at the TV while watching Love Actually for the thousandth time. He knew that he kept a journal.

"You're the one to talk," he lightly hits Jason on the abdomen, "As if you don't write your little feelings in your little diary."

Jason glared at him. "It's not a diary," he muttered, looking away as a blush crept over his cheeks.

It was a diary.

"And besides, that's none of your business." Jason crossed his arms and sank deeper into the bed like it could swallow him whole.

Dick tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Do you write about me in it?”

“Shut up.”

“You totally do.”

Jason reached for the nearest pillow and chucked it at his head.

Dick caught it mid-air with practiced ease. “Aw, c’mon. Just a little ‘dear diary, my stupid older brother kissed the love of his life today and now he won’t shut up about it’?”

Jason buried his face in his hands. “I swear to God, if you don’t stop talking—”

“You’ll what? Write about me in your diary again?”

A muffled groan came from Jason as he pulled the blanket over his head. But even through the fabric, Dick could hear him laughing.

It was weird how you found yourself zoning out every two minutes. You weren't like this. You were focused. On important things.

Like university, and passing your classes, and working for a better future, and how Nightwing's lips felt just right against yours-

That's it! That's the problem.

Ever since that kiss - that wonderful, beautiful kiss - you haven't been able to focus on anything around you.

God. This is the dream situation all over again.

Why does the universe hate you so much?

You didn't ask any of it! You wanted to finish school, get the hell out of here, and find a job. You wanted a normal life. A perfectly normal, quiet life.

Kissing bleeding vigilantes in your bedroom is not normal. It's not anywhere near normal.

And what's the deal with that anyway?

It was just a kiss. You have kissed people before. But you have never stared at a wall, blushing and reeling, remembering how softly he held you, and just how right he felt against you.

But other people weren't him. They didn't climb in your window every other night and force you to take a break. They wouldn't bring you food, when the saw you had been running on fumes.

Other people weren't him.

You slap your hands on your cheeks, ignoring the pain, "Get yourself together!" you yell, forcibly exhaling from your mouth. An exhale combined with a groan.

This situation has gone far enough. You are an adult. You kiss people. People kiss you.

So pull yourself together, and get up from this damn couch. Dick is supposed to be here in a while, and you still haven't cleaned up.

Oh God Dick was coming over and you cant gather your scattered thoughts.

What is he gonna think, seeing you like this, seeing you so pathetic.

Wait- Why would Dick care? Why do you care about what Dick thinks?

He's probably just gonna make fun of you. Laugh that boisterous laugh and tease you till your face changed all shades of red.

So you stand up, groaning as you make your way to the kitchen. The house would instantly look better once the plates were out of the way. And besides you needed the distraction.

Even if said distraction was having to clean.

By the time you heard the knock on your door, you'd mostly finished cleaning.

Sure, the apartment wasn’t spotless—there were still a suspicious stain on the rug you decided to pretend didn’t exist, and dust behind the TV—but then again, what student apartment ever was?

You open the door, Dick standing on the other side with the widest grin on his face. Sure, he always was cheerful, but this was something else.

He was glowing.

"What's gotten you so cheery this morning?" you let him in, staring in mild confusion as he seemed to skip a step as he walked past you.

Something is definitely up.

Dick plopped on your couch, feet immediately finding their way on the console table in front of him, "Can't a man just be happy?" he says, smiling at you.

"No." you say simply, walking towards him, arms crossed. You look at him, eyebrow raised in suspicion. "Spill."

He stays silent though, staring at you, silently scaling whether or not he should tell you.

"You seemed stressed, why don't you tell me about what?" he's deflecting. You narrow your eyes at him, as if you were challenging him. Dick has never seen anything hotter.

"This isn't about me." you say, not missing a beat. Dick doesn't have to know about what happened the other night. It'll definitely spare you the teasing.

"Okay, something might have happened the other night..."

"Something as in..."

"I might have kissed someone-" he admitted slowly, soft smile on his lips.

He looked... flustered?

"WHAT?" you jump up at his words, eyes widening, "TELL ME MORE, THIS IS GREAT!" you smile at him and Dick feels his stomach dropping.

"Yeah... it is..." he says, defeated.

You don't care. He told you he kissed someone and you don't care.

And you seem excited for him. Happy.

Reality hit him like a slap in the face, quick and hard. You didn't like him. Not like he liked you. But you liked Nightwing. You liked the mask, not him...

It hurt more than he expected. He hadn’t anticipated how hollow it would feel to have you so close, yet so far away.

He felt his throat close up at the thought of telling you. He should, he knows he should.

At some point he should come clean. Tell you everything.

Would you hate him for it?

"Tell me about her! Do I know her?" you exclaim, leaning forward, the smile on your face earnest and real, and he feels his stomach turning.

He's dying inside and you don't even realise it.

"She's very smart, and so, so pretty, like- I dont know how a person that beautiful can exist," he says, looking in your eyes, his own glimmering and bright, "She's interesting, and funny, and always keeps me at my toes. I- I wanna be better for her..." he says, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

He sounds so earnest, so... in love with this girl.

He chuckles a bit before he continues, "Terrible first impression though! She hated me. Like, a lot. Tried to ignore me every time I talked to her."

"Sounds... a lot", you reply, voice steady.

"She thinks I'm an idiot most of the time" you giggle at his words, agreeing with her mentally. Dick was an idiot. A loud, talkative idiot who deserved the world.

"I really hope it works out, you deserve someone nice! Someone who'll...." you purse your lips trying to come up with the correct word, "Match your energy." your voice is light, teasing, but the way your lips twitch—just barely hiding a smirk—gives you away.

He raises an eyebrow in mock offense, "Is this you saying I'm a lot?"

"You are a lot."

It's been three days since Dick was over and seven since the kiss, and Nightwing hasn't stopped by.

You know, logically, that he's probably resting. Getting the wound restitched, correcting your messy work. Making sure he don't die from an infection.

Maybe he was on a mission. Maybe something was threatening Gotham again, and he had to be there. make sure everyone is safe.

Or maybe he just doesn't care, and the kiss was a spur of the moment thing.

Maybe he's embarrassed and doesn't know how to face you. You certainly wouldn't know how to face him if he appeared right now.

Maybe that's for the best. Not seeing him again.

Then why does it hurt? Why does your stomach twist and turn at the thought of not seeing him again.

And then you have Dick Grayson waltzing in as if he owns the place acting all happy and mushy about kissing some girl he knows, rubbing salt to the wound.

Why can't your situation be that simple? You bet Dick didn't drop out of the face of the earth after kissing that girl.

Who even is she?

You know Dick has friends other than you, and you have seen and heard countless times how people talk about him.

But he seemed... excited? He must really like this girl...

Then why didn't he ever mention her? Dick is a blabbermouth, in all ways possible. His mouth is trying to catch up to his stream of thoughts every time he opens it. There's no way he wouldn't rant about someone he has a crush to.

The maybe a one night stand? No, he said she disliked him - hated him, at the start. Also he didn't seem like the type to gush about a one night stand.

Then again, he is a man.

But he was gushing, like- fully enamoured, gushing, not boasting.

Why are you even thinking about Dick right now, he has nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Besides, thinking of Dick kissing someone else makes your stomach turn in ways you dont wanna think about, and your ears ring. How he held her, what he told her, what it must have been like to be a mere breath away from him...

You feel your face morph scrunch up at the thought.

You need to stop thinking about that, it makes you feel uneasy in a way you cant place.

Disgust probably...

Yeah... disgust.

"What if we go to the Metropolis library?" Dick suggests, spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

You grimace at that, "You're like a child Grayson, stop speaking with your mouth full." and he blows raspberries at you, only proving your point further.

"Think of it," he says, not giving your words any mind, "The books there aren't burnt. Or stolen" you can hear the spoon scraping against the bottom of the container, his eyes fixed on it, "Besides, a change in scenery will do you some good."

You shake your head at his words, raising your gaze from your notebook momentarily to turn and look at him sitting next to you.

"We wouldn't be going for tourism Dick" you bite down at your pen, as you go over a research paper he had found. Actually, Tim had found it and translated it, but he wasn't gonna tell you that.

He chuckles, leaving the now empty tub on the console table, "Okay, a change in libraries then."

You smile, nodding at his words, as he picks up with own papers, leaning back on your couch.

It was strange how he fit into your life just perfectly. Like he was always supposed to be there. Sitting by you on the couch, eating ice cream without a care in the world.

You realize you’d never really let anyone in this close. You always run away, and you tried. You really did, but he has a way you guess.

You notice the moles on his cheek, exactly the same pattern as Nightwings.

He still hasn't come by... And that was fine, he didn't owe you anything.

It still stung nonetheless.

Dick, however, keeps showing up. Not just for the project, either. The other day, he just showed up and watched TV with you. No purpose, no reason. Just… company.

Now that you think of it, he and Nightwing would make pretty good friends. They seemed to be the same flavour of reckless and stupid. And they would definitely laugh at each others stupid jokes.

You had never thought about it before, but they were very similar.

The way Dick carried himself, reminded you how Nightwing would slip in your room - always from the window. God forbid he used a door. And the way Nightwings lips turned up, forming into a smirk, really reminded you of Dicks smile.

And it wasn't just physical

Its weird how you never made that connection before. But then again a lot of people share traits. And moles apparently.

He's so close, but so far away

You unconsciously leaned in, and soon enough-

The feeling of his lips against yours is both startling and strangely comforting. It’s a moment suspended in time, both familiar and entirely new. But before you can process it, you pull back, wide-eyed.

He stared at the flabbergasted expression painted on your face, his own mirroring your shock.

Youre gaping like a fish at him, heart racing, "I- ah-"

What have you done?

You kissed Dick Grayson out of the blue. Why would you kiss him?

No no no no no.

He's gonna hate you. He already hates you. He- Oh my God, he likes someone! And he told you. And he was excited about it. And you kissed him!

You stand up abruptly, looking around shell-shocked. You can hear him call your name. You ignore it.

"I- ah-" you gulp, taking a deep breath, "I'm gonna go." you say and move towards the door, running out of your own house.

For a moment, confusion flashes across his face, but then, slowly, a smile spreads. He can't help it.

Dick stared at the door as he stood up, quietly cheering at the way his day had progressed.

His lips were chapped. Chapped but warm. And you couldn't stop thinking about them.

You hoped that taking a walk would clear your head. Make everything fall into place.

The only thing that happened was losing the feeling on your toes.

You shiver as you open your front door, ready to just fall asleep and ignore everything and everyone around you for the foreseeable future.

You were prepared to see an empty, quiet apartment. What you didn't expect was Dick Grayson still sitting on your couch, surfing through the channels of your TV.

Didn't he have a home to return to? Its been two hours.

You freeze mid-step, staring at him like he's a ghost, "You're still here."

"I'm still here." he turns of the TV and stand up, as you close the door behind you, the urge to run away growing strong again.

"Why?"

"What do you mean why?" he chuckles sitting on the arm of the couch, "Do you need a reminder of what happened?" he smirks and you feel your face changing colours, freezing again.

"Youre so annoying!" you scoff, throwing your coat on a chair, not caring enough to hang it, heading to the sink, needing desperately some water.

"I wasn't annoying a few hours ago" you choke on water.

Was it always this hot in here?

You stomp back to the living room, looking at Dicks annoying face, "I could call the police!" you exclaim, "This is trespassing!"

"You wouldn't, East Enders dont like cops" he laughs rolling his eyes, not noticing how you freeze at his words.

"...How do you know that?" you ask, walking slowly towards him, confusion lacing your voice. Dick feels his heart stutter.

"What?"

"That I'm from the East End..." you repeat, not taking your eyes off of him for a single moment.

"You told me?" he laughs lightly, hoping you'd drop it. Believe that you had actually told him and not his alter ego.

"No I didn't, the only person who knows is my mom and-" you inhale sharply, stepping closer to him determined.

"Wha- What are you doing?" Dick asks, watching you stare at his abdomen, as if youre trying to see through his shirt. You reach for the hem, and he immediately starts moving around, like a child.

"Stop squirming!" you yell.

Your fingers tremble as you grab the hem of his shirt. He flinches. You don’t care.

"No, let go!" Dick grabs your wrist holding your hand down. You glare at him as you throw his hand again, immediately raising his shirt.

You gasp lightly at the sight.

Those are stitches on his abdomen. Your stitches.

Realisation hit you like a truck, chills running down your spine.

How could you have not known? You literally had all the parts of the story and still didn't figure it out.

You are so stupid.

You raise your gaze, meeting his eyes, "Motherfucker!" You exclaim, staring at him, fist still curled in his shirt.

"If she's half as pretty as you, I wou-" he joked, trying to suppress the urge to run away.

He really was his fathers son, huh?

"Dick!" you warn him, yanking on his shirt.

"...Surprise?" Dick laughs lightly, waiting for your reaction. The screaming, the crying, the betrayal.

He waited for you to throw him out of your house. Out of your life.

But you simply stare at him, eyes darting.

It's him...

It's actually him.

You know that you should be angry. He lied to you, he pretended to be two different people. It'd be normal and more than justified to lash out on him right now.

But all you feel is... relief.

It all makes sense.

They were the same person. The same wonderful, annoying, absolutely perfect person.

Nightwing hadn't left you high and dry, because he was here every day, watching TV with you, eating, working.

And Dick- Dick was talking about you. All that softness, all that love he displayed like a trophy in his eyes, were for you.

"Listen, I know I should have told you-" he starts speaking, taking your hand into his, forcing you to let go of the fabric.

He's running the pad of his thumb gently on your knuckles. It's the first time he has done that, and yet its comfortable. Familiar.

Your head is spinning. He is talking to you - he constantly talks. His mouth is moving but you can't hear a word. He's no doubt explaining himself, telling you he'll go if you want him to. Being himself.

You feel the air raggedly enter your lungs as you inhale, and the next thing you know, your lips are on his for the second time today.

They are still chapped. Still warm.

Dicks shock only lasts a moment before his hands find your waist, falling into place immediately. He feels your hands around his neck, the smell of your shampoo, overwhelming his senses. He pulls you towards him, holding you close, scared this is a dream, and that'll he wake up in his room, alone.

You pull away, resting your forehead against his. His heartbeat is drumming against your fingers.

"You're Nightwing." you exhale

"I am." he said, trying to catch his breath

"You kissed me."

"I did." he nods simply, because to him it was simple.

"And then you disappeared!" you hit the back of his neck, looking at him annoyed, "Who does that? And then you come by and tell me all about it, without actually telling me!" Dick laughs as he pulls you in a tight hug, resting his head on your shoulder.

"I know" you feel him smiling, "I'm sorry." he says, and you don't care about him not telling you anymore.

Because he's holding you.

He's here.

And nothing has ever felt more like home.

Hiiii, I know its been long, I'm sorry but university is very much kicking my ass (all for nothing too, I failed all three of my tests lmao)

You've been so supportive and nice and it lowkey makes me cry so I really hope you like it🤗🤗

@skyguys-princess @dontyouthinkitstrange @jaemindontberude @st4rg1rln

[killishin]

— ☆ meet me under the moonlight.

PART 01.

pairing: gojo satoru x reader

content warning: mentions of blood, death, alcohol, yuji did not eat the finger he's a normal jujutsu student, afab reader, mentions of depression, reader is a special grade sorcerer a badass heh, suggestive themes, no smut, second chance trope, shit ton of fluff and an attempt at comedy, some angst here and there

summary: reader's a special grade sorcerer. after losing your sister, you needed someone, you needed satoru. but he wasn't there. things did not end on good terms with him, your ex, before you moved overseas. reader is dead set on avoiding satoru while he just wants you back, no matter what.

a/n: I'll add the content warnings as we proceed. this is the first full fledged fic im working on and its been almost a year since i wrote anything so bear with any mistakes. currently busy with exams so expect updates to be slow. for those who know hindi, was listening to this while writing. it did match the vibe i am going for.

word count: 2.6k

dividers by @cafekitsune

masterlist. fic masterlist. next

nostalgia's a bitch.

a deep sigh leaves your lips, head tilted upwards while your eyes fluttered close. you tried to stop the onslaught of memories, some sweet while some... you'd rather never revisit. but they always haunt you, coming back to jujutsu high didn't necessarily trigger them.

and then there's him. occupying a whole place in your mind and though most were sweet, except that one memory that overshadowed all. that made you want to walk away from here right now and not even spare a glance back. you didn't know if your heart tingled or your mind raged with the very high possibility of seeing him again. you decided not to dwell on that.

some may call it rather childish to still hold onto a grudge even after a decade but you cannot find it in you to forget. though you convinced yourself to be cordial if— when the time comes.

"are you done moping or do you still wanna have your moment?" shoko called out dryly from behind you, and though you couldn't see her the amusement was clear as day in her voice. you could just sense that smirk growing on her lips.

"nice seeing you again too." you chuckled out with a resigned huff, removing your hands from your pocket as you opened your eyes and turned around to look at her.

it was truly nice seeing her again, it wasn't like you guys never talked, you did keep contact and text whenever possible. she looked more hot, somehow the bags under her eyes only grew darker but it all added to her laid back charm.

her lips tugged into a more softened smile and she tilted her head, the wind blowing both your hair. "missed having you around here. you still look the same."

though she said it sarcastically, her heart was a bit a mushy, she was more happy than she was letting on. she pushed off the wall and approached you, swinging an arm around your shoulder as she hugged you, patting your back.

"this place turned you into a softie." you murmured as you hugged her back, not being able to bite back the smile on your face. maybe you were fretting over nothing, it can't be that bad—

"hm though not as much as satoru for you." she teased and you grunted with a roll of your eyes, pulling away immediately.

"alright alright get off."

your lips pulled into that frown that always seemed to be etched on your face since adulthood started.

"still stingy i see." she remarked amusingly with a raised brow before walking in the gates. your steps hesitated, lips pulling into a grimace as your eyes looked at that gates, that suddenly seemed so daunting. murmuring a 'fuck it' you sauntered behind her.

"im not stingy." you retorted, eyes wandering around as you shoved your hands back in the pockets of your trouser. everything was more or less the same, the depressing aura that could never be concealed by the sounds of innocent laughter of the students here.

students. you looked back at shoko with a raised brow, "how many kids are here?" you asked, though you already knew how many, and had an almost vague idea of who they were. and then there's megumi, who you only saw a handful times before leaving yet had formed quite a bond with. you wonder how much that grumpy (yet sweet) kid has grown.

shoko's brows furrowed a bit, as if racking her mind for it. "there's three kids in the second year, three in the first years." she replied, glancing at you, as if already knowing what you were thinking. "megumi's one of them. he's grown...well i guess. still a grump."

you simply nodded at that, eyes softening as you looked down. you wished for the kids to have a normal life, yeah its not that feasible being in the sorcerer's world but still, you wished for them to have a much more normal-er life than what you had.

"satoru raised him well. don't tell him that though, his ego is big enough as it is." shoko snickered, shaking her head and you scoffed.

"like I'd wanna." you muttered under your breathe before looking up, pushing your glasses up you stared at the door before you. yaga's office.

shoko patted your back before she started to walk away, "again, welcome back. hope this shithole doesn't burn you out again." she called out, disappearing as she turned around the corner, leaving you to your silence.

you sighed, looking down at your heels as you rubbed your forehead in annoyance. you pulled at the neck of your turtlneck, feeling the regret creeping back up. before you know it, your mind was already brimming with overbearing thoughts and doubts. should you really have come back? was it right to come back?

and then your hand dropped to that silver pendent on your chest, the one that had your late sister's picture, twisting it in between your fingers. and somehow your mind calmed down, not by much but enough to pull your shit together.

you had to come back.

you walked out his office, closing the door behind, your hand griped the doorknob as you leaned your weight on one leg and rested a hand on your hip. you didn't think your day could get any worse.

you thought your only job would be to take on missions or maybe to supervise those less experienced than you, as it was overseas. you did not expect to be made into a part time babysitter. Yaga called it imparting important knowledge and experience to the students but it was all bullshit to your ears.

you had argued that you were not a teacher here and refrained almost immediately, not just its an extra hassle but because Satoru is their teacher. you would bump into him often as it is, you didn't want it to become a daily thing. but that damned old man is too good with his words, trapped her right in them, using her morals and fondness for kids against her.

"fucking hell.." you muttered as you started walking away but paused as you heard the sound of voices coming from somewhere. it wasn't just voices, there were grunts and yelling, clashing of metals and woods.

immediately clocking the energy you turned around and started walking towards the sound, recognising it leads to the ground. as you walked closer and closer, the blurred faces started becoming clearer. and you recognised the spiky hair among them.

your steps slowed to a stop at the edge of the steps leading down, staring at the students engaged in a duel. your arms folded across your chest while a smile tugged on your lips.

you couldn't help the fondness weasling its way into your heart as you observed megumi in a one sided fight, clearly the glasses girl was stronger, you recognised her as the zen'in girl. yet he was holding his own against her, as much he could, his lips pulled into a deeper frown.

your eyes strayed from them to the other kids around. you observed them all, cheering with such passion and smiles. it was endearing, a moment where the harsh reality doesn't seem as depressing. to your utter dismay, the pink haired boy though had taken notice of you, his head tilted innocently as he stared at you in wonder.

though the kid seemed harmless you were suddenly overcome by nervousness. great, nervous over meeting a bunch of kids? you're almost thirty for fucks sake!

you cleared your throat, about to walk down to introduce yourself to him and the kids when the kid suddenly grinned, grinned so bright you thought you'd turn blind. your brows furrowed in confusion before you noticed he is not grinning at you.

...wait how'd you not notice—

"there you are." came his voice from behind you, still that same annoying cheery voice and despite how much it made your annoyance spike, you hated how it still made your heart skip a beat, made your neck grow warmer while your mind went absolute radio silent.

and though it seemed like he said that to his student down below, you didn't need to look behind to know just where his eyes were at.

heaving a deep sigh you looked back, and there he is alright, still towering over you, confidence oozing out of him like he owned the goddamn world. those white hair still looked soft enough, like they always were— nope. not going there.

you spared him a withering glance before looking back at the students, perfectly hiding how you clenched your fists, how suddenly they clamed up. and just your unfortunate luck, the students had stopped and now all of them were staring at you. just great.

as if already sensing your ire his smirk widened as he stood beside you, his head tilted down and what the hell is up with that stupid blindfold?

"not even a hi? im wounded." he teased, lips pulling into a toothy grin and you felt a shiver run down your spine suddenly as if he just checked you out. you glared at him upon the realisation and but it just simply made that cheeky smile widen.

you looked at the kids and tried to offer a smile though you're sure it came out half hearted, fueling your embarrassment. you told them your name but before you could continue he cut in, waving at them in an over enthusiatic manner. "this pretty women here is a special grade sorcerer. don't worry not stronger than me—"

you glare.

"— but she would also be helping you and supervising you during your missions. don't worry she just looks daunting, she don't bite. well maybe a little—"

you glare harder.

"— we go wayyy back. friends and students here at the same place. though i suppose 'friends' is an understatement, lovers maybe—"

"gojo!" you cut him off, glaring daggers at him but like always, he simply laughed. but it wasn't funny to you, you found that decade old anger coming back and this little interaction simply fortified your misgivings about him.

clenching your jaw you held back your tongue, not wanting to embarrass yourself further. taking a deep breath you looked back at the kids, forcing your features to soften but not bothering with a smile.

"its nice to meet you all. please continue." was all you said, rather curtly which wasn't quite intended, before turning around and storming away from there. you didn't miss the absolute confusion on everyone's face yet you were far too swamped in your annoyance and embarrassment to care.

you could hear him dismissing the students before following behind you, leisure steps, no hurry, since his long strides help him catch up to your hurrying legs with ease. he swiftly cuts in your path, standing infront of you with his hands resting casually in his pockets.

"a little rude wasn't it? what would the kids think?" he teasingly murmured, bending down almost condescendingly, broad shoulders simply making you feel cornered.

you scoffed, looking at him incredulously. the absolute gall of this man. "rude? me?" you crossed your arms across your chest in defiance, "what the hell were you spouting back there? seriously gojo all these years and you didn't change—"

"satoru." he interrupted, his voice low and almost velvety, and though he wore a casual smile you couldn't help but feel a bit of irritation in it. "not gojo. satoru. we aren't strangers, sweetheart."

your eyes narrowed almost accusingly, hands twitching as if to smack him. "we aren't anything either."

"not even friends?"

"no."

"now thats a lie. friends know everything about each other." he said, almost dramatically before he bent down a bit as if to intimidate you by his stature, like that ever worked. and yet the closeness seemed to get to her, her eyes that were ablaze in irritation wavered just a fraction and nothing escapes the six eyes.

"and i know everything about you." he murmured and it was if the words died in your throat. the sheer weight of his words, the hidden longing in his voice that maybe you're imagining, the memories it brought back that you'd rather just bury.

no you don't. its been a decade satoru, you know nothing of me. so much to say and yet—

"fuck you." a pitiful attempt of a comeback, and you hated yourself for it. you hated how you were right now, emotions going haywire while your mind blanked at just his voice and you have yet to see those damn eyes. you had prided herself in how calm you'd become, how you had held herself together no matter what, how you didn't let anyone waver your emotions much less mess with your heart— and yet, here you are. acting out, losing your shit and why?

him. its always him.

his lips tug upwards, pride and satisfaction. like he knows your inner turmoil and it simply twisted that feeling of dread and regret even more. you thought he might poke fun at you again, tease but he leaned back and for once you were grateful because you can finally breathe. you looked away as you fixed your glasses, discreetly taking a deep breathe.

"the glasses just make you look hotter. suits you." he remarked amusingly, voice dripping with sin and honey. you looked back at him, you could almost feel his eyes roaming over your face. its hard to analyse him because of that stupid blindfold.

"that blindfold makes you look stupid." you bite back, frowning a bit as your eyes narrowed before huffing out a breathe. "but i guess its a blessing in disguise." now you're just being a hater, again you fail to care about that. you just wanna leave, away from him. somewhere, anywhere, before you act more like an idiot.

he didn't mind that jab one bit, instead, feigned a dramatic gasp, hand on the chest all that. "you loved my eyes."

"tastes change. people change."

"and you think you have?" he scoffed out and again, you were at a loss for words. you wanted to argue back, shoot a fitting reply, you know you can. but the conviction in his voice when he asked that, like he knows you better than you do yourself.

no he doesn't.

"yes. yes I have." you replied quietly, yet firmly staring at him right in the eyes. his smile didn't falter didn't one bit, or so you think.

"now if you'll stop bothering me." you gave him a pointed look before walking away and this time, to your relief, he didn't follow.

and unknown to you, his eyes stayed stuck to you until you disappeared and yet his senses clung to you. little did you know how fast his heart dropped when he had seen you standing there looking over at the students, looking just the same yet so much more beautiful that it hurts. little did your eyes observe how his smile softened when you weren't looking, not like you could see anyway, how his eyes behind the blindfold held none of that mirth, only longing. how much his hands twitched to just have a touch, a simple swipe of your cheeks. its embarrassing how silly he's acting, nobody would believe that he, of all, could act so lovesick. he was still in denial about the extent of his longing, the extent of yearning but he knew one thing.

now that you're here he can't lose you again.

its a weird feeling, this need— this want that he feels in his damn bones whenever he merely even thinks about you. he was okay all these years, a bit guilty but he has a lot of shit to be guilty for. it all blurred as the years passed. but one look at you and he fell down the rabbit hole again. he'll grovel, he'll do whatever.

he just needs you back.

reblogs are appreciated ♡

[avaredava]

Hi! Can I request a Nanami imagine? I’d love something with angst at the beginning, showing the reader struggling with baby blues right after the baby is born. Maybe she feels overwhelmed, distant, or even like she’s not being a good mom. It would be beautiful to see how Nanami, with his calm and understanding nature, slowly notices it and tries to gently reach out until they finally share a soft, comforting moment full of love and reassurance.If you could include some tender dialogue or little intimate gestures from him, I’d really love that! Also, your writing is amazing — you always capture emotions in such a touching way. Thank you so much in advance!

Wait stop i love thattttt np anon

And im so glad you like my writing! Thank you so much, I appreciate you saying i really have a touch on emotions in my writings, it means a lot <3

-

Bang!

You jolt up you eyes blinking open. You turn around and realize how late it is. You were supposed to take the baby today so Nanami can go golfing with his buddies and maybe grab a couple of drinks. But its already 3 pm.

Why would he let you sleep this late? You run down stairs to maybe just take the baby so Nanami can go for the short amount of time left for his plans. And maybe investigate what the hell that bang was.

You run down the stairs dizzy, from bolting up right after sleeping. You see Nanami cleaning up a broken glass pan, the metal lid probably made the bang for it. You felt horrible, maybe he dropped it trying to make food for the baby. God you were lazy.

You were supposed to be providing a bit but Nanami has been cooking and cleaning a ton. It makes you sick to your stomach on how much he's doing and your doing nothing. Not grossed out by him, but from yourself.

He smiled at you and you smiled back, hopefully that he didn't notice the quick swipe of tears off your face. But of course, he realized. He is the perfect man.

He went up to you, holding your hands looking deep in your eyes, wondering what was wrong. "What's wrong baby?" And that was your trigger. You started bawling. You were a baby. Because babies are useless and can't take care of other babies.

He grabbed your face while wiping your tears, of course his eyes flick up and down your body wondering what the hell is wrong. You push him off and go away to find the baby in her crib.

You take her and hold her to your stomach. You were so tired, tired physically and mentally since you had her. But you shouldn't. You can't be a lazy ass anymore. So many other women are stronger than you.

A few minutes later he knocks on the nursery door. You know if you said go away, he would come in anyway. He's just trying to be polite. He ran into after a moment, seeing those tired eyes ringed with red from crying.

It made his heart shatter that he didn't know what the fuck was wrong. He sat quietly beside you on the little bench in the nursery not even looking at you because he's worried it would make you uncomfortable.

You felt bad, seeing his eyes flick everywhere but you. Wondering what to say to him, just like he was wondering what to say to you. He broke the silence with a small, "What was that about?"

It wasn't mean like people usually use that sentence it was concerned and worried. Like he did something wrong. Did he hurt you by accident, maybe your feelings? Accidentally saying something insensitive? Did his arm fly at you in his sleep and trigger you? Did you dream about him cheating?

You could tell his mind was rapid firing things that he could've done, different scenarios. None good. You had to stop his over thinking with a little, "I fucking suck. Not you, that's the problem you're too good. God, you're too good for me."

He looked at you like you just murdered his whole family, and broke his heart into pieces. He adored you, treated you like a Greek Goddess. To him? You're too good. Too pretty, too smart, for a man like him to ever have a special girl like you must've been gift.

He holds you tight, pulling you in his lap after he puts the baby back in her crib. "You need to relax. You're always shopping for food, making sure the baby has the healthiest stuff, already going on missions to get more money for our baby to have a good childhood. And you carried the baby for nine months, you're more than enough."

You smiled, tears in your eyes, while he hugged you tight, kissing your forehead. Then he said something that made you feel so much better.

"Your the best mom and wife in the world."

And you knew he meant that.

Master list's