#‘self hating’ fuckin.... ITS FINE I LOVE HIM ENOUGH FOR THE BOTH OF US LEAVE HIM ALONE LET HIM GROW

[astralshipper]

just because I KNOW what’s gonna happen in next week’s episode of spn does NOT mean I’m going to perceive it. don’t let canon fool u. everything is FINE and I love my happy, loving, all alive, perfectly okay family very much

[binniesthighs]

hello stranger | reader x changbin |

a/n: hehe hello cuties, before i get to the chapter, I just wanted to say thank you so much for all of the support and lovely messages you that you sent to me for the last chapter. as I said, it was one that was super personal to me and for it to be so relatable and emotional for you all makes my heart feel so, so full. these themes are going to continue, so please read the warnings cuties. as always, thank you so very much for reading my stories <3 

Part 6 

Pairing: self insert, female reader x seo changbin, female reader x han jisung 

Genre: strangers to lovers, fluff, smut, angst 

Tags: (of this part) college au, rapper!changbin, rapper!jisung, establishedfwb!jisung, artist!reader, skz side characters, bestfriend!chan, bestfriend!felix, roommate!minho, explicit language, HARD fluff to HARD angst, some sensual-azz fuckin’ (muhaha), unprotected sex (stay safe cuties!), lil bit of breath play, nipple play (f), cumshot, mentions of food, changbin has a cute butt (that’s the tweet) 

CWs: aftereffects of traumatic experiences, mentions of past toxic relationship, self sabotaging tendencies 

Word count: 6.6k (remember when i said i wasn’t gonna write long chapters? wellllll...ooP)  

Chapters 

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7

When you were back in high school, before you knew a thing about what love was, your Art teacher had given you an assignment: what do you think that love looks like? At first, all you had really known love to be was the kind that you shared with your friends and your parents, and maybe with your family dog. You had read about love in your favorite books and seen it in your favorite movies, but you had never really considered what it looked like. Obviously, the assignment was all up for you to decide, but there being a million and one things that you considered love to be, to put it to paper with your own hand was something different entirely. 

At first, when you thought of love, you thought of the typical: hearts, hugs, the colors red and pink. But, this was too simple. 

“What are you drawing?” You had sneakily whispered to your classmate. 

She shrugged, and continued scratching away at her sketchbook. You had peeked to see what she was putting together, and for her, she had started to draw what looked like a house on the edge of a lake. The house was in the middle of nowhere and it was surrounded by trees of all different kinds and there was a single bench that sat at the edge of the water. 

You figured, love can be a place, so you started drawing that. 

Your pencil swiped over the paper in strokes big and small, and the lead rubbed off on the side of your pinky as you outlined the corners of your apartment building. 

You thought, I love the people who live here, therefore, this must be love. 

It made sense. People and places could make up love. 

When you turned in your drawing of your apartment building you were surprised to see the variety of other paintings and drawings that the other students had turned in. One student had turned in a whole piece that had been drawn with oil pastel. It was a jumbling of colors: mostly red, as you had expected, but it also held streaks of gold, black and teal. You remember your teacher really liking that one. 

Today, if you would’ve gotten that assignment, it would’ve been completely different. 

It was a sunny afternoon when you sat at your easel with your pencil in hand. Drawing out the mere outline and rough draft, tears welled in your eyes. A long time ago you had promised yourself that if your art didn’t mean anything, what even was it?

The sun filled your room in the golden hour of the day best it could from your frosted glass window. The warmth that the rays held made your whole body swell with a warmth, and it gave your shaking arms the power to keep going. 

You brushed lightly over the rough canvas with your pencil, tracing out the lines as if they were the very memories that you had kept painted in your mind. 

You drew a snowy night, not much unlike the ones that you had been seeing recently. You drew an empty alley, not lit by much light. You drew the way that the oil slicked in potholes mixed with the snow. You planned out the way that the industry of the city lit his back as he stared out into that dark expanse where you knew that darker figures were hiding. You drew him. You drew him on that exact same night that you had fist seen him: a dark outline, who would become full of color. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

“What’s that?” 

Changbin pointed to your easel with a sheet draped over it. 

“A surprise.” You answered. “I know that I’m not good with surprises, but, are you?” 

“I don’t mind them.” He chuckled. “For me?” 

“Mmhm. Its not ready yet so you’ll have to wait.” 

“I’m fine with waiting.” He sighed out. 

You nuzzled closer into his bare chest, right up to his heartbeat. Both of you were admittedly a bit dewy in your sweaty afterglow, but this was of no concern to you. These past few days, this had been your preferred way to drift off to sleep. Even on the occasional times when the both of you would be too busy to make the time, when you finally could see him, it was everything to you. In his large and muscled arms, there was no place else where you had felt safer. You too wrapped your whole being around him with a feeling so close it must’ve been unreal. If you could hear the muffled little rhythm of his heartbeat, you were sure that he could hear yours. 

“Soon, all this snow is gonna melt, and then I can take you to loads of other places. I’m just getting started.” Changbin’s airy breath tickled your scalp. 

“Really? Taking me to all the usual places?” You mocked. 

“No.” He said seriously. “I want to take you to places I haven’t taken anyone before. My secret places. I...you know...wouldn’t mind if you could draw them for me either.” 

You giggled, “Ever heard of taking a picture?” 

“Hey! It’s not the same.” 

“Fineee. Okay, okay. I’ll draw them for you.” Your fingertips traced down the muscles of his back. “Maybe I should start charging if you’re gonna keep being like this.” 

“You don’t do pro-bono?” He ran along with your joke. 

“If you ask nicely, maybe I’ll consider it.” 

He tsked, “Could you please draw for me?” 

You masked another adoring chuckle. “I do like it when you say please.” 

Everything about the one moment felt so sickly sweet, it was like you must’ve dreamt it up. In between the swaddling of sheets, you tried your best to enjoy the one moment: it was just enough to keep the doubtful whispers away. After all that he had done, said, all the pain that he had kissed away, or compliments he had hushed into your ear, the creeping feeling that you hardly deserved it all would rear it’s head time and again, even when you didn’t expect it to.

The two of you were quiet for a moment as you fell into the serenity of just existing together. After a while, you would narrow your focus best on the way that his breaths would rise and fall and the way this his body heat would melt into yours under the mess of sheets that neither of you bothered to fix. He would use his thumb to rub reassuring little strokes into the back of your neck where he had you. 

Your hand would fall down his arm, all the way down this wrist where his scar lived. Ever since you had noticed it, you couldn’t stop looking at it. Every time that you did, you were given a tangible reminder of everything that he had been, and was, to you. You rose the uneven skin to your lips to gift a little kiss to it. 

Changbin tried his best to hide his giddy smirk at the action. 

“Do you have to leave tonight?” You settled his arm around you once more. 

“No. Not tonight. But, for the next few days I don’t think I’ll be able to. They put me on the matinee shifts at the theater. I fucking hate those. No one comes in at all so it’s like I’m just sitting there.” 

“Wanna sneak me in some time this week? I should have a break.” 

“I would but...I’d prefer to keep that job. As much as I hate it.” 

“We could do something this Thursday? You aren’t busy on Thursdays as much right?” 

“Ahhhh I think so.” Changbin rolled the two of you over, allowing himself to lean over top of you. With a sly smirk he lowered his voice to say, “You know, my ribs really aren’t hurting as much any more.” 

“Oooh? Good to know.” You ruffled his curly strands. 

“I’m trying to say that I can go for another round if you would like to?” He bowed his head to kiss lightly into your neck and the fading love bites that he had put there himself. 

Your eyes wandered to your clock telling you that it was nearly 2 in the morning. If you had better judgement, you would’ve said no. But, these days, judgement wasn’t something that you took too seriously. 

He kissed down deeper, and pulled at your skin just in the way that he knew you liked it. Changbin knew the ins and outs of you perfectly, as well as exactly what to do send you quivering under him. All he had to do was press his body into yours so you could feel his weight, and it made you fold just for him. He followed his kisses up your jaw where he then lead them into your bottom lip and over every angle that your mouth would crave him. He often didn’t mean to do it intentionally, but between your parted mouths, his tongue would sneakily find yours, and he would slowly slide it against yours. 

“Do you want to?” He muttered between kisses. 

Under the covers, his hand cascaded down your side in a way that tickled slightly, but also made you shiver. 

He broke from his kiss to hold your eyes seriously. “We don’t have to.” 

“No, I want to.” You reached up to hold his sleepy and puffy face in your hands. 

Changbin said nothing more, but instead returned to weaving kisses back down your neck. Under your waist, you felt him angle up your hips higher and the heat of his tip teased at your entrance still slick with your arousal from before, and now renewed. He bowed his head down to your chest to pump himself with a few muffled grunts. After, he rose his head to hold your eyes with his own. The muscles on his arms flared where he held himself up, and those adorable little stretch marks in the corners of his arms moved with them. 

“God, you’re so beautiful.” 

You melted under his compliment. No matter who many times he had said it, you still weren’t use to it. 

“So are youuuu.” You said with a dreamy tone. One other thing that you had figured out about him was that returning such comments to him made him a flustered mess. It was utterly adorable for someone as stoic as him at times. 

“Psh.” He scoffed, then lowered his voice once again. “Beautiful how I fill you up sweetheart?” Changbin angled your waist up higher, then spread your thighs, finally pushing them into your body to tighten you. He aligned himself over you, then pushed himself in agonizingly slow. “Beautiful how I can fuck you so deep? How I can m-make you...” 

He had given up on talking, but rather thrust himself further into you with his shaking breaths and little “mmm’s” getting caught on his tongue. 

“B-Bin...fuck, f-feels s-so good--”

He pushed your legs up closer to your body, allowing himself greater access to graze your g-spot. Your busy fingers found their way around his back to claw all the way down. He still relished in taking his time with you, and would never rush fucking you--it was as if he had all the time in the world to unravel you. You returned around him, tightening has he fucked in and out with his own pace. After a while of doing the same, his hand crept around your neck to give you a couple choking squeezes that made you whimper out like a kitten. He would never keep it going for long however, but rather indulged himself in the way that your gasps would remind him of how good it all felt. After, Changbin dipped his thumb into your mouth to run the pad over your tongue. 

The tip of his teeth caught the skin of his lip which he bit into hard. 

“You feel so good baby. F-feels so good on my cock. It’s all for you angel.” 

An unrestrained groan escaped from your mouth as he continued and your orgasm pooled steadily. In and attempt to steady yourself you clawed back into your pillow supporting your head. 

He swiftly changed your position, taking both of his hands to turn you on your stomach. Without a pause he lead his swelling head back into your pussy where he kept on going at his favored slow pace. Your face smushed into the pillow with hips raised in the air. The fluffy fabric muffled your helpless moans. 

“Louder for me princess.” He growled. 

With one hand he arched over to tweak at your nipples with force: twisting and pulling, then he wet his hand with his own saliva to let your skin feel the cold and wet sensation. His other hand he used to reach around and rub circles into your clit. He was gentle at first, but worked your bud harder and faster. Your knees and legs shook the faster he rubbed, and you spilled your loudest and most unapologetic moans into the room that had risen in temperature. 

“Fuck...” He swore. Changbin allowed himself to quicken his pace inside of you. The action alone sent you spinning wildly into your orgasm: a tear of white hot heat that shook your whole body and turned your swollen bud into a sensitive mess under his fingers which did stop, even when when he knew that you had just cum all over them. The harder he pressed, the more wonderfully painful it felt, and you let your tears fall hot from your eyes to the sheet. You attempted to call out his name, but no words that left your mouth made sense. 

He turned your body once more, using brutish hands on your hips as he pulled you overtop of the sheets to fuck you into the bed once more with your sweating back stuck to the comforter. Your body shook with your orgasm still, and you needily brought his lips down to yours to kiss him with your thank you’s as he milked himself out in your tightening walls. 

Changbin was animalistic in the way that he finally let his hips snap over you, at last reaching his orgasm mere seconds after he had pulled out and jerked himself over you. Ribbons of his white cum came spilling out over your gasping chest and stomach and dripped lazily from his pink and flaring tip. He took in shallow inhales as he did, and kept rubbing until the very end and he had nothing more to give. Even as his hand dropped, you took his dick in your own hand to just twist lightly and ride out the last of his orgasm. He softened in your hand with eyes closed in his focus and came down. 

The combination of your lust held in the air for a few silent moments, then he collapsed back down next to you into a blushing and exhausted mess. His pink chest shook, and his soft heather eyes found you. 

“We should...probably take a shower right?” 

“Probably.” You grinned. 

Changbin leaned over to plant even more sugary sweet kisses on top of your lips. He always was one to admire his work, so he chuckled lightly seeing the way that he had properly covered you in his cum. 

“I can help you clean that off.” 

The bed shook and he rose to get you something to clean up. You wished that you could’ve moved to see him saunter around your room without a single piece of clothing on. It was no secret that he had one hell of a cute butt. 

Changbin helped you out of the bed, finding that your legs had started to shake and betray you a bit more harshly than you had intended. He ran the water for you both, inviting you in to take the task of cleaning you to himself. He took the suds in his own hands to brush them all over your body and took careful and gentle attention to the more sensitive parts of your body. He giggled a little at the way that even under the warm water, your nipples would still harden when he ghosted his fingers over them with soap. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” You scolded him. 

He took care of the little bruises on your neck and collarbones, giving them kisses under the clear stream of water as if he was healing them. After he was done, you did the same and cleaned out his hair with your shampoo. He always let out happy little groans when you would massage his scalp. He still had a couple scrapes on his face from a few weeks ago, so you kissed all of them too. 

Changbin’s favorite part was how he could mess up your hair with the towel afterword and make you look as ridiculous as possible. Of course, you would do the same. You would brush your teeth together, and dress somewhat all of the way back again. A while ago he decided keeping clothes at your place was a good idea, but you ended up wearing them more than he did. You blamed it on dirty laundry, but you really did just like the way that they would smell all tangled up in your blankets on your nights alone. 

With bare legs, you would tangle yourselves all up in eachother once more, and not even bother to look at what time it was then. 

As it had become his habit, before the two of you drifted to sleep, Changbin would kiss into your forehead “l love you. You know?” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Chocolatey goodness wafted up Felix’s nose, and he let out a happy little squeal. 

“~Thank youuu~” He beamed to the waitress. 

He took a careful sip not to burn his tongue, then turned his head to watch the way that the snow had started to flurry outside of the diner window. Minho flipped the pages of his book and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. 

“Whatcha reading?” Felix said with a little tap of his feet under the table. 

Rather than answering, Minho sighed out and closed his book. “Nothing now. If you’re gonna ask questions, then I’ll get distracted, so, nothing now.” 

“Oh. Sorry.” Felix frowned. 

Minho rolled his eyes, suddenly becoming exasperated over his new friend’s dramatic reaction. 

“It was something that I’m assigned to read for one of my classes. It’s about economics or something like that. I’m kind of just skimming; reading because I have to....” He took a sip of his coffee. “Y/n should be reading the same book considering that we are in the same class...but I haven’t even seen you with it yet.” 

You prodded at your plate of half eaten waffles. “About that...” 

“If you think that I’m gonna give you the SparkNotes you are sorely mistaken.” 

You writhed in your seat a bit like an upset toddler. “Come onnnnn, Minho, you know that I don’t have time for that, working at the library and such...”  

“--More like stealing my roommate from me. I hardly see him at our apartment anymore.” Minho made his remark with a type of snark, but knowing him, he was still just as sarcastic. 

“Yeah,” Felix piped up. “The three of us haven’t hung out in a while either!” 

“...Sorry, I’ve just been getting...caught up in things.” 

Minho cleared his throat. “I’m not saying that its a bad thing. It’s just something that I’ve noticed.” 

Felix nodded, “Me too! I’m really happy for you!! So is Chan, don’t get me wrong. We haven’t seen you so happy and like, not serious in such a long time. Really, I’m so so glad that you have someone like him for a boyfriend.” 

Your fork scratched your plate. “--Boyfriend?” 

“Yeah!” Felix beamed. “Isn’t that what he is?” 

Minho too held an expectant gaze. 

“I-I don’t think...we hadn’t really talked about what it is that we’re doing...or are.” 

“So you’re saying that he’s not your boyfriend?” Minho cocked his head in his confusion. “Well, you ask him and he’ll think that it’s a different story.” 

“H-he talks about me?” You sat up straighter. 

“Well, he hasn’t explicitly said anything, but the way that he never shuts the fuck up...” Minho suddenly became much more interested in his coffee. 

“What? You don’t want him to be your boyfriend?” Felix looked just as confused. 

In your hands, you crinkled up the napkin that you had resting on your lap. You hadn’t in fact, ever thought of such. Merely, you had thought that you loved him, and that you enjoyed being around him and that he had made you happy. Was it odd that the thought had never crossed your mind? 

“And he hasn’t said anything about it either?” Felix leaned in. To his side, Minho nudged his arm in the most non-obvious way possible. 

“...No?” 

Your heartbeat quickened in pace. 

“Af...after everything that happened back then? Didn’t you say that he like, confessed or something and you did the same? You’ve only been hanging out with eachother for weeks?” Felix pushed his cocoa away from himself to lay his hands flat on the table. 

“I...don’t think that we should press the issue.” Minho patted down the boy sitting next to him. 

It was the feeling that you had been avoiding for weeks: that kind of uncertainty and fear that you had pushed down so far after the night that it all came together, but you didn’t expect it to manifest like this. In your chest a knot tied itself together tightly and in a way that you couldn’t explain. 

“I...just like what's happening right now between us, I didn’t think that he would want--” 

Felix nudged Minho by the hip, motioning for him to let him out of his side of the booth. Minho rolled his eyes, but did so muttering, “I said we shouldn’t press the issue but here you go...” 

Felix slid over to your side of the booth, nearly shoving you up close to the wall with how near he scooched to you. Carefully, he removed the napkin that you had scrunched up into your palm. 

“Relax okay? You’re doing it again. Just calm down.” While his tone was sweet, you couldn’t help but find some condescending edge--real or not. 

“Doing what? I don’t think that I’m doing anything wrong??” 

Felix let you squeeze his hand tight, as patient as ever. 

“Do you not want him to be your boyfriend?” He repeated. “But he treats you so nicely? There’s nothing to worry about.” 

At first you were angry at yourself, angry at yourself for feeling the hot tears well up in your eyes in public, 

I’m so fucking pathetic. 

Secondly, you were furious at yourself for feeling anything less than the happiness that had made up your whole world for the past few weeks. You had worked so hard just to make something that made sense, and he made sense. Why did it have to be much more complicated than that? 

“Y/n?” Felix bowed his head down with his softening gaze. 

“F-Felix, I don’t want to talk about it.” 

“I’m just trying to understand so I can help you out with this. Clearly there’s something that’s upsetting you about, I don’t know, putting a label on it? If that’s the right word--” 

Minho sucked at his teeth, “He’s too nice to say that you’re self sabotaging again. Listen, you don’t have to have the answers right now, we’re just saying you’re getting in your own way at having something that could be really great.” 

Felix shot daggers in Minho’s direction. 

“I wasn’t gonna say this, but Bin’s been going through shit right now with his family that I’m sure he isn’t telling you about. Someone tipped them off about what he’s been doing and they’re furious. He’s been telling them that no one knows that he’s tied to them when he raps but they aren’t listening. Literally when he goes to see you it’s like, what’s helping him forget all that shit. He cares about you a fuck ton, and I’ve heard about it all. He wants you to be his girlfriend. Believe me. Don’t know why he hasn’t brought it up yet, but...” 

Felix took in a shaky breath, then turned his attention back to you. “Besides all that, I think that you should at least talk to him about this all. I had no idea that you felt this way. I’m sorry for making assumptions. At least, if you and him talk about it, you can figure something out right?” 

You took at the papery and crinkled napkin and dabbed it harshly on your eyes to dry your tears before they had a chance to run further down your face. 

“Why the fuck doesn’t he tell me anything?” Your voice wavered. 

Minho folded his hands on the table. “Knowing him, he probably thinks that it would be burdening to you. Selfless dick. He thinks that putting that shit on you somehow makes him seem like a handful or some shit.” 

“B-but I don’t feel that way?” 

“Then tell him!!” Felix’s volume rose. “When you talk to him, tell him that.” 

“What the fuck is this, a drama?” Minho laughed a little. “These communication skills are god-awful.” 

“Oh fuck off Minho,” Felix rubbed your back to soothe you. “This is real life, and we’re here to help out Y/n.” 

“That’s fuck off Minho-hyung to you.” The older boy stuck out his tongue. 

You wiped your nose against your hand, then Minho threw another napkin from the holder in your direction. 

“I promise that things will get better when you talk to him.” Felix nodded. “Talking always helps.” 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

Thursday afternoon came, and the forecast had called for snow, but none had come. Rather, the atmosphere had turned to be dreary and grey the whole day long, and the temperature dropped so low that some local schools had to cancel classes for the day. Your university had decided to do the same. While you had been thankful and decided to spend the day working on your various projects, you couldn’t bring your hand to the canvas. 

All day long you had spent figuring out what it really was that you wanted to say to Changbin, and you still hadn’t figured it out yet. Even you didn’t know what it was entirely that scared you deeply. But, you knew that somewhere you did. 

Why her? 

You could do better. 

Isn’t she...boring? 

You hugged your legs to yourself as you waited on your couch. The memories seeped into your brain like some kind of poison diffusing its way. 

No, no. You’re wrong. You tried your best to banish them. 

You’re all mine. No one else’s. Don’t you ever forget that. Tell me. Who’s baby are you? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, and dug your nails into the fleshy part of your knees where you held them. 

You don’t own me. You don’t have the fucking power. 

Three knocks clicked at your door, and you knew that it was Changbin. Your chest shook with a type of anxiety that felt like prickling thorns. You rose to open the door. 

“Fuck. It’s so freezing out there.” Was the first thing that he said. “I wouldn’t mind not having to go back out there if you are?” He slung his coat over one of chairs to your two person dining table. As soon as he was undressed, you were overcome with the desire to be as close as possible as you could get to him. It had been your safe place. 

Changbin let out a little surprised noise when you launched your body at him, but he just as quickly held you back firmly. 

“Is everything okay?” 

For a moment you let his rosemary and cedarwood cast aside all the ideas and words that ate away at you. 

“Can we talk?” You mumbled. 

“Yeah, of course. Can we sit down? Get a blanket maybe?” You nodded and let him do the work of going back to your room to get back your knit blanket that he knew you liked best. He threw it over his shoulders them beckoned you to join him in his arms. You snuggled right up into his chest where he had tucked himself into the corner of the couch. “Want to talk about it now?” 

With glistening eyes you tried your best to look up at him. His cheeks were still bitten pink from the cold. 

“Why didn’t you ever tell me about your parents? Or about what’s going on right now?” 

Changbin sighed and bit at his lower lip in his discontent. “Minho said something didn’t he?” 

“You can tell me, you know?” 

Changbin shook his head. “It’s not your problem to worry about, so I don’t want you do.” 

“But you’re my problem to worry about. Don’t you get that?” 

He sighed once more, then rested his head atop of yours. Where he held you around your arms, he rubbed gently.  

“And if...being with me helps you...I’ll come around anytime alright? You don’t just have to come here.” 

He laughed a little. “My place isn’t as private as yours is.” 

You toyed with the fraying fabric of the blanket. “You know that I can be quiet if I need to be. Or if you just want me to sleep over, I can do that too.” 

“I don’t want you going out of your way--” 

“--I don’t mind.” You nuzzled a little deeper. “So, your parents are giving you a hard time?” 

He tsked. “Yeah. It’s just...stupid is all. They care so much about what I do and don’t do when I left so it wouldn’t bother them. They’re trying hand out some kind of threats to me like they have the right to do so....they don’t.” 

“What are you going to do?” 

Changbin helped you up a bit higher up his body so your head could rest on his shoulder. “Nothing. Keep doing what I’ve always been. No one knows except the people I have closest to me. They’re worrying over nothing.” 

You formed a “oh” with your lips. 

“But, it’s nothing to worry about. I promise.” 

Already, you had forgotten what you really had decided to talk to him about. It had slipped from your mind just as quickly as you had let it arise. The two of you grew quiet, and you let yourself become overcome with the feeling and warmth that his body and the blanket gave to you. You wondered if he would’ve gotten mad if you had fallen asleep just then. It didn’t seem like the worst idea.

“As long as we’re talking about things, do you mind if I ask you something?” Changbin asked after planting a small kiss on your forehead. 

“What’s that?” You said with a sleepy and cracking voice. 

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but I just thought it would be worth it to ask, since we’ve been doing you know, this, for a few weeks now. You already know how I feel about you, I think that I’ve made it pretty damn clear, but, I was thinking that we could make things exclusive between us? Like, it just becomes me and you?” 

Drip by drip, the drowsiness that had swept over your eyes dissipated. 

“Would you be up for that? I just, it seems a bit odd to me that we haven’t talked about it yet considering...well, I think that it would be easier if we knew what we were so then we could, I don’t know, plan or something like that? It’s kind of a commitment, I know, but I want you to know that I’m willing--” 

“Bin...” You pulled yourself up from his chest. 

“What? Why are you looking at me like that? Did-did I say something wrong?” 

Who’s baby are you? 

“You want me to...be yours?” 

“Well, not exactly, you know what I’ve said before, but, I would like you to be my girlfriend--” 

A sob clogged your throat. Now that he had finally said it, the realizations came flooding over you like the deathly winter chill. 

“Angel, are you scared again? I told you that you don’t have to with me, I swear that I don’t ever want to hurt you or anything like what happ--” 

“--Like happened what? Back when I was so fucking stupid to get myself locked up in something that I thought would be good for me? Why is it that you want me to be your girlfriend, huh? I-is it because I-I fall over for you? I can’t run away from you? Am-am I just a good fuck for you? What is it?” 

“What the fuck? Where is this coming from? Y/n, you know that I love you, I fucking love you like crazy and I don’t think any of those things!! I’m not trying to restrain you our use you or anything like that, I don’t know why the hell you would think that!” 

“B-because you might not now, but what about later down the line...when I get boring or you figure out that I’m not as exciting like I used to be or--” 

“--What?! No! That’s not gonna happen!” Changbin reached out to pull you back into his arms, but you shook him off. 

Salty tears filled the corners of your mouth. “The last time that I-I did something like this, I--” 

“--Well this isn’t last time, this is this time, okay? It’s different! I swear to God that I’m not that fucking asshole. I get that you’re scared, okay, that’s totally understandable, but I’m asking you to trust me alright? Can you trust me?” 

Part of you wanted to trust him. In fact, a much larger part of yourself wanted to trust him so bad, it hurt. But, a smaller part of you, a much smaller part of you still screamed into the abyss that he was the last person in the world that you could trust; and that voice, was much louder. 

“I want you to be my girlfriend, and I want to give you everything that I have. All my fucking time, my attention, hell, just minutes ago you said that I was your problem, can’t you be mine? Is that not allowed? I’m just...I DON’T get you!!!” Changbin growled out the tail end of his sentence and only after he had said it he realized it was much louder than he intended. “Oh God, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean...please. I’m not mad at you.” 

Your body had weakened, so when he had reached out for you, you let yourself fall into his arms. 

“Angel, can’t you see that what I’m trying to do is the complete opposite of what you think I am? Yeah I mean, it would be nice to call you my girlfriend, but not because I’m trying to control you or anything, but because...fuck, you make me happier, made me feel like I’m less lonely in this fucking crazy-ass world. I want to be that for you and you only.” 

Poisonous thoughts. Why were they even more alluring than the antidote that you had right in front of your face? 

Your limp body mustered up the strength of push yourself off his chest. Looking into his eyes you felt numb. With all the care that he held for you, you felt as if you didn’t deserve one single ounce of it. 

Why her?  

You figured that in some parallel earth, you would’ve been able to have said yes. In that parallel earth, nothing bad would’ve ever happened, and you wouldn’t have been crouched in that alley with snow melting into your dress. You would’ve lived a normal life without pain and doubt. Maybe you would’ve met him there too, and you would’ve been able to say yes. 

“You...don’t have to have the answer right now, but can you please consider it...for me? I meant everything that I said, but I...I also can’t wait forever.” You heard his voice grow thick. “I know that if...you can’t do it, or iff you don’t know, then I can’t just make it happen. There’s not a lot else that I can do. But at least I want to try.” 

You could do better. 

“I-I think that I need to be alone...right now--tonight.” Two more hot tears fell down your cheeks with a sting like a papercut. 

“Right now?” 

“Yeah, just--there’s things that I need to think about, I don’t..I don’t know. I’m sorry.” 

“No. I understand.” Changbin sniffled. 

Slowly, your two bodies seperated, and the heat from his body faded. You thought to yourself, it wasn’t yours to keep in the first place. 

You lead him quietly to the door where you watched him lace up his shoes and throw on his coat. His eyes had become puffy, as much as you figured you had looked as well. His grey eyes looked tired, just like the dreary day that you had spent all day hiding from. Still, he smiled. 

“Y/n. I know that you think that you’re hard to love. But you’re not. If you take away anything from this, I hope you know that your past doesn’t define you, and that you can have happiness after it all. I want to be that for you. If you’ll let me. Only if you’ll let me.” 

Your clogged nose made a horrible stuffed sound and you nodded. You had listened to his words, but had you heard? 

He sighed with finality, then bent down to kiss at the salty taste on your lips. 

“Call me, okay?” 

You closed the door after him, then collapsed down the door. Your pent up sobs flew out of your chest with loud and ugly sounding sobs. Each one hurt more than the last to get out. You crumbled against the wood door, and didn’t even mind the cool draft from under the crack. Your world became a blur in front of your watery eyes and your hands shook as they took your phone from your pocket. 

Words of self loathing filled your ears as you searched up the name, but it was the only one that you could think of in your blind emptiness. 

If only things could go back to the way that they were. 

╚ ——————————————— ╝

The walk to his apartment was cold, freezing even. You had worn the shoes that you had been scolded for, and the coat that provided you with barely any warmth. You knew the way to his apartment well--it was almost muscle memory by now. Streetlights passed you overhead, and finally the snow that was promised started to drift from the heavens and before you. 

Your hands cracked with the cold when you pushed the button to his intercom, and he buzzed you in without saying a word. You showed yourself up the staircase with empty sounding footsteps echoing against the walls. Your eyes had welled with tears once you reached his floor, but you blinked them away harshly. It was a futile attempt considering that he would see how red your eyes had become. 

His door was cracked with old paint, and the number had been scratched off with age. You knocked one time, no more than that. Somewhere a tiny voice had hoped that he wouldn’t hear the knock at all, and figure that you hadn’t even come up, and that you could quietly slip back away. 

But he didn’t. He must’ve been waiting. 

He too looked to be a mess: his cheeks and eyes had puffed up and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. He wore minimal clothing that hung loosely on his frame. 

“--Jisung--” 

Before you could say any more, he had leapt into you, and wrapped his arms around you so tightly that he could’ve rid you of all your breath. 

“Baby, thank you so much for coming. Thank you so much. I’m sorry how I acted at the concert. I just missed you so much....I missed you so much.” 

[calehenituseappreciation]

i hc wilbur made tommy president because he planned to go and press the button while tommy spoke and kill him along with himself

wilbur wanted end all his unfinished symphonies and as the person who raised tommy- he raised him like he raised l'manberg. he doesnt care for fundy- not since he denounced him- so he wanted to end him :)

i need a fic where tommy is the one who goes to stop wilbur and wilbur fucking stabs him before pressing the button saying "it was never meant to be" tommy loses both first and last lives to that phrase

tommys last words are it was always meant to be fucking wilbur survives the explosion and has no one to kill him and now he has to live with the consqunces tommy becomes toast- short for ghost tommy i refuse to write so many letters each time- and immeditly looks for his older brothers and he finds wilbur first :) wilbur is exiled for his crimes and also out of fear- they tried to rehabilate him! they really did but then he freaked out over seeing toast... in a bad way.... and he and toast burned georges house on toast suggest (maybe we should burn something! that always helps me calm down!) this is after wilbur is trusted enough to be not... in a prison... after phil convinced them he needs help and toast tries his best ok- (WHO LEFT WILBUR WITH TOAST!) (I THOUGHT IT WAS A GOOD IDEA AT THE TIME! I WAS ONLY LEAVING FOR FIVE MINUTES! AND RANBOO WAS THERE TOO!) and toast tries to go with but everyone is like "yeah no" and toast is like "whhhhyyy i just wanna stay with wilby!" and everytime anyone tries to tell tommy about the wrongs that have happened to him he screams and clutches his head in pain and everytime he comes back he doesnt remember the convo toast,,, is the most BABY toast calls everyone cutesy nicknames unironcially he calls eret rere toast, chriping happily: TECHIE!!!! tubbo: TOMMY STAY AWAY FROM HIM! toast, in a very lost and confused voice: why? techno, freaking out: tommy? toast: hi!!!!!!! im toast!!!!!! :D techno: lowkey ab to cry toast: NOOOOOOOO DUN CRI! toast: there there techie... i know what will help! tubbo, sighing: arson? toast: ARSON! phil comes just in time to find tommys dead body and l'manberg gone hes not around for the withers neither hes there just to see the crater and wilbur in chains with blood on his hands trying to off himself phil will forever blame himself for not making it in time :> dream: taking wilbur away in boat toast, floating behind the boat: o^o dream do you have any games on your phone .///^///. looks at exileinnit hmmm spins roulette wheel who should i hurt... i picked d all of the above they dont let toast go with him but because he is baby and you can't tell him what to do tubbo: sighs finally now that the exiles done toast can you- tubbo: looks up tubbo: GOADDAMN IT

toast is promptly kidnapped back to l'manberg the next day toast keeps going back tho and no one understands why- he literally killed him! why does he keep wanting to go back! (toasts unfinished buisness keeping him tied was helping wilbur and l'manberg- he loved wilbur even at his worst)

toast vibes around everyone but he stays with wilbur- where ever wilbur goes is where he builds his home

its shitty but its an 'ome Toast, teary eyed: Dad? Why does everyone hate Wilby? Why can't I be with him... Phil, with no idea what to do: niki bakes cakes with niki whenever hes in l'manberg he keeps accidently setting her bakery on fire but hes sMOL AND GIGGLES A LOT AND HE HAS FLOUR ON HE GODDAMN SELF toast is a part of mexican l'manberg i dont make the rules mexican dream: AYYYYYYYYY HOMIE toast, giggling: 'OMIE!!!!!

Toast is wholesome while everyone is literally willing to murder Wilbur while also trying to stop him from khs toast is just a very happy lovely child and cries whenever anyone is mean to 'his big brother wilby!' and so they all constantly glare daggers over toasts shoulder wherenever he cant see em meanwhile Phil is just dying inside because Tommy is a ghost by Wilbur's hands and Wilbur keeps trying to commit suicide and oh god what is he supposed to do- he simply avoids this struggle by avoiding them toast, waddling up to philza: papa do you have any games on your phone? all im saying is that tommy called phil papa before changing to dad or fathercraft phil,in the tired parent voice: tommy please sit down- just for five minutes- at least for 5 minutes toast: sits down and then proceeds to struggle to continue to sit but he must because dad told him to toast is just ADHD incarnate wilbur, trying to end himself: im gonna escape my consequences toast: HI!!!!! :D wilbur: FUCK ITS MY CONSEQUENCES toast,,,, is so baby Wilbur is just not allowed to have anything remotely sharp i like how theres so much angst and im just hyper focusing on ba yby dream uses toast the same way he uses ghostbur! :D toast doesnt realize of course even after wilbur tells him dream is bad but he keeps forgetting!!! Everyone: da baby Dream: how can I profit from this oh dream is manipulating wilbur btw wilbur: suffering toast: i made you a card toast trusts eret wholeheartedly and this hurts eret because she knows if toast remembered he probably wouldnt- they wanted redemption but not like this- not because of death Toast: you look cool Toast: you are friend now Eret: sobs I don't deserve this Toast: what did I do wrong Toast: how can I help friend!!!!! Eret: sobbing more toast looks at everyone says "ah! friend shaped!" if ur wondering wheres the angst toast is the angst- toast is just tommy without any bad memories and hes so different they thought he was happy before they thought he was fine tommy was hurt too but since he internalized it no one cared toast sees wilbur being sad and goes! i know what will help! n-not arson tho people dont like arson when you do it.... BUT ITS OKAY! I BROUGHT A FRIEND! shows friend, the sheep and wilbur just fucking sobs Toast is wholesome chaotic in a perfect mix- toast is tommy but without the 'asshole on purpose as a self defense mechanism" someone mentioned something about Tommy masking insecurities once Toast doesn't remember. and he's fine with that he doesn't have any insecurities toast hurts because in retrospect toast, meeting bad: WOAAAAAAH! YOU LOOK SO FUCKING COOL! bad: LANGUAGE! toast, cringing back, looking at the ground: ..sorry :( bad: ...you can swear toast: :D bad: once toast hasnt sworn since "hes saving it for special occasions" sometimes he accidently swears and immedtly gasps and looks at bad and bad just sighs and is like "its okay it was an accident" bad never would have thought itd take letting tommy swear for him to stop huh... its almost like... hes a child.... and the negetive reienforcement.... was doing more harm then good.... toast: exists in an amount of happiness no one has ever seen him in before everyone: pain how much pain was tommy in before? they thought tommy was happy- was... was he not happy? he's so unabashedly joyful and energetic looking back they can see how forced every laugh felt, every smile- He's not afraid to just talk to people, make new friends he became so much more cautious after Eret, had it really effected him that badly? He's open. He never lies about how he's feeling, never brushes anything away how much was Tommy hiding, how much pain, how much fear- It's chilling. bone chilling. There's no way to fix what's been lost. No way to apologize to who Tommy used to be, to try and make it better. None of them every bothered to see him as anything more than a nuisance, an annoying child or cannon fodder and they'll regret it for the rest of their lives everyone: having a mental crisis toast: GUYYYYSS!! I MADE ANOTHER FRIEND!!!

"Wilby?" Wilbur heard Tommys voice say in an innocent tone.

Was he hearing things? Tommy's dead. He killed him himself.

"Wilby why are you in prison?" The image of his little brother asked, "Did you commit arson without me?" it asked in a pout.

"TOMMY!" Tubbo yelled running into the cell where Wilbur was kept, going through the bars with ease, "Tommy get away from him!"

"But 'ubbo!!!! Wilby is 'ere!!!!" Tommy (?) said with a smile Wilbur hadn't seen since Tommy was a child.

"Tommy, I understand you don't remember anything right now but you need to come back over here!" Tubbo demanded and Tommy flinched

Wilbur was struck with the sudden realization that this isn't just his mind- no no it can't be- but Tubbo acknowledged him he has to- Wilbur reached his locked hands towards Tommy only for him to pass through him. What? No no it was just his imagination that makes sense.

"Oh sorry Wil! I'm kinda dead! I don't remember how i died... but i think im a ghostie!" Tommy said plainly, floating off the floor. Wilbur looked at him in confusion. Whats happening?

the first time toast sees the crater toast srceams in intense amount of pain- its so loud you can hear it all over the smp- and just dissapears for a few days before reappearing with no memories of what happened toast saying things tommy thought but never said- he calls eret "big brother" and eret fucking d i e s toast cals all the l'manbergians older siblings He's far too honest for anyone to handle tommy was always honest too but he learned from experince that honesty only lead to hurt Tommy was like an enderchest, you could never see beyond the exterior, everything inside was exclusive to him and him alone Toast is like when someone dies and all their fuckin items explode onto the ground. you just see everything and most of it was  pain and everyone feels bad because they thought he was the only one uneffected that nothing had ever put a damper on his happiness and energetic smile- at what point had that smile became fake? also for angst reasons the last memory toast has is before the elections toast has uwu boy vibes but more chaotic toast goes to dream smp from logstedshire purely for sam nook toast starts making his hotel since he sees nobody has a home (including dream LMAO) (and he wants to make a safe place since everyone keeps saying something about war) and wants to make one and asks sam for help since apparently hes good at building and sam lets him pay after he finishs the hotel and sam nook is there since day one because i dont think i could handle a world without sam nook toast: biting everyone tubbo: wHY DO YOU DO THAT?????? toast: once techie bit all the cupcakes and then said it was his cuz he bit it so im biting everyone to show their mine!!!!! tubbo: i- tubbo: i am both flattered and disgusted everyone, remembering how tommy used to bite everyone upon meeting and then everyone would get mad at him and yell at him until he stopped biting people on meeting: sadly whips and nae naes hes a BABY toast deserves the fucking world also i havent talked ab it but there is wilbur and fundy angst here fundy confronts wilbur also not that fundy is angry about not not not getting murdered by his father but also why does he consider tommy his unfinished sympohny and not him? he raised fundy too- maybe he just only ever loved tommy (based off his insecurity of how close wilbur and tommy are based off wilbur raising tommy and wilbur only being there for fundy by the time he was older and also using hybrid age go nyoom for this dream manipulates toast during wilburs exile along with wilbur and toast realizes both of them were being used by him and fucking screams lourder than he ever has before and dissapears for a week and then shows up at technos house (he got lost and he didnt know why he was at logsted shire- he doesnt remember the place) on the day of the excution and tries to help technoblade but keeps forgetting that everyone is trying to kill techno the butcher army is hesitant when "hey why are you all attacking big brother Techy-" "HE SPAWNED WITHERS IN L'MANBERG!" "he did?" toast asked tilting his head in confusion "YES! HE DID! AFTER YOU DIED! NOW WHERE IS HE TOAST! WE NEED TO CAPTURE HIM!" whenever tubbo talks ab how theyre planning on excuting techno or how there was no trial toast has flashbacks to tubbos excution but hes never able to hold on to the memories just leaving him feeling bad toast sees anything traumatic and just makes the blue screen noise toast has to reboot every time anything truamatic happens and when he does he doesnt remember what happens after

toast hurts on a "THE FUCKING IMPLICATIONS OF THIS" level just.. everyone trying to make up for not noticing tommys hurt and trying to be good to toast when its already too late... far too late glatt is also here because whenever ytoast dissapears after something trauamtic he bounces back to the land of the dead for the bit and sometimes he drags glatt out to the land of the living with him only works bc toast has unfinished buisness so he can freely go between and just stays in the land of the lving until he can finish his unfiinshed buisness ghostbur and toast wouldve been good friends if they ever met anyone yells at toast and he immeditly starts sobbing

basically when everything is calm and peaceful and everyone is happy together after dream is in prison and toast is like "oh... this is what ive always wanted"

"toast?" tubbo asked, confused toast smiled softly, "i think its time for me to go" "what?" wilbur asked his pitch unusually high due to the fear lacing his voice "i think... i think this was my unfinished buisness... this is the last thing i wanted when i was alive, the reason i stayed... i think its finally my time to go now" toast said smiling tearfully "no! you vcan't go! we just got you back!"

basically when everything is finally ok, when things finally calm down toast fades back to the void/afterlife thing

[choco-glow]

Fall Like Rain On Sunday, Pt. 10

Jason woke up around five am, bleary and in a tangle of blankets again from yet another nightmare…Sweat-soaked, he peeled himself out of his bed with a grimace and stripped first himself, then the bed, tossing everything into his washing machine before turning on the shower and stepping inside. Lukewarm woke him up a little better than hot right now, and felt better on his scarred skin; he leaned heavily against the tile, head tipped back as his waterfall nozzle rained down on him. The familiar sound of the washer going was a comfort, and piece by piece, he brought himself back to the present, breathing slowly, evenly, just as Bruce had taught him all those years ago…

“…Fuck.” He sighed out, and started washing up, glad for the indie shop he supported down the street that made its own soaps, shampoos, and conditioners. They were bar form, of course, but the natural scents helped ground him…anything heavily chemically scented was too triggering, too much like the factory he’d died in. A lot of things triggered that…tannerite, for one, which was why in all his varied explosions, he’d only ever used C4. Iron…He unconsciously touched the cheekbone that Talia had had her surgeons rebuild, for even the Pit couldn’t do everything. Not on a body that had been so badly brutalized that it’d been a closed casket funeral…

“Knock it off, Todd.” He growled out to himself, scrubbing furiously now. Fuckin’ don’t go down that path again, Jason…you know where it leads. Besides, you promised you’d make waffles this morning. Can’t leave a lady waiting. Steph’s smile filled his mind, and Jason relaxed, as he had for months now around his Batgirl…and he felt a tiny smile tug at his lips. He didn’t have a waffle iron; he rarely did more than griddle cakes, eggs, and bacon for himself, and that’s when he felt like cooking, so it was a good thing he’d woken up before his alarm; he had time to run to the nearest Lux-Mart. He finished his shower, relaxed now, and other than rescuing his book from the floor and setting it on his nightstand, left his bed to airdry for a while; he’d learned that lesson the hard way.

Dark jeans, boxer-briefs, a soft tee shirt, socks, his boots, and a hoodie, and he was ready to brave the pre-dawn crowds. He twirled his keys on one finger as he made his way down the stairs to his garage, and side-stepped the engine for Roy’s Corvette, unlocking the truck and opening the door with a flick of a button. It was dark still; small wonder, it was just barely five forty-five, and the sun wouldn’t be up for another hour or so…the garage door slid closed behind him with a whisper, and Jason set out for the Lux-Mart, following the main roads this morning, since they weren’t clogged yet by the early morning commuters. A few early birds passed him, and he waved at the Batmobile as they both continued on out of the city, since the nearest of Lux Luthor’s monster all-in-one stores was in the suburbs on the mainland.

Jason’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on the dash with a grin, glad for his blue-tooth dashboard connection.

“Hey Pops.”

“I thought that was you, Jason…what has you out so early?” Bruce’s voice was warm, exhausted, but for once, actually pretty damned friendly, and Jason hummed a little, smirking to see the ‘mobile keeping pace with him.

“Well, I promised I’d bring Steph waffles this morning as incentive to get her homework done…and then I realized I didn’t have a waffle iron.” Bruce laughed at that, low and surprisingly genuine, while he heard a squawk from Tim. Now, he didn’t…completely hate his replacement in the Robin line-up; certainly, he adored Steph and Damian. But Tim was…well, everything that Jason hadn’t ever been, and Jason was still too aware of how similar Tim and Bruce really were. Dick had commented on it, last time he’d come up from Bludhaven, and if Dick could see it…well. Jason still felt like he’d been the downgrade from Dick, and that Tim was the super upgrade.

It wasn’t true…but emotions could be ugly, ugly things.

And Tim had stolen his ex-girlfriend’s waffles.

“Well then, that makes complete sense…do you two need anything from us? We had a busy night dealing with Boyle again.” Jason winced; Ferris Boyle had been a problem since Bruce’s early days, even before Dick, and Jason hated the man almost as much as he hated Joker. Totally aside from how he’d fucked up Victor Fries, his actions regarding Nora had been absolutely appalling. He wanted custody of her so that he could experiment on her…and since Victor is now a supervillain…goddamn, I’m glad Bruce was able to win custody of her.

“Bastard…was he after Nora again?”

“And Victor. We convinced Fries to come back to Wayne Inc. and talk to us about Nora’s future; we’ve made some serious progress towards a cure, and with his research, we might just have what we need. And I’ve been working on something to help him as well…But we can talk about it later.” A yawn broke his sentence, and Jason smiled fondly.

“Go home, Pops; Steph and I will take patrol tonight. You two take the night off.”

“…Thank you, Jason. I really appreciate it; Damian and Tim do too.”

“Yes, thank you, akhi.” Damian’s voice was softer over the phone, tired, and Jason smiled, though he grit his teeth when Tim spoke up.

“Sure, thanks Hood. Hope you two actually get some patrolling done, and don’t just make out on a roof.”

“…Well, Timmy, I’m quite certain we’ll keep our professionalism at the fore. After all, we wouldn’t want to attract undue attention…like Kon did the other night.” Jason responded, voice sickeningly sweet as Tim choked over the phone call, and Bruce made an inquisitive noise.

“We were going over tactical plans!”

“Tim, I’m sure it’s fine.” Bruce’s voice was gentle, but curious, and Jason felt his grin stretch to maniacal proportions.

“Oh, of course you were! Silly ol’ me, ‘tactical plans’, of course! Must’ve been wall plans!” Jason replied sweetly, and Tim choked again, a strangled noise coming over the line. Bruce snorted suddenly, clearly understanding now, and Damian just sighed; Jason could almost hear his eyes rolling.

“Drake, do not give Todd grief for kissing; we all know you regularly have intercourse with Kon-El.” Tim’s voice was pitched even higher now, babbling as Bruce snorted again, clearly holding back laughter, and Jason snickered.

“Damian, Lil D, I want you to know how much I love you right now.”

“As I love and cherish you, akhi. Please do tell Grayson this.”

“DO NOT TELL DICK ANYTHING, JASON, I SWEAR TO GOD.”

“Then don’t steal Stephie’s waffles again, and I won’t~” He purred, and Tim let out a heavy sigh.

“…I apologize to her later.”

“So good to work with you, Tim, it’s just such a pleasure!”

“God, I hate you sometimes.” Bruce was laughing now, deep and highly amused, and Jason gave the ‘mobile a salute as he turned off towards the Lux-Mart, still snickering.

“Love you too, Timmy; good night, you three, I’m off to waffle-maker hunt.”

“Love you too, Jay; good luck! And tell Steph we love her too for me, will you?” Bruce asked, over the other twos’ groaning, and Jason chuckled.

“Of course, Pops. See ya.”

“See you.” The call winked out, and Jason pulled into the Lux-Mart, still grinning. He grabbed up his phone, double checked his wallet, and headed into the store, grabbing a cart. He didn’t want to buy a ton of stuff…but he knew he’d need more room than a basket. Appliances first; he grabbed a waffle-maker, one with interchangeable plates, and from the small selection, picked a Millennium Falcon and an Eevee (both for Steph), since they’d traded favorite Pokémon a few weeks ago, then favorite films. He was always looking for Pride and Prejudice/Sense and Sensibility stuff, or even just basic literary things, but hey, he liked Eevee too (even if his favorite was still Rapidash), and Star Wars was a familiar favorite from his childhood.

From there, he grabbed utensils that he knew he didn’t have, then a few things from pharmacy to cover his personal stores for the week. Bandages, wraps, gauze, alcohol…all the usual stuff, and then he made his way to the grocery area, where things were getting a little bit busier. Two boxes of waffle/pancake mix, maple syrup, and a carton of eggs; a package of bacon made the cut too, as did a gallon of milk, a bottle of his favorite fancy protein juice smoothie, and as he made his way into the produce section, a bag each of blackberries, raspberries, and blueberries. He also got a couple apples, good for a snack as well as baking into the batter, and a pair of pomegranates. Bananas too, just as small bunch, and a small tub of butter.

On a whim, he also grabbed sugary snacks for later, mostly Hostess cakes and some Little Debbie stuff, and a big bag of Chex Mix; not healthy, no, but they held up to patrols well, and he’d gone hungry too many nights to ever feel good about not having food around. Besides…his stay in the Lazarus Pit hadn’t just accelerated his healing factor…it’d forced his metabolism onto a higher level, and now he could almost match Kon pound for pound with food. He also grabbed some pizzas; just in case, he liked to have them. Checking his watch, Jason bit off a swear; it was seven am already, and it was easily a half-hour drive back into Gotham.

He got through self checkout with ease, and hauled his finds out of the store, leaving the cart at the entrance and legging it to his truck. To his surprise, clouds that hadn’t been visible in the darkness were rolling over the whole of Gotham City, heavy thunder rumbling out on the ocean, and in the low light from the rising sun, he made a few quick calculations. He had just enough time to get back to the city before the rain really started; he loaded up his backseat and tore ass out of the parking lot, hopping on the freeway in record time. He glanced around, confused at the lack of cars…then laughed to himself.

Of course it was empty; it was Sunday. I think I’m getting to love Sundays now…Jason thought to himself as he gunned it back to Steph’s place, settling back for the drive with a sigh. Just then, the familiar strains of ‘Home’ came onto the radio, and Jason grinned, then started singing along.

“I’m goin’ home…to the place where I belong…”

[bloodyspade0000]

Generation of Miracles || Chapter Three of isn't it lovely?

Shougo always thought he could do everything on his own and never bothered asking for help. Until things get out of hand and he ends up getting hurt badly. Giving him no choice to suck it up and ask for help. Even if it's from the Generation Of Miracles. Now, they got no choice to pick up broken pieces and forgive the past.

Chap 1, Chap 2

A/N: I decided to post only the first three chapters of isn't lovely on here since it's on ao3.

Trigger Warning: mild gore

[Ao3 link]

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

↓

It was a normal day with calm blue skies above; a silent breeze blew through the air as Daiki walked, heading over to Ryouta's house for a sleepover without any worries.

Until he turned a corner, and a barely perceptible sound from beside him made him stop in his tracks. He didn't know what he expected. A stray cat? Or maybe a homeless person?

But, definitely not Haizaki Shougo of all people sitting on the ground.

And for some reason, Daiki approached him even though some internal part of him told him he should leave Shougo and pretend he didn't see him.

Yet, he didn't.

His feet kept moving as if they were moths drawn to a flame, propelling until he stood above him.

Shougo lifted his head, and their eyes met. A characteristic scowl appeared on his face. But it didn't reach his eyes. They weren't filled with the usual fiery rage that scorched everything it touched. They were lifeless. "You," He growled. "Why the fuck are you here? "

"Could ask you the same," Daiki grunted, bending down and looking him over. Shougo's face was flushed, his brows furrowed together, and he was so pale it made the blood and the bruises on his face stand out in a far harsher contrast. His fingers were wrapped in bandages and Daiki swore if he were to lift Shougo's shirt, he would find more. "Did you get into a fight?"

"What the fuck do you think?" Shougo spat, going with the lie he always told. But, was sometimes true.

"Do you need help?" Daiki asked even though he knew getting involved with Shougo would end up badly. Especially since the last time they saw each other, it ended up with Daiki punching him in the face.

"You? Help me?" Shougo threw his head back and laughed. "Yeah, right! I don't fuckin' need help from someone like you. So, scram!"

Daiki frowned. "Hai—"

"Why the fuck do you even care?" Shougo said. "Last time I fuckin' checked you hate my fuckin' guts."

Shougo was right. Why did he care?

Daiki tried telling himself it was because he was surprised to find Shougo so hurt since after every fight, Shougo usually ended up with a few scrapes and bruises. Sure, he might have broken a few bones—

Yeah, that wouldn't work.

It was just for some reason, even though he disliked Shougo. He still somewhat cared about him. Maybe even a little.

And—

"Look—"

"Hey, there you are, Aominecchi!" The familiar sound of Ryouta's voice called out from behind. Daiki turned and saw the rest of The Generation of Miracles.

"Well, ain't this fuckin' great," Shougo sneered, getting their attention. "It's the Generation of fuckin' Morons."

"Shougo-Kun?" And before Ryouta or the rest could get a good look at him. Daiki stood up, blocking their view of Shougo.

He offered him a hand. "I'm not asking how you feel," Daiki told him. "If I tell you I'm going to help you, I'm going to help you."

"And I already fuckin' told ya, I don't fuckin' need your help," Shougo snapped, glaring at him. "So, fuck off."

Daiki's eyes narrowed. "Shou—"

"Fine," Shougo huffed. "Do whatever you want, you stubborn bastard." He glanced away. "I don't care anymore."

He was tired. Tired of arguing. Fighting. Pretending. Everything.

And—

Hey… if he was lucky, Tetsuya could change him too and show him the 'light.'

Shougo snorted at the thought before doubling over and erupting into a loud harsh cackle of laughter.

The Generation of Miracles glanced at Shougo as if he had finally lost it. And maybe he has or—

His remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending him plummeting over the edge and into the darkness.

Hysterical laughter turned into sobs, shaking his frame and threatening to tear him apart from the inside. Shougo fought to reclaim control over his body, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within his chest.

He tried to wipe away the tears. But, he couldn't. He couldn't stop them from falling. Couldn't stop the shaking. Couldn't stop more broken sobs from escaping. He couldn't force them down.

He couldn't force them down like he usually did.

Couldn't. Couldn't. Couldn't stop.

'W—Why?'

Why?

Why couldn't he stop crying?

Why was he…?

'It hurts….'

It hurt. It hurt. It hurt.

F—Fuck.

It hurt so much.

'I—I can't do this anymore,'

L.O.V.E

His breathing was ragged, and gasping as he choked on sobs, clutching his chest.

The walls he so desperately built around himself were crumbling and…

A-And… right in front of The Generation of Miracles.

They didn't move. Didn't know how to react. Except—

Except for Tetsuya, who was already bending down and pulling Shougo into his embrace, rubbing his back and trying his best not to let his own tears fall.

The others looked away. They just thought Shougo was just an asshole.

An asshole who went around picking fights, hurting and stealing. Someone who was filled with violence and rage. The guy who was considered dangerous and maybe a little unhinged.

Expect, he wasn't just all that.

He was a broken kid who probably grew up knowing only violence. Not an ounce of kindness because nobody bothered to get close. Close enough to look him in the eyes and see past all the rage. All the violence and see the pain, the self-loathing and the guilt.

What the Generation of Miracles saw now. What they should have seen a long time ago.

Yet, they hadn't because they never understood him and shut him out instead, like the rest of the world.

They never gave him a chance.

And they felt terrible for not realizing it sooner.

They wanted to fix things.

But could they really. Could they really fix their relationship? Mend, something that no longer existed?

Or maybe they could.

It was never too late for second chances, right?

L.O.V.E

When Shougo couldn't cry anymore. He felt numb and exhausted. He wanted to close his eyes and never open them. Wanted—

"H—Haizaki-Kun….?" Tetsuya spoke, voice shaky and eyes wide with horror as he glanced at the blood on his hands and soaking through Shougo's shirt, staining them both crimson. "… Y—You're bleeding."

"Yeah…" Shougo said, glancing at it blankly. "… I guess so."

It was like he no longer cared. Like he was used to seeing his own blood. Like it didn't bother him anymore. And it didn't.

"Y—You—"

"Tired…" Shougo slurred, exhaustion and blood loss finally taking its toll, dragging him under, closing his eyes sounded like bliss, and maybe when—

"Don't fall asleep," Shintarou told him, pulling Shougo away from Tetsuya, scooping him up, staining his hands with blood as he felt Shougo's feverish body for the first time, lifting his shirt and peeling away blood-soaked bandages.

He didn't know what he expected.

But it wasn't—

Shintarou grimaced, swallowing hard while the others froze, dread falling over them.

Shougo's torso was ripped to shreds, covered in raised angry welts and ragged edges of flesh that wept blood. Scars also littered his body, along with burn marks and bruises that looked more like—

"W—Who would do something like this?" Ryouta whispered in horror, looking away. He felt sick.

"That doesn't matter right now, Ryouta," Seijuurou said, watching as Shintarou brushed away a loose strand of hair from Shougo's burning forehead, gently laying his head on his lap, turning to his battered body. "Frist, we do this."

Within seconds, Shintarou quickly tore up Shougo's clothes, wrapping up some of the more severe wounds to the best of his abilities.

'Just what did you go through, Haizaki?'

"I stopped the bleeding," Shintarou spoke, pushing up his glasses. "But we might need to call an ambulance."

"N—No," Shougo whimpered, trashing weakly in Shinatrou's arms. "Plea… Please, d—don't….c—can't."

"I'm sorry," Shinatrou apologized as more pleas escaped Shougo's lips, begging them not to take him to a hospital and that — "I—"

"It's alright," Daiki stated softly, taking Shougo from Shintarou, picking him up bridal style and cradling him in his arms. "We won't, just hold on, okay?"

Shougo closed his eyes. "Okay…."

Ryouta's house was closer, anyway.

[obaby-me]

Ok how about this, all of the brothers (or Belphie if you can't) reacting to an m/c who died and became a very angry ghost

This was so hard. You gave me an out, and I instead took that as a challenge.  And a helluva fuckin’ challenge it was.

I thought it’d be pretty repetitive if the MC died the same way each time, or haunted each person in the same way.  So I tried to give a variety of scenarios for what an “angry ghost” might do.  Haunt a specific person, haunt a place, and different ways to haunt someone.  Hopefully you at least find it interesting.

Lucifer

You’re screaming.  You’re sobbing.  It’s an echo down the halls, a reminder of his guilt:  Why?

Why wasn’t he there? Why did he let this happen?  Why did it have to be you?

Why, why, why?

Lucifer knows why.

Because he’d scoffed at your warnings.

Because he wouldn’t even consider that anything could happen.  

Because you were his.

And he was Lucifer, the Avatar of Pride.  The first of the seven lords.  None would oppose him.  None would dare.  He so adamantly believed so.

He should have been more careful.  He should have listened.  He should have been there.

He’ll shoulder the burden, just as he has with Lilith.  But there was a small saving grace for his sister.  

There was none for you. And you were resentful, and unforgiving. And you had every right to be.

So, he’ll bear this punishment; he’ll listen to every scream, and he’ll take every hit—because he knows this is what he deserves.  He failed you, and he’s willing to pay for it.

If there’s even a modicum of hope to give you a chance at peace in the afterlife, he’ll do all he can to give it to you.  It’s the least he can do.

Mammon

It hadn’t been anything to do with you.  It shouldn’t have involved you in any way shape or form.  You were an innocent bystander in a dispute between himself and a loan shark.

He was scum, everyone said so.  You’d never thought so.  You defended him when no one else would.

But in your death, he’d proved himself scum.  Proved to you they were right.

It was his fault.  All his fault.  If he could be anything else other than greed incarnate, this wouldn’t have happened.  If he’d never gambled himself away.  If he hadn’t taken that loan.  If he hadn’t then ignored that loan.

If he hadn’t, if he hadn’t, if he hadn’t.  If, if, if.

You’re watching him constantly.  Empty eyes boring holes in him, following him, judging him.  You say nothing, but you communicate to him just fine just how much you hate him.  Just how much you loathe him.  Just as he deserves to be.

Despite the guilt he feels with your presence, despite the way his skin crawls when he sees you hovering around him, he doesn’t want you to leave.  It’s sick, in a way.  But it’s still you after all.  And seeing you is a reminder of what was, what could have been.  And he holds on to that, clings to it.

He hasn’t got anything else.

Leviathan

Levi’s use to being alone. But somehow, it’s lonelier now than it’s ever been before.

There’s a void in him he can’t fill.  No game, no concert, no show, no manga ebbs the pain—the clench in his chest.

For once the excitable avatar is quiet, every so often, quiet sobs choking him until his ducts can’t produce much else.  While he’s always been terrible eating, now it’s nearly non-existent.  It’s only when his brothers demand and watch him eat that he manages to get anything down.

He spends most of him time lying in bed, sleeping because at least then he doesn’t have to feel it anymore.

Yet, there’s no real safety in sleep.  You torment him.  You’re shouting most of the time, though he never understands what you say.  But he doesn’t need to.  He knows what he is.  He knows what he’s failed to do.  He knows you know it too.

Sometimes you only sob, frustration welling up in your eyes, brows knit.  You don’t bother to look at him.  And he thinks that that’s worse than when you’re screaming.

If he could save you, spare you from this, stop your tears, make it so you stopped harboring so much hate, he’d do it in a flash.

He just hasn’t the first clue as to how.

Satan

His brothers are terribly concerned.  There’s been an unusual increase of outbursts, violent and unreasonable. They’ve no idea what has come over him.

None know but him.

You’re uncontrollable, you’re inconsolable, you’re furious—and there’s no one who understands that feeling better than Satan himself.

What they’d done to you was unforgivable.  The way he’d found you, unrecognizable as the bright beacon he’d known you to be, lifeless there on the floor—the rage he felt, indescribable.

You’d always been his much-needed balm.  The one to soothe him, calm his temper, end his tantrums.  All that yet remains of you is your fury, too stubborn to let go.

And now?  Now you were fuel to his fire.  Now you encouraged him to lose himself into his anger.  You whisper into his ears—dark encouragements to indulge in.

He can resist you only for so long before you become demanding.  He’ll appease you with whatever you suggest, letting go and wreaking havoc.  But never enough to satisfy you.  He makes sure to reign it just enough.

You can’t leave him alone again.  He misses you.  He misses you terribly.  But you haven’t left him yet—you’re still here, so long as he holds on, so long as he rages, you’ll be here.

 Asmodeus

Asmo visits the same alley every day.  He brings a flower or two, sometimes a whole bouquet.  It really depends on what the florist has—and he’s sure to bring the best.

It’s dark and it’s damp, and it’s cold and it smells.  It sinks the reality of the horror you must have experienced here deep into his skin; crying out for help, left for dead on the pavement.

Just around the corner used to be a nightclub, one of the liveliest around.  Demons would line up, right down into this very alley for a chance to get in there.

But the club’s since closed down.  Occupied by just one.

Occasionally he’ll see a curious demon or two camped out inside the building, wondering if the rumors are true that a human haunt its walls.

You tend to verify it quickly.  Violently. Sometimes they make it out without injury to more than their pride.  Other times they’re lucky to be alive.

While Asmo doesn’t camp in, he does come to greet you at least once a day.

Sometimes you recognize him. You’re even happy to see him on some days.  Asmo loves those days.  He comes just for those chances, those moments.  He holds on to those and stays for as long as you can hold your sense of self.

But it’s never for very long.

He has to leave quickly. Abandoned remnants of the club become weapons—chairs, tables, shards of broken bottles and windows.

You screech obscenities, you threaten death.  Your form contorts warped by your hatred.  Crawling, oozing, reliving that night where you cried for help, dragging yourself out of the club in attempt to find safety.

You suffer terribly and Asmo wishes desperately to relieve you of it.  But you remember so little, and he has so few leads.

An entire club full of people and not a one remembers a thing—or doesn’t wish to say if they do. But one day he will.  One day you’ll be freed of this.  This he swears.

 Beelzebub

Every week, on routine, Beel goes for a run.  He runs mile after mile until he reaches the fields on the outskirts of the devildom where you were last seen alive.

At 6:57PM exactly, you flicker into existence and he watches as you float on a pre-determined path. You look as if you’re being carried by your arms, and you head moves wildly from side to side, eyes staring into air, but seeing something that causes you fear.  He can see your mouth moving, he knows you’re screaming.  You’re begging.  You’re pleading.

You’re thrown to the ground and you flicker out.  It’s a scene you play out, every week, on time, without fail.  You’re carried away, and thrown to the ground.  These are the final moments of your death.  They’re the only hint he has to know what has happened to you.  

You’ll be back again soon; he only has to wait.  You’re being dragged this time, but to where he has yet to determine.  He has to be quick.  He has to be quiet.  You can’t be alerted or you’ll break from the scene.

But he’s never been able to follow you yet.  There’s always something that interferes.  A branch out of place, an animal that rushes past, another demon camping out nearby.

And then his only lead he has disappears, only to be replaced by a nightmare instead.

The image of your battered, decomposing body rising to confront the distraction, as you screech and wail. You’re terrifying to see, to hear, but the worst is the way you latch on and thrash about, with a strength that tosses even the heaviest set demons to the ground.

It’s a heart wrenching experience every time to see you this way.  It breaks him down, piece by piece; emotionally, physically.  His meals have halved, and his workouts decreased.  He cries more than he sleeps, and he does so little of both these days.

But he comes back every week.  He comes back to try again.  He has to. Your body is out there, somewhere, waiting to be found.

He couldn’t save you then.

But maybe he could save you now.

 Belphegor

The avatar of sleep ironically gets very little these days.  He struggles to stay awake, knowing that the second he falls asleep, he’ll be reliving the nightmare.  Your pleas, your scream, your gasps for air, and that gargle of blood that choked you.

He’s terrified to sleep. And even more terrified of waking up.

When he wakes, he knows you’ll be there.  Hovering just above him, pinning him down with a strength born of your malice.  The lethargic demon who never would want to move now praying he could, but the paralysis you impose would never let him.

You wanted him to see. To remember.

You’ll replay your grief for him, re-enacting your death for him, wailing and begging the way you had in your final moments before quickly fading.  The sleep he used to love you’ve warped into his greatest fear.

Nodding off feels dangerous. Like you’re waiting at the edge of his consciousness for him to drop.

The guilt of what happened was overwhelming, but the exhaustion even more so.

He’ll do anything to make it stop.  If only he had any strength to do so.

[bigskydreaming]

what are your favorite and least favorite tropes in fanfiction regarding dick grayson?

Most of these I feel are probably a given with me given that I am apparently physically incapable of being subtle and am donating my body to science upon my demise so that this phenomenon may be studied. For Science.

(But also like, the funny thing about me is as much as I rant about a few specific topics its only so frequent because there’s actually only a few specific things I gripe about its just that they’re eeeeeeeeeeverywhere.)

Thus, in no particular order, my least favorite Dick Grayson tropes in fanon and in canon because I can’t read apparently OR AT LEAST I CHOOSE NOT TO FOR THE PURPOSES OF THIS EXERCISE, JEEZ, LEAVE ME ALONE....

1) Police officer Dick Grayson

2) Dick hated Jason pre-death and/or judges and is incapable of understanding or empathizing with Jason post-his return

3) Police officer Dick Grayson

4) Dick’s loved ones and friends all making jokes and insults out of the nickname he keeps in memory of his parents and Dick being all like lol this is fine, this isn’t debilitating to my self-esteem at all hahaha oh man that was a good one, I AM a Dickface, you nailed it!

5) Police officer Dick Grayson

6) Dick’s loved ones and friends all punching Dick every time he puts a foot out of place and then everyone both in-universe and in-comments being like NO PROBLEMS DETECTED, and also WOW, CHILL OUT DG, TEMPER MUCH?

7) Police officer Dick Grayson

8) Dick fired Tim and callously kicked him out of his home and the city UMM METHINKS THE FUCK NOT

9) Police officer Dick Grayson

10) Only addressing conflicts between Bruce and Dick when using the framing device “when you think about it though isn’t it still like at least half Dick’s fault that Bruce fired him and kicked him out of his home and hit him and guilt-tripped him into doing what he wanted.”

11) Bonus round - sub Dick Grayson. Like, I barely ever read smut in this fandom because I’m like ‘mmm, no thx and also hard pass’ to rape and incest as fetish or porn, and its like....hard enough to find any mature content with Dick that doesn’t overlap with at least one of those so I just kinda stopped looking ages ago, but even just when glancing my eyes past tags while browsing, I just DON’T GET THIS. I tend to be a variety is the spice of life kinda guy and thus usually can make a case for any character going any which way in any number of things, but this is the one character where I’m like, I do not see any angle in which he has a submissive bone in his body. Yeah he has control freak tendencies and there’s that trope about people who spend most of their time in charge wanting to give up control and let go at times, buuuuuut that only actually works with people who don’t fully WANT to be in charge or control to begin with, not people like Dick whose control freak tendencies IMO are directly born of how rarely he gets to be in control of even his own personal life in the first place. Just doesn’t compute for me.

And in no particular order, top ten most favorite Dick Grayson takes in canon and fanon, with these weirdly just being the direct inverse of things I hate because I mentioned the Not Subtle thing and also the Not Actually As Picky As I Often Come Across As, right?

1) Anything other than police officer Dick Grayson

2) Dick and Jason being bros who get along and confide in each other about the stuff they can’t/won’t share with anyone else because they understand each other in ways most others never will, and also also them having Secret History as Brothers BECAUSE THEY ARE BROTHERS WITH HISTORY BUT I FUCKIN’ DIGRESS

3) A Tim who respects and appreciates Dick’s contributions to his life and happiness and the amount of time and effort Dick has put into being there for him often at his own personal expense, even if there have been like one or two times in the grand scheme of thirty years of comic book content when Dick wasn’t able to put Tim first because he felt he had to put someone with directly competing needs to Tim’s first in this particular time and place instead, just like he had so often before put Tim’s needs ahead of others who had competing needs at the time

4) A Bruce who acknowledges his fuck-ups with Dick and actually apologizes instead of just being like “I am going to look at you solemnly with my Apologetic Eyes but its on you to read the Apology clearly present in my Apologetic Eyes cuz that’s the only one you’ll ever get as I am a genius and a renowned playboy but I do not do the words good except for when I am being genius-y and renowedly playboy-y and not Apologetic.” And who also puts in actual work to actually fix things with Dick when he fucks up in that over-the-top-I GOTTA BE THE BEST THERE EVER WAS, POK-E-MON!! kinda over-achieving way in which he does everything in life.

5) An extended Batfamily and hero community who actually ACT like Dick is someone they respect and appreciate and are in awe of for his position and accomplishments in the hero community and the fact that he’s been out there risking his life day in and day out for people almost as long as any other hero out there, and who has in fact been doing this for a FAR greater percentage of his lifetime than any other hero, period. Rather than an extended Batfamily and hero community who just SAY that Dick is respected and appreciated by everyone and this is why actually they resent him and think he’s over-rated, with no actual sign or evidence of Respect, Appreciation and/or Awe on display anywhere at any time ever.

6) A Dick Grayson who is allowed by the narrative to be as hyper-competent and intelligent and multi-skilled as any member of the Batfamily, without feeling a need for qualifiers about him being second best or a good acrobat but not as good at the detective stuff as the others, etc, etc. Noooooope. Nerp. Nuh-uh. Someday I will rise from my death-bed amid my death-throes one last time just long enough to gasp out “The Batfamily’s entire high concept is that they are a family of literal Mary Sues and thus all of them are every bit as intelligent and hyper-competent as the plot demands and its stupid to try and rank them and telling when Dick somehow always ends up ranked bottom last despite being the kid whose very existence as a hyper-competent little genius troll boy is what jumpstarted the kid hero trend in universe in the first place, which is the kind of thing that could ONLY happen if he was impressing and making second-guessers of nay-sayers left and right BUT I FUCKING DIGRESS, GOOD NIGHT NEW YORK, AND SCENE!” At which point I will expire, my work here done.

7) A Dick Grayson who is allowed to get mad and yell when people DO FUCKED UP THINGS LIKE HIT HIM AND BLAME HIM FOR SHIT THAT ISN’T HIS FAULT without this being viewed as a “flaw” and him Being Dick Grayson Badly. Extra points for a Dick Grayson who is allowed to stay centered in his own traumas and tragedies without everyone else around him somehow making it out to be that they’re MORE victimized by the things he is most directly the victim of.

8) A Dick Grayson who eats more than just sugary cereal because he was literally raised from birth even pre-Bruce as a world class athlete and show me one single person that description matches who doesn’t know how to actually keep to a nutritious diet. Yes, by all means have him eat the occasional sugary snack as a treat, that’s fine, but when the take is that this is all he exists on or would be the only thing he exists on if not for the intercession of Actual Adults being like eat your veggies, Dickie, like.....mmmm, but whatcha doin’, fic?

9) A Dick Grayson who doesn’t actually even HAVE to get mad and lose his temper when people do fucked up things like hit him and blame him for shit that isn’t his fault or do nothing but mock and insult him and make him feel bad, because there’s actually other friends and family present who make a point to be like WHOA, HOW ABOUT I SHUT THIS SHIT DOWN LIKE AN INTELLECTUAL, BECAUSE THIS SHIT IS NOT OKAY? I’m just saying, how is it that every single fic and their grandma posits the existence of a swear jar because Alfred will not tolerate uncouth language in his domain, but it coooooooompletely flies over everyone’s head that Alfred of all people would be okay with people casually disrespecting his eldest grandson for the sake of a yawn-worthy punchline every single time someone opens their mouth to say “Dickhead” without even any kind of “Swear jar!” follow-up, let alone a “I don’t know who gave you the idea it was alright to disrespect Master Dick’s memories of his parents, young sirs, but I assure you most assuredly...‘TWAS NOT I.”

10) The existence of literally any other plot for Dick Grayson than one involving or relying on brainwashing. Like, just spitballing here but maybe people would have less trouble acknowledging and remembering the hyper-competence and skilled and genius qualities of the first Batkid if he was able to more often put those things on display instead of just running around 24/7 either brainwashed or brandishing pom-poms in enthusiastic commemoration of the hyper-competence and genius of everyone BUT him.

11) Bonus round - literally any other career choice besides being a cop.

[valkyrieofsmut]

Captive Love   24

UF!Sans x Reader (or Frisk if you wanna)

Summary: Sans is full of self hatred, and decides to do the 'right thing.'

A/N: Oh boy, drop this stuff like it’s hot! I’m trying to get all caught up to where I’m supposed to be- or where I’d planned to be, anyway. But, it is (American) Thanksgiving- pretty much a time for gluttony- and it’s new here, but sorry there’s not a bunch of new stuff for all of you who’ve been staying caught up on Ao3!

Masterlist      Series Masterlist

Story

Sweetheart goes home.

What the hell did he even think a worthless monster like him was doing with someone like (Y/n), anyway? Did he think he had a chance? That she'd ever even look at him if she had any other choice? 

He didn't deserve her. He didn't deserve anyone, but especially not her. He deserved to dust, that's what he fucking deserved. 

Sans drained a glass of Flare-wish, one of Grillby's custom made alcohols, and it hit deep in his bones, making the hum of his magic a bit more obvious. 

It was supposed to bring your happier feelings forward, but it was just depressing him more as he realized that most of his happy thoughts were for the same reason he was feeling low in the first place; (Y/n). 

"Hey, Sansy. Two days in a row, huh?" The usually drunk bunny asked as she sat next to him. "Don't usually see you here this much anymore. Hey Grillbz, gimme a Hot shot Flamethrower, I wanna get wasted, quick!" She turned back to Sans, looking him over. "Your brother kick you out or something?" 

Sans just gave a noise in response. 

"What happened to your pet? She was cute." 

Red eyelights fell on the bunny awaiting her drink, a show of animosity covering his sorrow. 

"Thanks, Grillbz," she gratefully accepted the tall glass in front of her before looking back to Sans. "What's with the look? Oh- wait! Gf gf gf… Is she mad at you or something? Refusing to be good?" 

"shut th' fuck up!" Sans snapped. 

"Oooo, got a nerve, huh?" She asked as she laughed. 

"ya don't know what th' fuck y're talkin' 'bout! she ain't got anythin' ta do wit why i'm here!" 

"Suuuure," she said, taking a sip of her drink before taking a big gulp and murmuring, "mmm, warm." 

She'd taken only a couple of steps toward her usual booth when Sans yelled, "i jus' wanted a fuckin' drink! why d'ya gotta ruin it?!" 

i ruin everything, his mind whispered. i ruin everything… 

He disappeared quickly through a shortcut. 

. 

(Y/n) heard the door open downstairs and took a breath. 

She hoped that Sans was in a better mood. She still really needed to talk to him. She wasn’t quite sure if she’d gotten her answers before, but she remembered how hurt the flashes of honest emotion across his face had been. 

Sans appeared through the doorway, looking pissed- and extremely miserable. 

“doll- i…” He took a breath and bolstered his resolve. “doll, i came ta tell ya ya can go home.” 

She didn’t need to be there with him. She needed to be somewhere safe, where she wouldn’t have to deal with beings like him- disgusting, lowlifes that didn’t have a good or decent bone in their whole being. Those who would hold her captive just so they could continue to see her pretty face, knowing that they’d never get the chance otherwise. The ones that would try every deceitful trick in the book just to see the beautiful smile grow across her face. 

(Y/n) looked at him in confusion. “You… think it’s safe now? But- the sun is setting! I thought it was more dangerous to go out at night!” 

Sans couldn’t meet her eyes, drunk enough that he swayed a bit, had lower inhibitions, but he was still lucid enough to know what was right, what he had to do… 

“don’t worry about it… it’ll be fine…” 

“Sans- you’ve been drinking again, it might seem like it’ll be fine, but it’s not going to be if we go out and try to walk through town. You and your brother were right- walking through town even in the middle of the day was dangerous.” 

Sans didn’t lift his eyelights from where they’d landed. 

“And- and I just wanted to talk about what happened yesterday, I wasn’t trying to-” 

“it doesn’t matter,” he cut her off. 

“I-it doesn’t- Sans- I need to know what kind of relationship-” 

Stars- shards of glass dipped in lemon juice and hot sauce were being shoved through his soul. 

Like he could ever have a real fucking relationship with her! 

She was too kind, too sweet- too perfect!

Someone like him would never have a chance with her! If nothing else proved it, the way that she flinched every time he got close did! 

Even if she was willing to play into his fantasy and pretended to want to be with him, he hated that fake shit. The thought that anything that would resemble a relationship between them would be all fake on her part made him feel sick. It made his soul twist in such a way that if it was physically twisting, it would look like a pretzel instead of a soul. 

“there ain’t a fuckin’ relationship,” he barked out, stopping her words short. 

“There… isn’t…? N-not even a friendship…?” (Y/n) asked quietly, trying to hide the hurt in her voice. 

“don’t- don’t fuckin’ act like ya’d actually want ta be wit me, doll. wouldn’t be doin’ either a us any favors.” 

(Y/n) was so confused, so hurt… 

He didn’t think there was any relationship between them? 

They’d at least basically become roommates, or slumber party friends, since they slept in the same room. 

What they’d done- did he think of it like picking up a stranger in a bar and taking them home, never intending to see them again? 

Oh- was she… cramping his style so he couldn’t bring other partners home…? 

It was like the icy edge of a sharp icicle had fallen and stabbed through her heart. 

This hurt worse than the first time her ex had betrayed her trust and hit her. 

“I-I-I…” Her lip trembled, and her voice quivered with it. 

“get yer shit, i’m takin’ ya home.” 

His voice was rough, forceful… His mind was made up. He was getting rid of her. He’d… finished with her, gotten bored… Time to take the trash out, throw her to the curb and find a new interest… 

(Y/n) stuffed her few clothes in a bag, pulled on her shoes and jacket and shrugged. “Guess that’s it…” 

He stepped close to her, looking a bit regretful, and she almost thought he was going to change his mind… 

Sans wrapped his arms around (Y/n), crushing her against him. It was going to be the last time he’d ever get to hold her, so he was going to take it in for as long as he could. 

His soul was rushing, throbbing fast, and he shoved it back into place as it tried to reach out to her to relieve the ache. 

He didn’t need her. 

He just needed his brother to be safe, and that’s all he could ever ask for. 

Having emotions was bad. 

Love was stupid. It was dangerous, for you, and the one you loved. It would get one or both of you dusted. 

Sans didn’t need her. She was weak. She made him weak. 

She was his weakness… 

i don’t need ‘er, he told himself, jus’ take ‘er back, drop ‘er off… don’t go lookin’ fer ‘er… 

He took a deep inhale, pulling in the smell of her, and felt his body tighten, trying to get her closer. 

He’d never take her back if he didn’t do it right now. 

… So he did. 

(Y/n) was confused, Sans was holding her close, and not letting her go, even though he’d sounded upset at her, plus it had felt like they’d just gone over a rough wave on a innertube, or raft, or something else that floated, making her stomach dip, though they hadn't moved. 

She pulled back and looked around, her eyes nearly bulging as she saw the street about seven blocks from her apartment. No time had changed; the sky was barely lit, as it had been through the window at Sans and Papyrus’ house… The street was nearly empty, but that was most likely because it was a questionable neighborhood in the dark with limited streetlight. 

“Wh-wh-” she took a breath to compose herself. “What the hell…?” 

Sans dropped his arms and stepped back. 

Now he just had to get the collar. 

Then he could leave, get out of her life… never see her again… 

(Y/n) pinned him with a questioning glare. “How the hell did we get here so fast, Sans?” She asked, dangerously calm. 

“took a shortcut,” he told her. 

“I thought it was a trek through the town full of monsters back, that would most likely get us killed, especially at night!” She accused, the used feeling coming back, its sibling, betrayal, growing at its side. 

“yeah, it is, if ya walk.” 

“How did we get here- are we really here?” She was having trouble understanding what had happened, since not much was known about monsters. Was this something they could all do, or just Sans? Was it real, or an illusion? Had she been in the same area the whole time she’d been ‘gone’?! 

“i told ya; i used a shortcut. got us here faster.” 

“And… you what? Just found out about it at the bar?" Suspicion was starting to build a wall of bitter feelings in her chest. 

"this's where i met ya," he admitted, "so i knew where it was." 

(Y/n)'s jaw was tightly clenched as she tried to restrain herself. "You… could have… brought me back- at any time?!" 

Sans felt her anger hit him like a dark wave. 

He needed to be quick- he just needed to get the collar and go, while he could still remember her softness and the memory wasn't overshadowed by her anger at him. 

"You're such an asshole! I can't believe I ever-" She cut herself off, her jaw clenched and hands tightly fisted. 

Sans moved to take the collar from her, but she smacked his hand away. 

"Why didn't you just do this before?!" She demanded. 

Anger flashed through Sans at the smack, mixing with his lowered inhibitions and flaring up. "maybe i fuckin' shoulda!" He yelled back. 

He was quick enough this time that he was able to unlatch the collar and it slipped from her neck as he drew his hand back. 

(Y/n) raged, her hand snapping forward, grabbing whatever was in his hand and threw it down at her feet. 

"You're a real fucking asshole!" She yelled at him. 

"yeah?! well y're no fuckin' ray a sunshine either!" 

Ooo… that was so untrue it made his soul twinge. 

He realized that he had to get out of there before he said something he'd really regret, and disappeared through another shortcut. 

(Y/n) gave a loud noise of rage, pitching the bag in her hand at the spot he'd just stood. 

How could he do that?! 

Just keep her there for no reason?! 

The only explanation she could find was that he had meant to use her the whole time, and had just been keeping her there until she'd complied. 

She gathered the things she'd thrown on the ground and stormed home, hoping the landlady was awake to let her in. 

[kiintsugi]

Vagrant's Rhapsody Excerpt #002

“You can't change the wind but you can set your sails.”   ― Billie Joe Armstrong

“Sometimes the world decides it doesn’t need you. Sometimes you decide you don’t need the world. But, you... fuck, I need you.”

+

Drink because you’ve got nothing better to do than wallow in self-pity on a Saturday night. Drink because you’re letting the straights play jump rope with your nerves. Fling your glass across the bar so you have to watch the whiskey run down your distorted, cracked reflection.  

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

+

Train hopper modern au. aka the road trip quarter-life crisis au no one asked for but i’m writing anyway

Spotify insp. playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/3nIWt2B8z1kNTovOlKI9jR?si=lqCCZXmPTsKZXPkJW0kOKg

EXCERPT:

There were three things that Clarke loved about Bellamy Blake

His love of world history which allowed for enough overlap with her love art that he was actually someone she could talk to about post renaissance painters and have a fulfilling conversation with. 

He was literally the kindest human on the face of the earth.  

His arms. They were great.  

She remembered the third thing as he offered her his elbow to walk her into the little diner. Which, conclusion: Bellamy was without a doubt, the kindest human of all time.

They found a table toward the back, near the jukebox that only ever played one song. It had been that way for as long as Clarke could remember and would likely stay that way until it stopped working all together. Not that it mattered. It didn’t bother the regulars – mostly grumpy older men and industrial, blue collar workers – and it didn’t bother the employees either. The only people who ever complained was the rare newcomer who always thought it necessary to blame the waitress for their own piss poor taste in music.

Mary Jane’s Last Dance played when Clarke was young and her father would take her out to watch the sunrise in the Beacon parking lot at four something in the morning. It played when Clarke was sixteen and bussing tables and sneaking links of sausage because she had already been given two formal warnings about sneaking bacon and when she was sliding ice down Octavia’s shirt on late weekend nights to keep her awake for their three graveyard regulars. It didn’t matter what she was doing or who she was or who ahead wanted to be one day; Tom Petty was always there. For Hungover Clarke, however, she could really do without the residual emotions of her past right about now.

“Is it even possible to hate Tom Petty?” Bellamy mused with a nostalgic twinkle as he slid into a booth. She knew he meant well, he always meant well. But Clarke still had to bite her tongue and actively stop herself from being a certifiable grump towards one of the only people she could stand to be around.

She waved a hand with dismissive intent and peered across the diner. It was a small joint, cracked and aged in this timeless charm sort of way with a dozen booths, six on either side of the door, and a row of diner bar top seats that always had some industrial worker with sunken eyes hunched over endless coffee and a plate of grease drenched potatoes.

There were two waitresses. The first was and older woman who had been with diner since Clarke was young named Bea. The other was younger, even more than Clarke and unlike Bea who had something a rapport with the regulars, was having hard time knowing when to approach customers and when to leave them the fuck alone.  

“Charlotte. What the fuck? We got customers!” Murphy’s head peaked out from the window behind the counter, his expression wrinkled with frustration.  

“I got it,” Bea interjected. “She’s one of my girls.”

Murphy turned towards them, eyes lighting up when he realized the customers in question were her and Bellamy. “You,” he declared, reaching an arm out of the window to point his spatula at them. “Bout time.”

Bellamy smiled. “We’re here, now.”

Ever chivalrous Bellamy Blake, acting as if it were his fault Clarke hadn’t bothered to stop by. Of course, Bea knew better than to believe it.  

“Where the hell have you been?” she asked, pushing her weight onto one hip as she set down two mugs coffee.  

Clarke reached for the obviously larger of the two mugs. “Europe.”

“That was six months ago,” Bea said.  

“New York?”

“Try again, girlie.”

Clarke shrugged. She really didn’t have an answer; at least, she didn’t have one that she was willing to admit.  

“Well, you’re here now.” Bea put her hands on her hips and sighed. “That’s what matters. Just in time for the wedding, too. Oh,” she breathed. “I never did expect to say that about Octavia.”

“Yeah,” Clarke said, looking out the window. “Me either.”

The Beacon was a tiny building that built its success through its service to blue collar railway workers and, while the railroad workforce was nothing compared to what used to be as a in their small midwestern town, the trainyard still lingered across the window pane like a distance relic and – somehow – added to the charm. Now days, hardly anyone who worked on the railway came into the diner, but Clarke always wondered what the place looked like when it first opened. Train tales had to be better the complaints of long sleep-deprived truck drivers and stoned teenagers who poured chocolate milk on their hash browns.  

The bells over the door gave an off-key chime and Clarke could hear the trudging boots of new customers filing in through the door.  

“Charlotte,” Murphy’s voice boomed. “You’re up!”

Bellamy chuckled across the table and Clarke whipped her attention back to the diner as he said, “I haven't heard Murphy this frustrated since Clarke and Octavia first left.”

Bea looked over her shoulder to the table of new arrivals where the young waitress seemed to be stumbling through her job. “It’s her first job,” she said. “She’ll get better. You and O weren’t much better when you started either. Besides, that lot’s an easy ticket. She’ll be fine.”

The table consisted of four people, each as begrimed as the last. They were covered in something black and greasy, with stringy unwashed hair and dirt ridden, sweat soaked clothes. One of them was wiping their hands clean, leaving a pile of dirty napkins in the center of the table before collecting them all and trading the used napkins to the waitress for coffee.

“They’re filthy,” Bellamy noted.

“They’re harmless,” Bea said. “So, your orders still the same? Southwest Omelet and a Beacon Traditional?”

They both nodded and Bea sauntered away to shout the orders at Murphy through the kitchen window.

“Can you believe Murphy still works here?” Bellamy asked, leaning over the table. “Eight years at the same diner.”

Clarke frowned. “Bea’s been here longer.”

“Yeah, but that’s Bea. This place is nothing without her.”

Clarke shrugged. As much as she loved Bellamy, it was hard to keep a conversation with him. It was hard to keep a conversation with anyone these days.

They fell into a sort of uncomfortable silence as Bellamy sipped at his coffee and hummed the repeating tune of the Jukebox’s only song while Clarke stared absentmindedly across the diner towards the table of four. She watched the young waitress, Charlotte, bring out four piled plates of diner classics, refill coffee mugs on at least four separate occasions and chat idly with the group about things Clarke couldn’t quite make out.

“Fuckin’ frozen hell, Princess. You gonna say hi to me, or what?”

Clarke snapped back to the table. There were two steaming plates of food in front of them, Bellamy’s half consumed and Clarke’s completely untouched and her coffee had gone cold. She looked at the plate, frowning before looking up to Murphy who had stolen a seat next to Bellamy. “Sorry,” she mumbled as she began to pick at her food. “Long night.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ bet,” Murphy said. He pushed back his hair and leaned one elbow on the table. “I heard you go real hard these days.”

Clarke raised an eyebrow as she shoved a fork full of food into her mouth.  

“Hey, man, I hear what I hear,” he said with an innocent shrug. “Not like we’ve talked since you got back to set the story straight.”

“There’s nothing to set straight,” Clarke said.  

Murphy gripped his chest with gasp. “A woman after my own heart. No fucks and an iron liver.”

“Murphy,” Bellamy interjected. “Enough.”

“I’ll take you on on that. If you can keep up.”

Murphy balked with laughter. “Come on, princess. You really think your debauchery can keep up with me? I’ve been running the garbage kid scene since you were still a star student.”

Clarke raised her coffee mug with a smug grin. “What can I say? I’m a fast learner.”

[walkingdeadjunkie]

Southern Comfort [Merle Dixon x Reader]

Requested by: negansgirl06

I was hopping for something where the reader promises Merle that she doesn’t cut he/her self anymore and when Merle our she’s been doing it agin he makes her promise to stop and it ends in some really cute fluffy cuddles? (I’m not sure if you write about angst but I figured what’s the harm I’m asking)

Summary: Merle Dixon was the last person on earth who you thought would give a shit about anybody but himself. But the man had a soft spot for loners. And that's what you were.

Rating: Teen and Up

Warnings: self-harm, swearing and attempted suicide.

Word count: 2,885

GIF isn’t mine, but please check out the blog for the lovely person who made it!

You’ve cut too deep this time and now blood is dripping all over the tent floor. You throw your overshirt onto it and wipe it up as best you can then bring your arm to your chest and slide outside. You need to get to the water and clean it up before it attracts the attention of the others or walkers. It’s dark out here but with one arm out of commission and the other supporting it, you aren’t able to carry a lantern and instead rely on the moonlight to help you down the small walkway and rush to the lake. Stumbling on this and tripping over that. You think of them as you make your way down so carelessly. Your brother, sister and mother. All of whom were torn into ribbons right in front of your eyes by neighbors you’d known longer than your runaway father. People who cared for you since the tender age of three- people who were also dead.

You come to the water and kneel at it. There’s no tears that escape your eyes because they’d dried up a long time ago, that’s why the cutting helps. It gives you an emotional release that nothing else does. You’re about to stick your arm in when a hand wraps around your shoulder and you look up to see the frightening half of the Dixon brothers looming close. You startle then fall back onto the cut arm and cry out. He makes no move to help you and your arm returns to the cradled position it was in before.

“Don’ wan’a puh ya arm ‘n there darlin’, shit’ll make ya sicker than a man who sticks his dick ‘n a mule.” His back is against the moonlight and it reaffirms just how hulking he is. Merle squats down and holds a hand out. Your heart is racing by his sudden attendance. “Ain’ gon’ hurt ya fancy lady. Done ‘nough a tha’ ya self.” You chew on your lip and think about the risks. It doesn’t seem like he has ill intentions at all and so you lay the back of your arm on his open palm. He brings it close up to himself then tuts and clicks his tongue. “Well fuckin’ ‘ell, did a numb’a on yaself didn’ ya?” You stay quiet and he looks over. “Got anotha shirt?”

“What?”

“Got anotha shirt?” You didn’t want to answer, the question felt unsafe. “Oh fuckin’ ‘ell, course ol’ Merle’s tha fuckin’ cunt who gotta tear ‘is shit up for a damn city woman.” He lets go of your arm and your eyes widen when he grips the bottom of his singlet and lifts it high. You shift yourself back and begin to whimper.

“Please don’t hurt me.” You beg softly. He freezes for a moment, then lets the singlet fall back down.

“I ain’ a fuckin’ rapist ya bitch. I ain’ even lookin’ at ya skeleton ass- uppity lil shit ain’ ya?” He says roughly. You feel guilty instantly. “Ya need ta wrap ya fuckin’ arm ‘for ya blackout ‘n die.” He pulls the singlet all the way off and tears the bottom of it like butter. Quickly he lines up the fabric at the beginning of the cut, loops it around the limb and looks up. “’s gon’ fuckin’ hurt fancy lady so bite ya otha arm.” You do as he says and when he tightens it your teeth sink into the skin and you let out a muffled moan. “Now hol’ it up.”

You do just that. The thumping and pulsing in your arm is worse than the cutting was and the man throws his singlet back on. You’re too busy floating around in your own world of pain to really pay attention to him until a shuffling sound catches your interest and you look up to see him with his hand out again.

“Need’a get ya ass inside woman.” You look at his hand again and back at him. You still can’t make out his expression but he helped you and so there’s a slither of trust between you both. You put your hand in his and he helps you stand then lets go. “Why’d ya do it?”

“I’m sad.” You reply simply.

He laughs loudly.

“Well, fuckin’ do some oth’r shit.” Your brows come together while he steps away to create more space.

“It’s not that easy.” You reply with mild frustration.

“Well ol’ Merle’s got drugs if ya wan’ black out ‘nstead?” He offers easily, like it was normal to do so.

“No. Those are bad for you.” 

“An’ cuttin’ ya shit up ain’? Least ya’ll die happier bein’ high on rocks den bleedin’ out by a blade.”

You realise then just how monumentally different you are regardless of the background or personality. He’s a tweaker and you’re sober. You should have picked up on the signs a lot earlier- but at least he was nice.

“I’m fine.” You reply stiffly. He lets out an amused chuckle and stretches out.

“Nah, ya ain’ tha’s why ya fuckin’ did tha’ and told me ya sad.” He sighs and faces you completely with his arms crossed. There’s a long silence before he continues. “Dun do tha’ shit ta yaself fancy.”

The glare is instant. Your face is exposed to the light unlike his so you know he can see it.

“Why the hell do you care? We don’t know each other. This is our first conversation.”

“I see ya wanderin’ ‘round woman, all mopey and alone. I’m a lon’a too, buh I goh lucky wit’ lil Darylina. You didn’. Us kind gotta look out for one anoth’a.” He replies simply.

“Is that why you’re out here? You’re following me?” He laughs heartily and you feel embarrassed for what he’ll say next because it seems like you were the last thing on his mind.

“Get off ya fuckin’ high horse lady. I came ouh ‘ere ta smoke a bowl ‘nd saw ya dumbass trippin’ down tha hill.” He cracks his knuckles before continuing. “I’m gon’ need ya ta reassure ol’ Merle ‘ere sugar, cause he’s worried ‘bout ya. This ain’ normal shit and it’ll only get worse.”

“Why do you need my word?” And why are you worried about me, you think.

“Cause this is fucked up. If ya sad talk ta me, if ya hate me talk ta Darylina. He’s soft like ya. Ya don’ need’a do this ta ya’self. Shit’s hard- yea. Buh ya makin’ it harder.”

Maybe he really was just trying to be nice but you’ve never spoken to this man before and you sure as hell did not need to promise him anything. But he seems like the stubborn kind and so you grind your teeth and answer stiffly.

“Fine. I won’t.” He rubs his hands together then points one of them up the hill.

“Well tha’s dandy fancy pan’s. Now get back ta ya tent and ol’ Merle’s gon’ carry on ‘is night.” You roll your eyes and move around him to return to the camp. You owe Merle nothing and you will do whatever the hell you want.

*

It’s been a week since your run in with Merle Dixon and you haven’t spoken to him since. He leaves you alone and does whatever he does but every once and a while Daryl will give you a nod when your paths cross. The group here is flimsy and there’s a lot of competing egos and personality clashes in it. It’s enough to make you realize how much you don’t want to be here anymore. You spend the morning helping the women clean, barely listening to their conversations but nodding along with what they say like you were. You’ve already made your mind up on what you want to do and stole one of the men’s blades when they weren’t looking since yours went ‘mysteriously’ missing the day after you spoke to Merle.

You’re deep in the woods now. You had hoped to come across a walker to throw yourself at but all of the ones you see have arrows in their heads already. So now it’s left up to you.

This spot is nice enough.

With a flick of your wrist the blade is unsheathed from its handle. You fall onto your knees and cut your hand to check how sharp it is, it’s decent enough to get through a windpipe. With one last prayer and the smiling faces of your family in mind, your eyes close and the metal presses against the skin of your neck. You only manage to slide it less than an inch across when your wrist is squeezed so hard that you cry out and drop it. When you look up Merle is the one you see, his expression is furious and it panics you instantly. He kicks the knife far before yanking you up with a grunt.

“Wha’ tha fuck are a doin?! Ya fuckin crazy bitch. Tha’s tha fuckin worse way ta die!” His volume stings your ears and makes you feel small. But the shock wears off fast and you remember why you’re out here.

“Let me go!” You scream while struggling to pull yourself away. “I’ll fucking stab you before I kill myself if you don’t do it!” You continue to struggle against him but the man is made of concrete and he easily keeps you in place.

Your threat is nothing anyway, one half-assed slap and he could knock you into next year.

“Ya gave me ya word.” He growls. Brows together and creasing a line between them.

“I don’t care! My choices aren’t yours you hick. Fuck off!” He doesn’t flinch at the insult. He’s been called a lot worse no doubt and something so generic bounces off of him like styrofoam.

You kick at his legs and he waits until the steam runs out and you’re left breathing heavily. When you stop resisting he lets you go with a frown. For some reason or another you find yourself wrapping your arms around his middle and bunching the back of his shirt with your hands. You feel it then, a wetness on Merle’s shirt that tells you that you’re finally crying. After so long of nothing it comes out like a burst dam and you can’t stop. Your body is shaking and his hands are on your back while his head rests on yours.

“Ya gon’ be alrigh’. Shit’s jus’ hard at tha’ momen’. Life ain’ tha same way.” He says.

After a while the sobs turn into sniffles and then become whimpers. He’s warm and hard, like a stiff hot water bottle that makes you feel a comfort you hadn’t in a long time.

“I don’t want to be here Merle.” You admit. The grip on you is tightened a little more. “I hate these people, I hate what we’re doing, I hate everything.” He puts a hand on either arm and keeps you in place so he can step back. There’s nothing particularly soft in his expression, but he does seem aware and his attention is yours completely.

“Hate it all baby doll, buh don’ let it kill ya off. We’re all gon’ die. Buh die fightin’ fa somethin’, helpin’ someone- ya don’ like these people? Hell, neith’a do me or Darylina. Buh it works fa now, it ain’ gon’ be forever.” He replies.

You shake your head and break the stare for a moment.

“I can’t help anyone.” You whisper. “I couldn’t help my family so how the hell can I do anything?” Your gazes meet again. “These people don’t need me.”

He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. You didn’t expect something like that in such a sensitive situation but it does make everything feel less tense.

“Ya don’ know tha’. Ya migh’ be tha one cunt ‘round who will kill a walker tha’s about ta bite someone. Don’ blame yaself fa wha’s already done. Ain’ no manual on how ta survive a dam’ apocalypse and keep ya people ta’gether.” There’s nothing in his words that feel forced.

“I should have done more.” You say softly.

“Do more now.” He counters.

“But what if I do something wrong? What if somebody needs my help and I fuck up again?” The tears threaten to come back and you have to chew on your lip to keep it together.

He shakes his head.

“At leas’ ya fuckin’ tried fancy ‘n tha’s wha’ matters.” He stands tall again and brings you in for another hug that feels more intimate than it did before, like he cares. “ Ol’ Merle’s gon’ teach ya a few thin’s. Shit that’ll help ya feel strong an’ safe.”

“Like what?”

“Fightin’, huntin’, how ta kill a dam’ walker so ya don’ feel like ya can’. Shit that’ll make ya see how important it is ta be alive fa yaself an’ other fuckers.” He lets out a sigh that you feel deflate in his chest. “Ya ain’ gon’ be alone again.”

“You don’t know that.” You reply with a scoff.

“I fuckin’ dam’ well do woman. Only a Dixon can kill’a Dixon. An’ Darylina ain’ killin’ me yet.” The comment doesn’t make any sense to you because it isn’t true but you don’t correct him. His words feel nice. “And if he do, then ya still go’ ‘im. He’ll watch ou’ fa ya.”

You laugh at the comment and if your head could shake you’d do it.

“We’ve never spoken before Merle.” You say. “I doubt that.”

He lets out a laugh and once again you’re thrown off.

“Well don’ cause he’s tha only reason I knew ya fucked off ou’ ‘ere. An’ why ya didn’ get ya ass eaten by a fuckin’ walker. Cause he don’ wan’ ya dead neither.” You loosen your hold a little and the pieces begin to come together.

“He saw me come in here? Those arrows were his?” You ask.

“Sure as shit did. Boy walks like tha wind. Got a head’a ya ta kill ‘em off while I followed behind. Told ya woman, us lon’as gotta stick ta’getha like flies on shit.” He boasted proudly.

Despite the crudeness of the comment you hold Merle tighter and the tears come back again.

The Dixon brothers were the last men on earth that you ever thought would give a shit about you, yet they did. They cared enough to keep you alive, to show you that they were worried and gave you the time of day when nobody else has. Because they were alone too.

You pull far enough away to still be in his hold and he looks down, eyes widening a little as you tug him down by the front of his singlet. You stretch high enough to reach his cheek and plant a soft kiss on it. When you pull away from the embrace Merle stands tall with a high brow then looks you over slowly. He hasn’t said anything yet. But you know that whatever comes out isn’t going to be as platonic as it was when he was comforting you.

He lets out a low whistle.

“Well goddam’ fancy, if I knew ya would’a done tha’ ol’ Merle ‘ere would’a turned ‘is charm on ta get a little more.” He says throatily with wiggling brows.

Your eyes roll and you wipe at your face with a tired sigh.

“Don’t ruin the moment Dixon.” You say dryly.

“Oh I can make this momen’ even bett’a darlin’. I’m a givin’ man with a lotta love in ‘im.” He says playfully with a wink that you can’t help but smile a little at.

You walk around him and find the blade easily. The weight of it is heavier than you remember. Maybe because now you realise how close you came to leaving because of it. The scent of sweat and something like burning plastic comes close and you look to the side and see Merle staring back. You hold it out for him to take but he shakes his head.

“Shit’ll keep ya safe an’ give ya life instead’a takin it away. Hol’ on ta it. And don’ do this ‘gain.”

“I won’t.” You promise. And this time you mean it.

The sentiment is something you didn’t expect to come from somebody like him. But you take the advice with a smile, sheath the blade and pocket it. Instantly Merle wraps an arm around your shoulders that feels like a tree trunk and directs you back to the camp while whistling. Strangely enough it feels good to be held by him. A part of you wants it to stay that way even when you do get back.

“Merle?” You say while looking up at him with a smile he focuses on. “Thank you.”

He shrugs and let’s out a long sigh.

“Shit das wha’ friends is for fancy! Buh now it’s time ta show ya how ta skin a squirrel so ya can make ol’ Merle ‘ere some food when he too pissed ta cook.”

Squirrel?

“Why the hell can’t you make it? You have hands.” A laugh vibrates through his thick chest and his tone switches back to the flirty one he gave you after the kiss. His eyes brush over your tense expression and he grins.

“Cause tha’s wha’ lady friends is for sugar, well, tha’ and kissin’ ol’ Merle’s cheek.”

[banashee]

Another square for my @badthingshappenbingo​ is done! :)

Prompt: “Attacked in their sleep”.

This one was a request from @mysterious-starlight​ by the way,

so thanks for sending that in, I hope you enjoy! :)

Please mind the trigger warnings:

- Homophobia and related hate crimes - Blood and violence, not too graphic - Hints to PTSD 

*+~

 Being careful is not enough

     Whenever they leave home, they are careful not to be too close to each other as to not give anyone the wrong idea.

 Well - technically they would be right to assume what they might, but as it is, being what they are is both dangerous and illegal in these times. It's sad really - why should love be illegal?

 But people talk and whisper and shake their heads in disapproval at those instances - it's "wrong" and "unnatural" they say. Some use stronger and much more insulting words and many heads nod in self righteous approval.

 The point is, Steve and Bucky are careful. They have to be, in order to survive.

 Them living together and sharing an apartment doesn't rise many questions - they're young and poor and living in one place saves money, which they don't have much of in the first place.

 Occasional double dates with nice gals in the area help to keep up that facade, too - as long as they keep their affections to themselves, when doors are locked and curtains drawn shut they should be fine for now.

 In the future, when they're older, it might get more and more difficult.

 "If I even make it that far." Steve shrugs one night while they discuss this, voice raw and scratchy from sickness - he's been sick for most of the winter, and Bucky had taken as many shifts at the docks as he could in order to afford the medication he needs.

 Bucky clenches his jaw. He doesn't like the nonchalant way in which Steve talks about his poor health, but he also knows that he is being realistic - and painfully so.

 Denying it wouldn't be of use for anyone.

 But it hurts still, thinking how he might lose his best friend, the love of his life.

 "We'll worry about this when the time comes. Right now, you're here and you're much better already."

 He says this as to convince himself, more than Steve - the stubborn bastard won't give up easily, he knows, whether it's the flu or a guy two times his size doing his best to bring him down.

 But Steve is realistic about his state, when he's in private and alone with Bucky - he needs to be or he wouldn't be alive still, even when Bucky claims its out of sheer stubbornness. Steve won't let any of it stop him - his health, his size or any obstacle that life throws at him because Steve Rogers doesn't give up - it's something that Bucky loves and fears equally in his boyfriend.

 "We'll find a way, Buck. Maybe, if we're lucky, the people will be smarter by then and realize they have been wrong all this time."

 Bucky laughs quietly, pulling Steve closer to himself and pushing his nose into the blond hair as he holds on.

 "Your confidence in humanity is truly inspiring. Doll."

 "Well, somebody's gotta believe in them huh?"

 Small, bony hands trail down Bucky's back, gently and ever moving.

 "Yes. And I think it's a good thing that you do. Lord knows I'm not too sure of it most of the time."

 Bucky leans into the touch, running a hand through Steve's light blond hair as the other man keeps drawing invisible patterns on his back with light fingers.

 Bucky loves his hands - they're smooth for a guy and often times covered in charcoal or graphite, from when Steve spent many hours of the day curled up somewhere by the window, sketching and creating beautiful landscapes, skylines and faces on the paper beneath. He's skilled with oil paints, too, but they're expensive and he refuses to let Bucky spend any money on them for him. Bucky would do it in a heartbeat any time he could - because he knows how happy art makes Steve. Because seeing him happy is what he loves most in the world.

 Steves hands are skilled with other things, too. Sewing and mending clothes, or in much more intimate situations where he is able to make Bucky melt away under his touch.

 They need to be careful and quiet even then - if anyone would hear what they're up to behind closed doors, they will be in big trouble.

 So yes, they are careful.

       But as it turns out, being careful just isn't enough. They never find out how this particular person got suspicious, but he must have heard or seen      something    .

 Neither Steve or Bucky ever sees it coming.

 It's a chilly night, despite it being early spring, so they sleep with their windows closed. The door is locked, as always, as are all curtains drawn shut. None of this makes them think of possible intruders - they feel safe and secure and are currently fast asleep.

 The two men are curled up tightly around each other, both out of necessity because the bed is small, and because they like holding each other, chest-to-back in a safe and comfortable embrace.

 Their day had been long and they're dead to the world. Neither of the two stirs as their front door slides open, lock carefully picked. The intruder moves almost soundlessly.

 Only when a figure with their face hidden in cloth looms over them, something starts to feel off, and Steve's eyes spring open before the cold blade of the knife even touches his throat.

 It's his yelling and violently launching at the attacker that wakes up Bucky, and he curses out loud, confused and scared in a haze, before he starts to fight, too.

 The stranger remains entirely silent, not saying a single word, but he slashes through the air with the knife he's holding , hitting either of the two men out of sheer luck as they plummet into him.

 Steve is about half as tall and half his weight, but it doesn't stop him from throwing punches, breathing hard as his lungs are protesting, wheezing in an desperate attempt to get more precious air as he fights for their lives, fights to keep this asshole from hurting the one person in this world he's got left.

 He’s too small and too sickly to be able to physically keep up with the stranger, but it sure as hell doesn’t stop him from trying. It doesn’t stop him from doing his damned best to keep the attacker away from Bucky.

 Meanwhile, Bucky is attempting to keep the attacker away from      Steve    , trying to get in between them and take whatever he has to in order to protect him - this is not something either of them is used to at all.

 Despite getting into fights and the occasional brawl in street corners or bars, none of it has ever come close to this. Bullies and drunks, looking for a way to let out some steam, jealous lads thinking either of them would be after their girls, sure. But they never had to fear for their lives, least of all in their own home.

 Two against one is what works in their favor, in the end.

 They're bleeding and there are heavy bruises developing but they're alive and that's all that counts right now.

 Together, they pin the attacker down on the floor.

 "You leave us alone and never come back! You understand?"

 Bucky has a hold of the knife and now holds it against the strange man's throat. He's decided on doing just that, the second he saw him doing the same to Steve - since that moment, he's seen red and now he's carefully calm in his seething anger. All fear and hurt is pushed far, far back in his mind, no place for it anywhere right now.

 The guy doesn't answer.

 Steve, still trying to catch his breath, pulls off the fabric from his head - recognition creeps up in his face, and then his blue eyes turn dark in anger. He promptly punches the middle aged man in the face again.

 "John, you son of a bitch! What did we ever do to you?" he hisses, and the man on the floor laughs, honest to God laughs, then he spits a clump of snot right into Steve's face.

 Bucky glares at John as he pushes the knife closer - close enough to draw blood.

 "Answer him."

 "You fuckin' fairies even need to ask, huh? Sick in the head is what you are! Disgusting!"

 He spits again, and Bucky increases the pressure just a bit - it seems to make John reconsider. He puts up his hands, and gruffly says,

 "Alright alright, I'm leaving. Just let me up."

 They do, reluctantly, watching closely as the man is leaving the apartment. Letting him go just like that is not what either of them is comfortable with, but what are they supposed to do?

 Calling the police is out of question, because what if they come to the same conclusion as John? What if they are both arrested or worse?

 If that happens, they’ll lose each other and the thought scares them more than knowing they’ll have to sleep with one eye open from now on.

 As soon as their attacker is out, they lock the door and shove a wooden chest in front of it from the inside.

 Once they're alone, drenched in sweat and blood, the adrenaline crashes.

 Steve is sitting on the floor right where he stood just a moment ago, breathing too heavy and too fast, trying to calm down again. His eyes are huge and filled with many different emotions, most of all anger, although Bucky knows that’s only because this part is easier to deal with than the rest.

 He sits down near Steve, putting one arm around him and resting his head on top of his blond hair. In Return, Steve grabs his hand and leans back into him as both of them hold on for dear life.

 All they have left is each other, and they have no idea who they can trust anymore.

 Neither of them sleeps anymore that night, or very much at all in the weeks that follow.

 The fear of another attack, of getting arrested for being queer or any other horrible thing keeps them up - life around them goes on as usual and they put up a facade of cockiness and bravery, but in truth, they are both afraid and in a state of tense alertness at all times.

 Nights are the hardest part of it all, when they’re alone in a dark, expecting the sound of a intruder breaking down their front door any time.

 They sleep in turns, always close to each other and keeping their ears and eyes open for any alarming signs.

 Those nights, more than ever before, they dream of a future where people are free to love, without having to fear for their lives, having to fear for the safety of loved ones.

 It will be a long way, until then.

 But they hope. They keep hoping, because right sometimes, it’s all they can do.

 *+~

 Square: "Attacked in their sleep"

[dcschain]

He'd begun drinking. Softly and then all at once, each night, like after she'd died and things had been too blind for comfort. Never too much, but just enough. A slow, inevitable climb to the top, before the headache and the nausea the morning after, and the emptiness. Oh, the emptiness. Emptiness he didn't think he had in him, but he knows better. Steven Deschain knows it, tenderly, the way a man is tender to the hangman's noose. He knows the ache is something more than simple ka-shume, that it is char-shume also.

And it is ka. And it is ka, without the comfort of a modifier, and then the thought dies there because it is too Robert, too many traces of it, too much like him. In every bit of the words. Him, spilling and spilling and spilling.

kit he's dead. kit. kit. leave him, kit. he's dead.

It hadn't worked. Kit had broken the ribs anyway, in such a terrible, terrible way, trying to massage a heart that had stopped two minutes earlier, unable to stop himself from falling down that cliff called hope. The snapping had struck him across the face, and it had left him wide-eyed, dumb beyond words, stripped of everything behind his teeth except the fire. The fire. The fire, leaking past his eyes in tears that left tracks of destruction. His anger had been nothing but pain unable to find itself. A signifier skewed and broken, the same anger he had been devoured by when Tjaša had died and the boys had died, too, and now, here, here an-tet between them. Steven ripped him from Handsome's body like a creature unable to want. Unable to. Unwilling to need. In his dinh's arms, clinging to them, Kit Johns had screamed, kicked his legs, and then he'd sunk to the ground.

And he'd wept, his hands balled into fists in his hair, on his knees. Those shoulders, heaving, and Steven's arms around them, and Steven's eyes closed, and Steven's lips to his temple, and nothing, nothing between them.

Then Burning Chris had been silent for a moment, and Steven's grip on him had swallowed itself off of him, water off the tin roof, and all he was left with were his hands to clench the air. Smoke signals from his breathing, in and out, the rasp of the choking, the tears pressing at the base of his skull. His dinh standing so still so silent so cold, incomprehensible in the reading. Already the language between them was faulty, broken, untranslatable. In all the meanings the word tet can have, theirs has been stripped of all of them except one, the final one. Char.

Kit had looked at a father with no words and then at a father who could no longer speak them. And all his love now broken rushing to fill his lungs and throat with fluid, with phlegm, with an anger so painful it almost, almost became hate.

Almost.

Some things you cannot hate. Some hearts you cannot hate or else your own will shatter.

oh steve. steve, steve. oh, steve.

The last one in the voice of an animal pleading to be spared the butcher's block. Unable to understand the cleaver beyond its most immediate meaning – death, blood, pain. Forced to confront the cleaver and bow to it. Not wanting it. Not wanting it. Knowing that it signified one thing and one thing only: an end.

Time too long to count.

get up.

He'd said it and wiped at his cheeks with the back of his hands.

get up, kit. we gotta bring him home.

In the end. He'd had to drag him up, hands under his armpits. For the beginning of that gesture, Kit had fought him. Then he'd just let it happen, moved like a doll, his legs barely transporting his body upright, letting Steven do the thankless work of pulling him up from the world of beasts.

Steven sits very still. There is a part of him that thinks if he never moves again ka will pass over him like an angel of death over doors marked with lamb's blood and another part of him simply cannot bring itself to claw its way out of the chasm. So he sits still, and empty, and unraveled.

The small corner of peeling wallpaper. The white sheets to cover the furniture. The bottle half-empty, the light of the moon from the window, the dust delicate shaping everything into a memory, the blood stains they never really could get out of the wooden floor after they had seeped into the rug, his hat left on the commode by the door out of habit even after nearly a decade, the wood of the bedframe pressing against his back from under the sheet and his legs, those long gunslinger's legs, splayed out in front of him. He stares at his boots without really knowing who they belong to, whose feet they're on, what body's this, whose heart he's supposed to be carrying.

Any other room, and Robert's laughter would have drowned him.

He stands once the bottle's empty. To move, he claws at whatever's left in the depth of him, grabs great desperate chunks of it and clings to them like a lifeline. Pulling, and pulling, and pulling, at a bare earth that can only yield devil grass, fingers cut on the blades. But he stands. Each morning, he stands. Each time the Tower needs him, he stands.

This time, though, he stands and can see how crooked his bones are, how the yoke weighs him down, how his shins are spattered with mud. He sees it. He feels it, and it gives him no more pause than it should.

The dead man touches the noose like a lover's hand.

Tenderness.

robert, did thee know? like i know?

Does it matter? Steven doesn't have the poetics of life and death inside him to be able to answer that question. His imagination limits itself to the bullet, and the hawk, and the gun, and what those three hold he knows well enough to understand the yoke and the noose are sides of the same coin. And that ka makes its course regardless of the suffering.

He knows Robert would have had something to say about that. Something about the loneliness of the dinh, and the fact that ka can mean both fate and I, first person, singular, and that no matter the truth of an, the loneliness of self is the loneliness of the Tower, supported by bonds and by beams. Eternally, eternally by itself, despite the world around it.

But Robert Allgood is dead, and so he has no words at all to share in the matter.

He's never really known the difference between grief and fear. Out of habit all his life he has called his fear anger, he has called his anger grief, and it has made him break ribs and beg lungs and try and rip hearts out with his fingers.

When he thought Alain dead his anger shattered more bones than he bothered counting. And when Tjaša died and died for real, his anger rested against his left lung and pumped blood through his body for the rest of his life.

Now this sadness has left him with no roots inside him. There's a nothing, and then there's Nothing, and it's the second that's made itself home in him. It's like drowning only there's no water.

Pain has stripped him of what little language he knew.

He hears the door behind him open. Hears it, but can't name it, in his grief, made tongueless and formless. He tries to wrangle himself to look over his shoulder, to look Louise in the eye after the pitiful performance he had in her parlour, but it isn't Louise.

It's Josiah, looking very cold, and very tired, and very sad.

“What th'fuck are ya doing here?”

It comes as whathfuckryadoinere. Whiskey makes his breath stink and his words melt. He doesn't turn to look at Joe fully, doesn't feel the need to. On the steps, his bottom aches and his knees are bent.

“The Lady Louise's asked me to see thee home, sai.”

He does not look glad at the prospect. Kit scoffs and takes another swig from the bottle. He swallows. He spits.

“I don't need the pity.”

ahdonneedthpity.

“It ain't pity. Sai.”

He reaches down to help Kit up. But alcohol or no, grief or no, Kit's still a gunslinger of the Great Line, and like a gunslinger, he moves. Too fast for it to be real. A foot and then another and then he's on his feet, turned around, and with his gun too close to Josiah's face for comfort.

“Don't touch me, don't fucking touch me.”

donfuckintouchme.

“I don't need the fucking Lady's pity.”

This one loud, loud enough to be heard even behind the door. Because he knows. Not like Robert knew her, marrow-deep, bone-tied, but he knows her enough to know what she tastes like, and that knowledge-flecks are in his blood like bone fragments after a fracture. And he knows she's listening. Or perhaps she hasn't moved out of the parlor because she can't move, and that suits him fine all the same. Let their grief fucking drown them, for all he cares.

The scabs on his palm have begun to itch.

“Or yours. Touch me again, Paine, and your brains are gonna end up all over this door yonder.”

“I don't think that would be advisable, sai.”

“No? We ain't got a need for 'ee anymore, Joe. He's dead, ain't ya heard? AIN'T YA FUCKING HEARD?”

The throbbing of pigeons' wings, startled into flight.

“He don't fucking need you no more. You're a dog with no fuckin' master, Paine. Don't you ever fucking touch me again.”

He spits. Josiah doesn't move his boots out of the way. When he blinks his vision's muddled, blurred, and the movement of his jaw clamps down on the grief, bit-in-mouth, bucking horse. Kit sees it all and scoffs. Kit doesn't see any of it and takes another swig.

“Pity ain't gonna bring him back to us.”

“No, sai. It will not.”

Christopher holsters his gun. He turns from Joe, and as he walks away Josiah sees him a little blurred, a little uncertain on his feet. Growing smaller the farther he goes.

When he goes back inside, the Lady Louise is no longer in the parlour.

christopher. help me.

They'd used Primrose's reins and the rope Steven had in his gunna. The branches had been easy enough to find. The knife had been Steven's. Kit had started building the travois and Steven had been able to stand aside for so long before needing to do, needing to keep his hands occupied so he didn't have to look at him in the shade where they'd moved him out of the wa-- where they'd moved him to keep him off the road because moving out of the way was something you did to objects and animals and not Robert Allgood, not Robert, not even if he was dead and the flesh was just flesh and the clothes just cloth and the hands just parts of a body.

Meat was meat: it did not care what sunlight you carried inside you.

It had taken too long to build it. They knew better. They knew how to make it better, faster, more efficiently, they knew how to make it so it wouldn't break and they had because they had been taught well, but it took them so much longer than it should have.

Working with the dead man right beside you. Meat was meat. Kit thought about it once too many times and vomited beside the wood he was fastening. Steven had let him, looking away past the dirt road with the bodies of the men who had killed Robert Allgood starting to attract crows with too many eyes and those skeletal vultures that ate and ate and ate and never seemed satiated.

Kit had vomited.

Steven's knees had given out. He'd staggered, first to one knee and then sitting, under the dead blackwood tree, with his hat off and his head in his hands and all around him the low, low, desperate moan of the earth. Every day inside him. Begging in tongues he'd never stopped and learned. His fingers in his hair and Kit staring blankly at his own rancid puddle of puke.

what a waste. what a damnable waste.

don't you fucking say that. don't you dare.

If there were any less grief inside him, Kit Johns would have been scared of those eyes, blank and blue, unyielding, as they looked up from the dirt and into him.

he died for thee, steven. i won't let you put that weight down by callin' it a waste.

Steven stood, then, and walked over to the travois. The affair of moving the body was wordless. If Steven had seen the kiss Kit'd pressed to that dead mouth, he'd said nothing of it, but in the silence after he'd reached for Kit Johns to hold him one last time, their foreheads pressed together, his hand to the back of Christopher's head. Dinh for one last time.

After that, the grief had done the rest.

The tet had broken.

[peachessashaven]

Heaven - Ben Hardy x Reader (Smut)

Synopsis: You and Ben have been friends since High School. When a friend from Primary School shows up many years later, will Ben be able to keep his feelings in check, or will his jealousy peek through?

Warnings: swearing and terribly written smut im so fuckin sorry sksksk

A/N: *this is reposted bc i hated the way it looked on the app on the phone AHAH* hi yes, im back, kinda, thank you for all the love on sucker!! i appreciate it all!! ❤ anywho get ready to need to burn your eyeballs because of this piece of sh i e t im so sorry also hasnt been spell checked or re edited bc i hate reading my work back i always send it to my friend and she says its good (i feel as if she has to say thay but ok AHAHAH) anywho enj o y???

Word Count: 5.5k (tf is wrong with me???)

You’d heard a knock on the door of your flat, the flat you share with Ben. You furrow your eyebrows, confused as to why someone might be here. You sit on the couch for a few more seconds before you hear another hurried knock.

“Are you going to get that?” Ben yelled from his bedroom. You sighed and lifted the warm woolen blanket, slipping on your slippers. You were wearing one of Ben’s old hoodies and a pair of pyjama pants.

“Yeah, fine! I’ll get up from the warm confines of my blanket to answer the bloody door!” You laugh, shuffling towards the door. You swing it open, the wire door covering the person standing there. “Hello?”

“Is this Y/N’s house?” You raise an eyebrow, skeptical of who would be asking for you.

“Uh, who’s asking?”

“Well, if you open the door, you’ll find out.” You warily open the wire door, slamming it open when you realise who it was.

“Hayden?” You scream, confusion and shock clear all over your face. Hayden was your best friend in primary school - he’d moved away in grade five, his mum had gotten a better job opportunity to benefit everyone in his family. This was the first time you’d seen him over 15 years.

“Hi, Y/N, long time no see!” He says with a laugh, opening his arms for a hug. You comply and run into his arms, crashing into his grasp. “How are you, little one?”

“Oh my god, it’s been so long! How did you know where I live?”

“Well, your mum hasn’t moved out of your old family house, so I went there first and your mum directed me here. Your mum hasn’t changed a bit - it seems you haven’t either!”

“Who’s at the door?” You hear a voice behind you, Ben rugged up in a hoodie and trackies. This winter weather wasn’t going well for either of you it seemed. He walked up to you and placed his arm around your shoulder, pulling you close.

“Ben! This is one of my old best friends from primary school, Hayden! Hayden, this is my now best friend Ben!” You introduce the two, Ben warily shaking the man's hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ben!” Hayden enthusiastically shakes Ben’s hand, “I hear you’ve been treating our Y/N right? That’s that your mum said.”

“Yeah, I guess.” Ben stares at Hayden with a weird look, almost as if he was glaring at him. His hold on you doesn’t falter, you place your hand on his. You look at him with confusion, shake your head slightly and glance back at Hayden. He doesn’t seem to notice the weird looks.

“You talked to my mum? What did she say when she saw you?”

“She looked back at me and said ‘There is no way you’re that little boy I remember’ I laughed and had to try to prove it to her!” Ben still looks quite uncomfortable standing there, one arm around you. His hand slides across the back of your neck and down your arm he then walks out of the lounge room and into the kitchen, hearing pots and pans clanging around. You shiver slightly at the movement, feeling lost without his touch.

“How?”

“The nickname I used to call you, ‘Funny Bunny’” He smirks at you, seeing the look of horror on your face.

“Oh my god, I haven’t heard that in years,” You let out a big grin, “I can’t believe you remember that!”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

You and Hayden continue to chat, leading him into the lounge room and out of the cold. You talk about what he did when he was away, how his family was going and how he’d finally found love in his life. You’d talked about how you’d met Ben in high school, how finishing high school was like and what life afterwards has been like.

After about an hour of talking, Hayden decided it was a good idea to leave - but not before asking you to come to the housewarming party he was having to celebrate him coming home.

“Is it okay if Ben comes along? Maybe he can get drunk enough and tell me whats wrong,” you ask, chuckling slightly.

“Yeah, of course, the more the merrier!” He seems genuinely happy to have him come along, “it’s been so great to see you, Y/N, I’ll see you both tomorrow night?”

“Sure will, thank you for visiting! Again, sorry about my clothes, didn’t realise I’d have any visitors,” you gesture towards your pyjama pants.

“That hoodie does not seem like something you’d wear,” He furrows his brows but with a knowing look. You hit his shoulder slightly.

“Shh,” you giggle, “It’s Ben’s, it’s roomy and comfy enough for a winter’s day!”

“Alright then, I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” He throws you into a large hug, shaking you around the whole time. “Goodbye Ben!” Hayden yells out, and beginning to leave, not expecting an answer. You hear Ben let out a ‘bye’, but not coming out to see him.

You wave once more to him and close the door, letting out a happy sigh. It’s great to be able to catch up with old friends, especially ones who made an impact in your life. You raise yourself from the door and walk to Ben’s room, where he’s sitting cross legged on his queen sized mattress, on his phone.

“Why are you in a grumpy mood?” You ask, knocking on the door. He looks up from his phone with a plain look on his face.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he says blatantly. You give him a pointed look, clearly seeing through his bullshit.

“Ben, you’re grumpy and I can tell,” You walk towards his bed and sit down next to him, pushing his shoulder with your shoulder. “C’mon, dude, you can talk to me.”

“There’s nothing to talk about, I’m not grumpy,” his eyes wander to yours, then slowly drifting down your body. “Is that my hoodie?”

“Maybe, it’s cold as hell and you have so many. I only have one, and it’s in the wash.” You play with the fur-like lining of your slipper, sighing as you lay down on his bed. You can’t lie, it’s a much more comfy bed than yours, you’d considered swapping it with yours when he was away filming. “So, we’re going to Hayden’s housewarming party tomorrow night.” He groans really loudly, falling back on the bed next to you.

“Why are we doing that?”

“Because he’s been my best friend since primary school, and I haven’t seen him in like 15 years.” You point out, turning your body so you’re on your side, staring at Ben. You watched his face go through so many emotions in the span of 3 seconds.

You sit there for a few more seconds, noting how his eyes scrunch up when he’s concentrating, his eyebrows furrow and he bites his lip, which, if you were standing, would make your knees give out on you.

“Fine, I’ll go.” You squeal and throw yourself over him to hug him, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs intertwined with his. You could feel him stiffen up, but you didn’t say anything, you were too excited. You give him a sloppy kiss to his cheek, yelling thank you over and over again.

You couldn’t decide what to wear, it was still extremely cold, it only being 7 degrees Celsius outside and tonight, it was going to drop to only 4 degrees Celsius. You decide on a maroon woolen jumper with black jeans, along with black boots with a big heel. You settled on having your hair down, natural, with neutral makeup. You walked into the lounge room, grabbing your keys and purse.

“Ben, you ready?”

“I’ve been ready for the last 10 minutes, I’ve just been playing the game-” Ben trails off as he sees you, letting a small smile grow on his lips. “You look-” Ben pauses, biting his lip in concentration, “... amazing.” Your eyes flicker from his eyes to his lips and back.

“Thanks Benny,” You smile flirtily, walking to the door. “You good to go?”

“Yeah, of course,” he feels his pockets for his phone and wallet. “Lets go!”

Hayden was very welcoming to both you and Ben, Ben was even smiling at him. When you two walked in, it was like one of those high school parties you were never invited to, but found yourself at those parties because Ben dragged you there.

You didn’t want to drink, you never found the fun in it, seeing everyone literally falling over, it just never appealed to you. Ben however, grabbed one of the light beers.

“I don’t want to drink much, I’m probably not even going to finish this.” He had told you, earlier in the night, but you didn’t believe him, you knew he was going to get smashed, one way or another.

You were talking to Hayden again, laughing, smiling and reminiscing with him when you see Ben stagger into where you two were talking. He was smiling eagerly when he saw you, walking over and plopping himself down on your lap. He cuddled into your neck, whispering things that you couldn’t quite understand.

“Ben, why don’t you sit next to me?”

“Can I lay in between your legs?”

“Why not.” He stands up and pulls you to the floor. Feeling every part of your body jiggle with that one action, you begin to feel self conscious - covering up your stomach when Ben lays down.

He feels your hands where his neck is placed and pulled your arms out from where you were covering and placed his hands into them, nestling his head between your boobs. You blush from the movement, him moving his head around to get comfortable, he situates himself to have his cheek resting on your left boob.

You close your eyes and then look to Hayden. “You know what, I might get this one home, he seems out of it.” You chuckle nervously, feeling the rumbling of Ben’s resisting groans.

“Don’t want to go home yet.” He closes his eyes and lets out a sigh. You look at Hayden with an apologetic gaze.

“C’mon, Sweet, you’re done for, you gotta get home and rest, otherwise the hangover you’ll have will be astronomical.”

“I need to pee first,” he says slowly standing up. He holds his hands out for you to stand up with him. You sigh, rolling your eyes playfully, grabbing his warm hands to pull yourself up. He continues to hold your right hand as he finds the toilet. He pulls you in, locking the door afterwards.

“Ben, what are you doing?” You laugh. He turns around, his bright eyes turned dark, with an almost smug look on his face. You stop laughing when you see his eyes glide down your body. “Ben-” he cuts you off with one finger pressed to your lips. You gasp slightly at the action, you slowly walk back until you hit the sink, Ben stalking his way towards you.

“You seem to be having fun with Hayden, huh?” he asks, standing in front of you, looking down at you with an all new look on his face, one you’d never seen before.

“Ben, you’re drunk, what are you doing?” You mutter, clenching your legs slightly - the look in his eyes really did something to you.

“I barely drank that beer, I told you that,” he says. You place your hands on his cheeks, your eyes searching his for any sign of intoxication. You didn’t see any sign that he’d been drinking, no sign like you’d seen in previous situations.

This isn’t the first time he’s done something like this, he’s gotten jealous when another man would talk to you at a party, when you and Ben got home, he’d ask you the same questions, but in a drunken manner. You never told him it had happened before, you thought it’d make the friendship you two had awkward.

This time he wasn’t drunk, he was sober, alert, he knew what he was doing, and he seemed to know what he was doing to you too, looking at the way your legs were situated.

“Then- why- what?” You splutter, not knowing what to take from this conversation. “You looked so drunk before, what the hell was that?”

“I’m an actor, babe,” his finger pushes a stray hair behind your ear, caressing your face. He placed his palm on your cheek, his thumb rubbing calming circles.

“A bloody good one, you are,” you agree, getting lost in the eyes that seemed to get darker by the second. “What’s happening?” You whisper, leaning into his touch.

“Well, I’m just wondering why you haven’t tried to hook up with Hayden yet, you two seem to be having a lot of fun.” There’s fiery look in his eyes.

“Is that all you’re worried about?” You furrow your eyebrows, confused.

“You two are becoming close again, I can tell,” he mutters, his hand still on your cheek, his other hand slowly creeping up to your waist. “Soon, it’ll be ‘Y/N and Hayden’ and I don’t know if I can share you like that.”

“Are you jealous?”

“If that's what you want to call this, then maybe.” He says, sarcasm seething from his teeth like venom. You chuckle slightly, bringing one of your hands to the back of his neck, and the other sliding down his neck and resting on his chest.

“Sweetheart,” You begin, rubbing his neck, feeling the short hair between your fingers, you grip the hair slightly. He closes his eyes temporarily, mouth dropping. “You have nothing to worry about with Hayden,” you continue, sliding your hand lower towards his abs, hooking onto his jeans, fiddling with the belt. You bring his head down, your lips finding their way to his ear. You let out a slow and shaky breath as you whisper the rest of your sentence, “He’s gay.”

You pull away and begin to walk to the door, letting out small laughs. You begin to open the door as Ben stands there for a few seconds, he quickly snaps out of his trance. He closes the door before you can walk out, pushes you against it. You let out another gasp, he moves his head closer to yours.

“What?” He questions, placing his forehead on yours.

“That man he was with? His fiancé, you dipshit,” you giggle, placing your hand on his cheek once again.

“Oh, so I didn't need to stake my claim?” He asks, his voice getting lower and more seductive. You almost moan at the sentence, feeling heat all throughout your body at how close he was getting.

“Why would you need to stake your claim? If you wanted me to be yours, you should’ve just asked.”

“Oh, Love,” his voice is raspy and to you, it's so hot, his lips get closer and closer to yours, “so I can kiss you?” You don’t answer him, you just close the gap between the two of you. Teeth clashing, bitten lips and small breathy moans were all you could think of, Ben brought his hips closer to yours, pressing into each other.

You thought your first kiss with Ben would be simple and sweet, one night where you two were slightly drunk and you’d both wonder what it’d be like to kiss each other.

You’d hope something would stem from there. But if you told 17 year old you, that’d you be making out with Ben Hardy in the bathroom of an old friends house in the future, your past self would slap you and accuse you of lying, and then she’d tell you to stop playing with her feelings. You’d never thought this amount of passion could be thrown into a kiss, a fiery, jealousy and lust driven kiss.

Ben allows his lips to travel down to your jaw, leaving wet kisses trailing to your neck and collarbone that was exposed from your jumper. One of his hands grazed down your body and landed on your ass, squeezing slightly, his other hand still placed on your waist. You let out a moan as Ben found a sweet spot, sucking and making little noises, making a trail of marks as he brings his lips to the bottom of your ear. You grab his hair and scrunch your fingers in the perfectly placed heap, letting out louder noises - not caring if other people could hear you. Your other hand trailing down his chest again, stopping at his belt.

“If you keep making those noises and keep pulling my hair, Sweetheart, I won’t be able to stop myself.” He lifts his head from your neck, you let out a single laugh and pull him back to your lips, a kiss that's slower, sweeter, one that is filled with love and want. “As much as I’d love to take you in this bathroom, I’d rather finish this at home, where we can be as loud as we want.” Ben smirks, his lips are plump from the searing kisses, his face is red and he’s letting out small and laboured breaths. You nod, giving him one last kiss and pulling away, walking out of the bathroom. Ben gives a little smack to your ass, causing you to squeal slightly.

“Jeez, Y/N, you look fucked out, what happened in there?” Hayden lets out a laugh as he holds on to his fiancé. “And what happened to your neck? You look like you burnt yourself with a curling iron!”

“No time to explain, I’ve got to go, thank you for having Ben and I, we’ll come visit soon!” You hug him quickly and the man hanging onto him.

“I can see, have fun you two, wear protection!” Hayden yells out, as you stick the finger up at him, giggling. Ben joins your side, putting his arms around your waist, picking you up. You let out another scream and slap at his back.

“Put me down!” You laugh. He shakes his head and gives another slap to your ass. “Boy, if you don’t-”

“I’ll be driving, sweet,” He grabs your keys from your back pocket and puts you down as he arrives to your car.

“Are you sure you’ll be able to contain yourself?” You laugh, crossing your arms. You can see him straining against his pants, he isn’t exactly great at hiding it. He pulls your arms out from where they are and pins you against the car, the same position as before, but this time, his hands pinning yours to the car. You let out an impatient groan, “You know, the faster we get in the car, the longer we’ll have at home,” you whisper seductively, biting your lip as he also lets out an impatient groan.

“Good point, c’mon, lets go!”

Almost crashing through the front door of your flat, he pushed you against the closed door once again. He stares at you for a few seconds, you break the silence.

“How many times have you pushed me against a door tonight?” You gaze up, looking into his desperate eyes, letting out small laughs.

“Not nearly enough times,” He groans, pressing his lips to yours, hungrier and needier than before. “I’m making up for lost time, if I’m being honest.” His fingers tap the backs of your thighs, making you jump and joined your legs around his waist. “All those times I’d accidentally see you come out of the shower in just your underwear,” He’d began to trail the kisses to your cheek, “Those times where we’d be sitting on the couch and you’d take your bra off through your shirt because it’d been uncomfortable,” He lastly leant into your neck, kissing once then bringing his lips right next to your ear, “And those time’s I’d hear you moan my name in your sleep.” You blush a bright scarlet red, your mouth agape.

“I’d do that? I mean, I knew I did it while conscious, but not while I’m asleep,” He let out a guttural groan, his eyes almost rolling back.

“Oh my fuck, yes, sweetheart, it took me so much self control to not just walk into your room and eat you out, then and there.” His voice was low, husky and delicious. “It’s taking me a lot more to not just fuck you right here and now,” The sleeves of the jumper you were wearing covered your hands as you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him closer.

“I mean you could-” you trail off.

He smirks as he begins to walk to the hallway. “My room or yours?”

“Your bed is so much comfier than mine, it’ll feel much better on yours.”

“You think?” He asks with a smirk, you nod eagerly, with a grin growing on your face. He leads you to his bed, essentially throwing you onto the bed, your hands grasping at the multiple blankets covering his bed.

“So this is where they went?” You look at them then back to Ben, “I was looking for another one of these last night.”

“Oh well, you don’t have to worry about that tonight then,” Ben hops onto the bed, crawling over to you, pulling your legs apart to settle himself in between them. His lips latch onto yours again, moving slower and deeper, his hands placed next to your head.

You wrap your arms around his torso, scratching at his back, wanting his shirt gone. You must’ve scratched a little too hard as he pulled away and moaned. You pull at it from the back, throwing it in a random direction. You marvel at the chest before you, running your fingers along his pecs and abs, you almost drooled at the sight. You pulled at his belt buckle, ripping it off in one swift motion.

“These, off, now,” You muttered, urgency in your voice. Ben smirked and stood up from the bed, pulling his pants down, slowly and it was agonisingly painful. He left his boxers on as he crawls back up to you.

“You sure you want to do this, Sweetheart?” He asked, concern filling his face. You nod, not being able to trust your voice. “No, Love, I need verbal consent-” You grab his cheeks and kiss his lips hard.

“Yes, I want this, I want you, I want you in me, now.” Muttering against his lips, he almost growls, pulling at the end of your shirt, almost asking for permission to take it off. You groan and take it off yourself. You’re left in a lacy bra that barely held your boobs in because of how tight it was on you. You weren’t going to lie, it was extremely uncomfortable to wear, but it made you feel pretty. Ben licked his lips slightly at the sight. “Do you want to take it off, or should I?”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been wanting to do this for forever,” You smile as he brings his hands to the back of the bra, unclasping it with expert speed. You sigh in relief as the bra is finally off of your chest, but feeling suddenly self conscious (and cold, as soon as the cold air hit your nipples they turned as solid as fucking icicles), you fold your arms against your chest. “My sweet Y/N, you’re perfectly beautiful the way you are, you have no need to cover up.”

“No, you fuck, it’s fucking cold in here, why isn’t the heater on?” You shiver. Ben jumps off from the bed.

“I’ll put it on, I’ll be back.” Ben runs out of the room, leaving you by yourself to contemplate what to do next. You decide to pull off your jeans and underwear, and bringing yourself under the numerous amounts of blankets on Ben’s bed, it’s almost silly how many there were. Ben comes back and begins to rattle in the bottom of his draw.

“What’re you doing?” You ask, holding the blankets to your chest. He pulls out the square foil packaging, holding it between his fingers.

“This is essential isn’t it?”

“I am on birth control.” You mutter, feeling slightly embarrassed. “And as long as you’ve had an STI test, we can go without it.”

“Since when are you on the pill? I don’t see you take medication, or even go to the doctors for it.” Ben is genuinely confused, “But ever since I’ve moved in here with you, I haven’t had sex with another girl, I have had a test though, and nothing came back positive.” You smirk, beginning to tell him what birth control you were on, but he cut you off. “I can grab the test, if you’d like?”

“No no, Love, I believe you. I’ve got the IUD, I’m not on the pill.”

“IUD?”

“Don’t worry about it, it’s just a thing that gets put in my uterus- Just drop the condom, come here and fuck me already?” Ben is almost giddy when those words leave your mouth. He quickly gets under the covers to see you don’t have your underwear on either.

“Oh, I’m not fucking you tonight, I’m making long and hard love to you, all night long,” He brings his lips to yours, moving against them as he palms at your boobs. He places a hand at your entrance, swiping back and forth between your folds. “So wet for me, darling,” he pushes one finger in. “So easy to push in, huh?” His finger pulls out, you whimper, needing more. He pushes his finger in his mouth, sucking the juices off the digit.

You moan with his words and actions, feeling blissed out. You push your hand into his boxers, feeling his length in your hand. He lets out a guttural groan, pulling off his boxers completely.

“Are you sure this is still okay?” You groan, getting impatient as you position his length to your entrance. A smirk finds its way onto your lips.

“Does it look like I’m okay with it?” Ben doesn’t answer for a few seconds, staring at your eyes.

He lets out a small ‘yes’ with a laugh and pushes himself in until he bottoms out. Your mouth is in a constant ‘o’ state, not having sex for a while, you forgotten what it felt to be completely filled out. You claw at the back of Ben’s back, knowing full well that it’ll leave marks tomorrow. Ben stalls for a few seconds. “Are you going to move?”

“Just let me get used to this, Babe, as I said, I haven’t had sex since we moved in together, if I start moving now, I won’t be able to last long.” His eyes are honest and full of lust. Your hand finds its way to his cheek as you bring his face to yours, eyes shutting and lips falling on his, for what it seems like to be the hundredth time this night. “So what is the IUD?” Ben says, clearly distracting himself from trying not to release in you straight away. He begins to move outwards slowly, as you look at him incredulously.

“You really want to ask me about something that’s jammed in my uterus?”

“Well, I’m jammed inside your vagina, so-” You slap his chest, with a scoff that turned into a moan as Ben pushed back in. He spilt out your name as you clenched your walls against him.

“Note to self, never have sex with a friend, they’ll try to pull some jokes-” You cut yourself off by a scream of Ben’s name, as soon as he hit the right spot.

“You won’t be having sex with anyone else, beside me, darling,” Ben repeatedly hits that same spot, a string of curses and Ben’s name falling off your lips. “Sorry, but you’re mine now.”

“It’ll be only you, it’s always going to be only you.” You moan, clawing at Ben’s back again. “Shit, Ben!” His hand trails down your body, landing on the bundle of nerves between your legs. You begin to squirm.

“I heard that women don’t really get off with just vaginal penetration, so, I thought to help you along, because I’m so fucking close-” he presses down hard and wiggles his fingers, “I’d play with you a bit more.” Ben’s voice sounds absolutely delicious as he says this, you bring your hand to his hair and pull him down to kiss you to hide the moans that are constantly falling from your lips. “This is so much better than my dreams.” Your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

You pull at his hair, not hard, but just enough for him to moan once again.

“Benny, I’m so close,” you whisper in his ear, he lets out a relieved sigh.

“Thank fuck, because I’ve been holding off for a while.” He laughs, continually applying pressure to your clit, thrusting deep to hit your g-spot. “You’re almost there,” you clench your walls around him. “I can feel it, I’m so close- shit,” he releases inside you, the warmth pushing you over the edge as well. You yell out Ben’s name over and over again, pushing your nails into his shoulders leaving crescent shapes in his skin.

He pulls himself out of you, you whine at the feeling of being empty. He stands up and walks to his bathroom, grabbing a cloth and wetting it with warm water. You begin to feel everything seep out of your hole, you close your legs to try to stop the uncomfortable feeling. Ben kneels on the bed, near your legs.

“C’mon, baby, open up, gotta clean you up,” Ben places his hands on your thighs, eyes hooded, clearly tired. You felt the same, tiredly and warily opening up your legs, you felt him gently wipe at the sensitive spot, feeling him stopping and starting, then finally wiping at your thighs. He presses a kiss to each thigh, then throws his shirt away. “I’ll put that in the wash later, right now, I need to hold my girl.” He pulls you into his chest, your hands bracing the impact slightly. You snuggled into his neck, pressing a few kisses there.

You blushed at the endearment, smiling to yourself as you could finally call him yours. He could call you his. This is all that you wanted for the past few years, someone to want and someone to want you back. Your breathing began to pick up, as you planned out your next few words.

“I love you.”

“That’s a relief,” Ben chuckles, pressing a kiss to your head. “I didn’t want this to just be a friends with benefits thing.” He puts his hand into your hair, scratching lightly. “I could never do that with you, I’d fall in love every single day over and over again.”

“Thank fuck.” You breathed.

The next morning you woke up to someone cuddling into your back, spooning you. You panicked for a second, before turning your head to see the sleepy blonde’s head placed in the mass of your hair. You felt a pleasant ache between your legs, reminiscent of last night’s antics.

You pulled away, hoping not to wake him up. You grab one of Ben’s shirts from the floor, not bothering to put on underwear as the shirt almost looked like a dress on you, hitting the mid-thigh. You walk into the kitchen, putting on the kettle to set yourself a cup of black tea. You grab the sugar and place it on the bench. You walk to the fridge and grab the milk, closing it to see Ben standing there, leaning on the door frame.

“Fuck, Ben,” you gasp, holding your chest where your heart would be.

“Hmm, love the sound of that,” He mumbles, walking towards you, settling his hands on your ass. He looks puzzled, feeling around your ass - lifting the bottom of the shirt, he sees you’re not wearing underwear. He gives you a lazy smirk. “You naughty girl.” You let out a squeak as he slaps your ass.

“I couldn’t be fucked putting on underwear, plus, you can’t tell I’m not wearing any, unless you lift up my shirt like an ass.” You slap his chest lightly and walk over to the bench where your tea awaited you.

You exaggerate your hip movements, leaning on your hip as you pour the hot water in the mug. You put the tea bag in the mug and turn back around to see Ben standing there, a smile on his lips. He walks up to you and places his hands around your waist and lifts you up. You let out a squeal, looking down at Ben as he twirls you two around. He stops and puts you down, still holding onto your waist.

“I’m glad we finally figured out we loved each other, didn’t know if I could go another day without telling you.”

You place a hand on his cheek, letting your thumb rub lightly. Your lips give his a gentle kiss, not hurried and not lustful, just a kiss to let him know that you’re his.

“Sorry to tell you this, but you really won’t be able to get rid of me anymore.” You sigh, shaking your head. He looks right into your eyes, not blinking once, seriousness in both his sight and voice.

“I don’t mind that at all, being with you will be heavenly.”

[fae-fucker]

Zenith: Chapter 52-55

Chapter 52

Valen interrogates Andi about his father’s decision to make her his rescuer, and instead of going “take that up with your dad because I don’t know his reasons for doing this,” Andi tries to be all apologetic about all the Kalee stuff and saying how she’s changed and Valen’s like nu-uh!

“It was a mistake,” Andi said again. “If I could take it back—”

Valen gritted his teeth. “Murder isn’t a mistake.”

Have I finally gone off the deep end or is this fucking funny?

“If I recall, you were the one who allowed your little sister and her friend to sneak out for a joyride on your father’s brand-new transport,” Andi replied. Her words were soft and casual, but her eyes were on fire.

“Spectre,” Valen said. “Spectre first, and always. You failed her as that.”

“Again,” Andi said, “it was a mistake. I’ve had to live with the cost of it.”

“Kalee didn’t!” Valen screamed. “She didn’t get to live, Androma!”

It’s honestly impressive that whenever I go into a chapter that’s relatively short and think it’s gonna be fine and I’ll just skim over it, Shinsay proves me wrong by including more bullshit that I just have to talk about. But hey, part of the reason I have this blog is so that people know what not to do and examining why certain things just don’t work, with the added bonus of having the context for it.

It’s also impressive how two women somehow keep making the wrong choice for the same one book, over and over and over. Every narrative choice in this book is wrong.

So, what’s wrong with this particular bit? Remember when Dex and Andi were having their stupid argument and Dex, right after trying to apologize for what he did and explain himself, turned around and started blaming Androma for it instead? Here it’s even more jarring, because Andi genuinely believes she was to blame for Kalee’s death and genuinely wants to atone (or she claims to want that, at least). So when she, out of nowhere, starts trying to defend herself and shift the blame onto Valen? That shit don’t make no sense, y’all.

I think this is a result of the book having too many pointless POVs. We’re in Valen’s right now, so obviously he needs emotional triggers to react to and start monologuing over. He needs to be provoked and damn logic and character consistency, he’s gonna get provoked! Andi’s words make no sense and will not be examined closer once we’re back in her POV, she just said this OOC shit for the sake of drama, yet given everyone’s awful characterization, even small things like these serve only to undermine the characters and their motivations even further.

Shinsay don’t understand that sometimes, no arguments is far more impactful than a dramatic verbal battle of cheap witticisms. Instead of this, Andi could’ve just sat there, quietly, letting Valen dunk on her because she feels she deserves it. Hell, this entire conversation could’ve been saved if only Andi’s blame-shifting line had been given to someone else! I didn’t even read it as her saying it at first and had to double-check and that’s when it fell apart to me.

God, I could go on like this forever. Feel free to send me asks if you want me to elaborate on dialogue and characterization, I guess? Let’s just move on.

The others try to figure out how Valen was taken and what happened when he was, asking him if he knows anything about Queen Nor, at which point Rage Unlocks Within Him, and he gets up and leaves.

I also want to mention that Valen talks about “things being tense after Kalee was gone,” but Kalee’s been dead for four years, while Valen was taken two years ago. Sooo uh ... huh? He makes it sound like it was two months after and not two years. He could’ve said things “changed” after her death and it would’ve sounded better. Idk just a preference I guess.

Also ... I just realized Valen’s been missing and tortured for two years. How he still talks normally is ... pretty bonkers, to say the least.

Chapter 53

Andi goes out to find Valen but finds Lon instead, his blue tiddies out.

Lon leads Andi to where Valen is, all while dropping hints that Lira has something to say to Andi and that Andi shouldn’t try to influence her decision. To her credit, Andi says she won’t, and that she loves Lira as her sister.

Andi and Valen sit around in nature for a bit and talk about Valen’s art. I don’t hate it?

“When I was locked up, I almost forgot what colors looked like,” [Valen] said, lazily brushing the stick back and forth against the mud. “Did you know that black is more than just a single shade?”

Anish Kapoor would like to know your location.

Valen says he can’t forgive Andi for what she did, but he can also not forgive himself for being part of those choices(????). Andi speculates that her accusation earlier must’ve struck him deep, but that’s all we get on that, no explanation as to why she accused him at all.

“In Lunamere, I had nothing to keep me company but my pain and my thoughts. I had lots of time to think about that night, and everything leading up to it. Time to realize that we were raised in a society where perfection is the only option. But that doesn’t mean it’s always possible. We all made bad choices that night, not just you. She got on that transport herself. And I chose to stay behind.”

Andi wanted to speak, but she feared it would shatter this strange, heart-wrenching moment they had somehow found themselves in.

Thanks for telling me it’s heart-wrenching, lest my idiot self got lost in all this emotion and forgot to realize what was happening.

Christ, even when Shinsay have a decent dramatic and emotional moment going, they just can’t keep their grubby little hands to themselves, huh? I know it’s your book but can you shut the fuck up for a moment and just let the prose stand on its own?

God, if only there had been an editor.

Both Andi and Valen admit they wish they’d died with Kalee and in any other more competent book this would’ve been quite touching.

“Without Kalee...” Andi began, finally voicing the realization she’d come to terms with these past few days. “Without Kalee, there wouldn’t have been a sentence for me to run from. And without that running, I never would have found Dex. And without him...”

“You wouldn’t be the Bloody Baroness,” Valen finished for her. “My father would not have hired you.”

It was a vicious cycle, one that Andi wished she could have undone before it had ever started. But it was her story. Her life.

Her life is a series of reactions to things outside of her control? Love that for a protagonist.

Listen, I know it’s supposed to be sad and stuff, but even Andi’s backstory reinforces her reactionary personality and the way the plot is driven by things completely outside of her control. It’s hard to feel invested in a character when they never make choices and instead only react to whatever happens to them.

Anyway, Valen and Andi seem to have gotten over their differences and go to the festival together. That was easy. I guess it’s to throw us off the scent and make it more surprising when he suddenly turns out to be evil? I’m honestly not sure. It’s pretty bad either way, but I don’t have to tell you that.

Chapter 54

We’re with Lira again and she’s staring off into the distance thinking about the festival. Lon appears again, tiddies still out, but now his muscles and “sculpted” chest feels kind of weird to comment on since we’re in Lira’s head? Whatever, maybe Adhirans are weird like that.

Lon says some cutesy shit about how technically Lira is this planet’s princess but she doesn’t reply or even think about how that would make him the prince? He just says he’s her brother and has to guard her. Maybe Adhirans also don’t let men have political power because that’s what Shinsay think feminism is.

Anyway, they join the other girls and head to the festival while Lira mopes about her decision and how she can’t have two families. Except you can. But whatever. Logic isn’t dramatic enough, I suppose.

“It’s time to let loose,” Breck said. “Lir, you look like you’ve just puked up a pound of Moon Chew.”

“Lira doesn’t puke,” Gilly said.

“That’s ridiculous. Everyone pukes,” Breck added.

“I’ve never seen her do it. And I spy on her, like, all the time.” 

Lon chuckled beside Lira. “I see it,” he whispered. “What draws you to this crew.”

I don’t.

Also they’re in the same close space it seems, so I have no idea how they 1) don’t bother to ask Lira what’s going on and 2) don’t notice Lon being all whispery and shit. Convenient!

Gonna gloss over the spying bit as well, I see. Hey, they do have those eye implants that you don’t need consent to activate. Maybe Gilly’s been using it to perv on the rest of the crew.

Lira decides ... not to decide, and just fuckin party down for tonight. I guess in this universe it means she’s gonna get blackout wasted, because That’s What Adults Do. I should also mention that she decides not to decide and then never has to decide anyway because the plot intervenes and the choice is made for her. Love that for a character.

*sigh*

Chapter 55

We’re in Dex’s POV and we get some decent descriptions of how cool the festival is with more incidental aliens and traditions. Dex spots the crew and thinks about how they’re his crew now and realizes he’s bonded with them. I’m glad this is spelled out because I would not have noticed it myself, and frankly I both do and don’t mean it this time.

They’ve only been together for a couple of days, tops. I guess extreme situations make people bond faster but I really feel like we’re jumping the shark here. At the same time I can tell that Dex clearly fits into the crew pretty well, and this just feels forced and redundant. All in all, this comment is just unnecessary. Let the characters evolve and grow closer naturally, Shinsay. You don’t need to convince us they’re a crew, you can just show us and we’ll believe it!

Dex spots Valen and Andi and of course we get a horny description of how cool and sexy Andi is and how impressed Dex is that she and Valen are already friends. Then he decides to get drunk and eat some meat.

Frankly? Relatable. Chapter? Pointless.

[everyman0]

A PALE BLUE GHOST

over on the discord, i announced my decision to make another trip to the Edge to try my luck at finding any kind of clue that could help me make sense of it. patrick gave me a whole lot of lip about not using his fucking mirror and other bullshit, but ill save that for another post. this is a lot more fresh and painful for me.

going back outside was a mistake.

i journeyed the five hours it took to get to the impenetrable black wall of the Edge. my plan was to walk down its length, survey anything unusual, you know. obviously i wouldnt have been able to observe all of it in one day as ive mentioned the area it covers is rather large, but i felt some effort was better than none at all, and i wasnt exactly comfortable with the idea of spending the night this far away from the house. simple enough right? there was nothing out of place on the way out here, so i hardly expected what i saw just as i approached the wall. 

it was jeff. sort of.

when i first saw him, he appeared almost like a reflection of me in the blackness. as i stepped closer to the wall, so did he step forward as well - until eventually seeming to step out of the wall entirely. we stood face to face, a mere foot apart, and i noticed then that his entire being was tinted with a pale blue.

i was terrified. i wanted to run away, but i couldnt make myself do it. so i asked timidly, "what are you doing here?"

jeff seems to come alive then.

"what? you told me to grab some stuff for the video today."

fucking bastard. i was still scared, but somehow i just knew he was mocking me. i frown, reaffirming my stance. i had to ask myself if jeff would even do such a thing to me...and then i figured yeah, probably - ghost or not.

"dont you dare pull that bullshit on me," i said, "those days are long gone." and they were. 

jeff laughs. "don't you miss it? simpler times." he splays his hands out like an offering. "cant be all that bad to pretend, for a little while."

i squint my eyes at him - both of them. these days i dont bother wearing an eyepatch, since the point was for evans comfort to begin with. now it doesnt matter that i have a gaping fucking hole in my head for all to see.

i ball my fists at my sides. "i dont have time to pretend, and i dont have time for this conversation - so lets get to the point. why are you here?"

"to see my old friend again! and to tell you there's always more than meets the eye." jeff then taps a finger underneath his left eye, and a phantom pain throbs in my own empty socket. i try to ignore it. 

"yeah, no shit," i say, and cross my arms. i was losing my patience. "if you're just going to spout vague nonsense at me like every other motherfucker does on a constant basis, i'm sorry to say but i will have to pass. i have more important things to do."

"like stand in front of this wall and bitch? is that what you're doing here?" jeff grins, and tilts his head at me. i just scoff, and deciding i had enough, i begin trying to do what i came to the wall for in the first place and begin walking parallel to it. jeff follows after me.

"im only bitching because here you are to distract me," i say, side-eyeing him, "so if you don't mind, kindly fuck off."

"i do mind, actually. why do you even want to leave? its paradise in here. no need to eat or drink, perfect climate, no irritating neighbors or awkward staredowns at the grocery store- you'd love it!"

i stop in my tracks. i hate that the sound of his voice is enough to get me to actually consider his words. but i do, and then i say:

"you know, for a while there, i did enjoy it. to an extent, anyways. you can only enjoy so much when you are all too aware of every little fucking thing. and maybe i could have handled the ghost thing, right? like you said, no neighbors or weird interactions. but then i saw this wall, and now i feel like a trapped animal - and im not okay with that."

"so if you couldnt see the wall, it'd be fine?"

i shake my head, "i came out here the first time to see if i could leave, and i wouldve kept walking if there was nothing to stop me. maybe i would have returned, after a while, had i done so. maybe not." i shrug, somewhat frustrated at the thought. "a wall is a wall, whether i can see it or not. seeing isnt the problem, the existence of the thing is."

"well yeah, but you can't just leave." jeff says it like its obvious. in hindsight, maybe it was. i could already imagine a few reasons as to why, but i wanted to pry out what jeff seems to think the answer is.

so i ask, "and why is that?"

jeff answers: "because there's...people, out there? like, innocent fuckin people, dude." well duh.

i roll my eyes, "im aware. but what does that have to do with me, exactly? habit is already somewhere else doing god knows what."

jeff looks on blankly. "we don't need two of you out there."

ouch. and unfortunately, on some level i believe it to be true. and the implication that i would intentionally hurt or even kill anyone like habit would...im sadly all too aware of the likelihood, really. it doesnt hurt because i feel bad, it hurts because i dont. however, i wasnt about to let this guy know that.

i say, "it's not like id be very social anyways. at this point, i dont think i could even stomach it."

jeff takes on a darker sort of air about him. "evidently so, based on how you treated evan. do you have your head screwed on straight, dude? because like, holy shit was that hard to watch."

i tense up, and i can feel a spark of anger rising from within me. guess it didnt matter what i tried to hide, jeff knew what weak points to hit.

"i was just trying to protect him." 

"uh huh," he nods, "sorry vinny, but you're not the guardian in this one."

"clearly," i grumble, "but i was fucking trying, okay?" i was trying. jeff thought otherwise.

"yeah, trying to get everyone killed. thanks for that one, by the way. you've been self absorbed, irresponsible, reckless and horrible to everyone around you that isn't the entity playing games with our lives, and you can't keep pretending it's not true! do some soul searching. meditate. i don't care. but you're not leaving any time soon, so you'd better get used to it." jeff jabs me in the chest with a pointed finger.

it didnt take but a moment to process jeffs words, and ultimately, i agree with him. im a terrible fucking person. i just am. but i wasnt going to give jeff the satisfaction of me fessing up to it - because i felt like all of this was beginning to become unproductive bullshit and i wanted to do what i came all the way out here to do dammit.

i go to smack jeffs hand away from me, but i come to find that i simply pass through him like he was air. i felt the jab, though, even if superficially. this confirms my suspicion about the ghost thing, but jeff was different from the ghosts in the town; like being able to talk and acknowledge my existence.

i take a step back, "we'll see about that. who the fuck made this wall, hm? you of all things must know right? since you are apparently a plethora of knowledge of good and evil now. can you do that much for me jeff?"

jeff considers my words before he turns away from me to face the terrible wall, his hands on his hips, and his head craning back to presumably observe the wall's endless climb into the sky above.

"habit designed this gaudy architecture as part of his grand scheme. you probably could have figured that much, eh? but what you wouldnt know is that its been here since the very beginning, before you even arrived at the house." he looks back at me, "come on vin. you should know by now that habit is well prepared...even if this timeline is bonkers. you shouldnt need me to tell you that."

i grumble in annoyance, but consider his words carefully. sure, maybe i didnt need him to tell me habit was a suspect in all this, and maybe i could have figured that out just by doing what i had originally planned with scouting the perimeter of the wall. but...here jeff was, telling me things outright. it was a convenient time saver really, even if he was going about it in a bitchy way. i needed to take advantage of this.

"so, if habit made this cage to keep me in, why shouldnt i try to break out? why shouldnt i try to fight his subjugation?"

"one, because habit has eons of experience over you and you'll likely fuck something up really badly," jeff says, and turns towards me again. "two, you're part of this place now. removing you would shatter a really delicate balance. the house is a place of fluctuation, because there's not enough power to sustain herself. and you're radiating power, dude. would you really just abandon her like that, after all she's done to keep you safe and alive?"

ouch again...ugh. i dont usually feel guilty over a lot of things, but jeffs second point seemed to get to me.

i relent. i cower my head to stare at the ground. "i wouldnt have left her forever."

jeff gives me a disappointed sigh. "go back home, man. she's really worried about you."

i bite my lip and give the slightest of nods. i still want to do what i can to escape, and i hadnt forgotten about why i came to the wall in the first place...but jeff's words had me thinking about my desires for the house. in truth, the house and i have formed a strange sort of...i dunno, friendship? its the closest human word i can think for it. i would talk to her, she would listen. id even clean up her rooms, even though ive observed that she can do it by herself.

i think she may be the only thing in this world that can understand me now.

so i feel like in some weird way, the house cares about me. she has done quite a few favors for me, after all; favors that kept me safer. jeff was right again, and i couldnt shake the wrongness of abandoning the house enough to continue talking my way out of this bind.

it was time to go then. but first, i look back up at jeff.

"what about you?" i ask, my mood seriously taking a nose dive off a cliff. sad and desperate and pathetic and lonely. "you came all this way from wherever, however you did it, to tell me all this...are you going to leave me now too, just like evan?" fuck. "i wouldn't blame you if you did...but i have to admit, it was nice seeing you again."

and truthfully, it was - despite the treatment i received. its fine. i deserved it.

jeff leans in, and i can feel the pity in his eyes as he puts a hand on my shoulder.

"that choice isn't mine to make."

and then he shoves me away from the wall with a force that sends me tumbling across the ground a good few feet. i think it fucked up my shoulder. its fine. deserved that too.

and then i went home.

>>

[archiefm]

         ... claws my way up from hell once more and vomits onto the dash.... hello. its nora. i used to write rory bergstrom, but if u were here before that u might remember me as greta or alma putnam or..... som1 else.... an endless carousel of trash children..... this is finn, who i actually wrote for an early version of this rp abt 5yrs back now...... grits teeth..... so forgive me if im rusty i havent written him in a long time but seein honey boy gave me a lotta finn muse n im keen to get Back On The Horse yeehaww...

DYLAN O’BRIEN / CIS-MALE — don’t look now, but is that finn o’callaghan i see? the 25 year old criminology and forensic studies student is in their graduate year of study year and he is a rochester alum. i hear they can be judicious, adroit, morose and cynical, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet he will make a name for themselves living off-campus. ( nora. 24. gmt. she/her )

shakes my tin can a humble pinterest, ma’am....

finn has a bio pasted at the bottom (n written in like.... 2015.... gross) but it’s long  so if u don’t wanna read it here’s the sparknotes summary..... anyway this was written years ago n a lot of it seems really cliche and lame now but..... we accept the trash we think we deserve

grumpy, ugly sweater wearing, tech-savvy grandpa

very dry sense of humour and embraces nihilism. 

if ron swanson and april ludgate had a baby it would be finn

he was raised in derry, just south of dublin.

from a big family. elder sister called sinead. he also has a younger sister (aoife), a younger brother (colm), and a collie named lassie because his father lovs cliches (finn hates cliches but loves his dog). 

his father was a pub landlord and his mother worked at the market sellin fruit n veg when they met but got a job as a medical receptionist when she had kids cos it meant she cld be there with them in the day and work nights.

his parents met when they were p young and fiesty and rushed into marriage cos they were catholic n just wanted to have sex. his family were literally dirt-poor, but they had a lot of love i guess

hmmmmm his relationship w his father wasn’t the best cos i can’t write character who have healthy relationships w their parents throws up a peace sign. yh, had a pretty emotionally distant, alcoholic violent father n so gets a lot of his bad habits i.e. drinking as a coping mechanism and poor anger management from him BUT anyway

as a kid he was never very motivated in class, he always had a nervous itch to be off somewhere doing something else. struggled under government austerity bcso there just wasn’t the resources to support low income families where the kids had learning difficulties n needed support. fuck the tories am i right 

his mum suggested he try sports to help w his restless energy but he was never any good at football so he took up boxing and tap dance instead. he took to tap dancing like a fish to fuckin water. as adhd n found this as a really good way to use his excess energy in a creative way

had a few run ins with the police in his early teens for spray painting and graffiti, but he straightened himself out n now actually considering becoming a detective inspector??? cops are pigs.

he had a youtube channel where he posted videos of him tapdancing and breakdancing as a kid, basically would be a tiktok boy nowadays, n had like... a small fanbase in his early teens. attended several open auditions unsuccessfully, until he was finally cast in billy eliot when he was fifteen.

during billy eliot he began dating an italian dancer called nina. they became dance partners soon after and toured across the republic with various different shows (inc riverdance lol the classic irish stereotype). their relationship was p toxic tbh, they were both very hot tempered people and just used to argue and fight all the time.

he went semi-pro at tap dancing, and nina couldn’t stand being second best so she moved back to italy with her family. ignored his texts, phone calls, etc, eventually he was driven to the point where he used his savings to buy a plane ticket, showed up at her house and she was like wtf?? freaked out and filed a restraining order accusing him of stalking.

he was fined for harassment and then returned home to derry, but after the incident with nina he quit dancing for good and finished his leaving cert before heading to university in the US to get as far away from nina and his past life as poss. and basically since he quit dancing to study forensics (death kink. finn cant get enough of that morgue. just walks around sayin beat u) he’s become a massive grump and jsut doesn’t see the good in people any more.

u’ll find finn in an old man bar drinking whiskey bc he is in fact an old man at heart or sat on his roof smoking a joint, drawing wolves and lions and skeletons and shit, playing call of duty or getting blazed or at the corner of the room in a house party ignoring everyone and scrolling through twitter. is a massive e-boy. always up-to-date on memes and internet slang. has reddit as an app on his phone

not very good at communication. rather than solve his issues by talking, he’d prefer to just solve them through fighting or running away from his problems hence why he has come halfway across the world to get away from an issue which probs cld have been solved w a few apology emails.

takes a lot to phase him, but when his beserk button gets pressed he can become a bit pugnacious like an angry lil rottweiler. in his undergrad he was in a few fist fights but doesn’t really do tht any more as he doesn’t condone violence.

 in the previous version of this rp he was hospitalised like 5 times. pls, give my son a break. stop tryin to kill him. he literaly got a bottle smashed over his head and bled out all over his favourite angora rug that was the only light of his life

works at the campus coffee shop n always whines about how he’s a slave to capitalism. always smells of coffee

lives off campus with an elderly woman named Marianne, and basically gets reduced rent bcos he makes her dinner / keeps her company. they have a great bond

fan of karl marx. v big on socialism

insomniac with chronic nosebleeds

cynical about everything. too much of a fight club character 4 his own good n has his head up tyler durden’s sphincter

always confused or annoyed

statistics

basic information

full name: finnegan seamus o'callaghan nickname(s): finn age: 25 astrological sign: aries hometown: derry, ireland occupation: phd student / former street entertainer fatal flaw: cynicism positives: self-reliant, street smart, relaxed, intelligent, spontaneous, brave, independent, reliable, trustworthy, loyal. negatives: hostile, impulsive, stubborn, brooding, pugnacious, untrusting, cynical, enigmatic, reserved.

physical

colouring: medium hair colour: dark brown, almost black eye colour: brown height: 5’9” weight: 69kg build: tall, athletic voice: subtle irish accent, low, smooth. dominant hand: left scar(s): one on the left side of his ribs from a knife wound that he doesn’t remember getting cos he was drunk distinguishing marks: freckles, tattoo of a wolf howling at a moon allergies: pollen and the full spectrum of human emotion alcohol tolerance: high drunken behaviour: he becomes friendlier, far more conversational than when sober, flirtier, and generally more self-confident.

psychological

dreams/goals: self-fulfilment, travel the globe, experience life in its most alive and technicoloured version, make documentary films, help the vulnerable in society, grow as a human being.

skills: jack-of-all-trades, very fast runner, good at thieving things, talented tap dancer, good in crisis situations, dab-hand at mechanics, musically-intelligent, can throw a mean right hook and very capable of defending himself, can roll a cigarette, memorises quotes and passages of literature with ease, can light a match with his teeth.

likes: the smell of the earth after rain, poetry, cigarettes, shakespeare, whiskey, tattoos, travelling, ac/dc, deep conversations, leather jackets, open spaces, the smell of petrol, early noughties ‘emo phase’ anthems.

dislikes:  the government, parties, rules, donald trump, children, apple products, weddings, people in general, small talk, dependency, loneliness, pop music, public transport, justin timberlake, uncertainty.fears: fear itself, drowning alignment: true neutral mbti: istp – “while their mechanical tendencies can make them appear simple at a glance, istps are actually quite enigmatic. friendly but very private, calm but suddenly spontaneous, extremely curious but unable to stay focused on formal studies, istp personalities can be a challenge to predict, even by their friends and loved ones. istps can seem very loyal and steady for a while, but they tend to build up a store of impulsive energy that explodes without warning, taking their interests in bold new directions.” (via 16personalities.com)

full bio (lame as fuck written years ago..... pleathe...)

tw homophobia

born in quigley’s pub on the backstreets of sunny dublin, young finnegan o'callaghan was thrown kicking and screaming into the rowdy suburbs of irish drinking culture. the son of a landlord and a fishwife, he never had much in the way of earnings, but there was never a dull moment in his lively estate, where asbo’s thrived, but community spirit conquered. at school, finn was pegged as lazy and unmotivated, though truly his dyslexia made it hard for the boy to learn in the same environment of his peers and only made him more closed-off in class. struggling with anger management, finn moved from school to school, unable to fit the cookie-cutter mould that school enforced on him, though whilst academic studies were of little interest to the boy, he soon found his true passions lay in recreational activities. immersed into the joys of sport from as young as four, finn was an ardent munster fan and anticipated nothing more than the day he could finally fit into his brother’s old pair of rugby boots.

his calling finally came unexpectedly, not in the form of rugger, but through dance. to learn to express himself in a non-academic way, he began tap dancing, finding therapy in the beat of his soles against the cracked kitchen tiles (much to his mother’s disgrace). it wasn’t a conscious choice, finn just realised one day that dance was something that made him feel. a king of the streets, finn made his fortune on those cobbled pavements – dancing and drawing to earn his keep. by default, finn became a street artist, each penny he earned from his chalk drawings saved in a jam jar towards buying his first pair of tap shoes. though many of his less-than-amiable neighbours called him a nancy and a gaybo, finn refused to quit at his somewhat ‘unconventional’ hobby, for the young scrapper found energy, life, and released anger through the rhythm of tap. soon he branched out into street dance, hip hop, break dancing, lyrical, his days spent smacking his scuffed feet against the broken patio into the night.

when he was thirteen he took up boxing, and as expected, his newfound ‘macho’ pastime conflicted with his dancing. the boxers called him ‘soft’; the dancers called him ‘inelegant’. he felt like two different people; having to choose between interests was like being handed a knife and asked to which half of himself he wished to cut away. he couldn’t afford professional training in dance, with most schools based in england and limited scholarships available. instead, he made the street his studio, racking up a small fanbase on youtube. when he was fifteen he made his debut in billy eliot at the olympia theatre in dublin. enter nina de souza, talented, beautiful and italian; ballet dancer, operatic singer, genius whiz kid, and spoiled brat. she was selfish, conceited, hell bent on getting her own way, and every director’s nightmare. finn fell for her like a house of cards. he’d always had a soft spot for girls who meant trouble. and so their hellish courtship began.

by the time they were seventeen, the two young swans had danced in every playhouse across the republic. they were known in theatres across the country for their tempestuous personalities, their raging arguments with one another, their tendency to drop out of shows altogether without any notice, yet the money kept rolling in and the audiences continued to grow. for three years, their families continued to put up with their hysterical fights followed by passionate reconciliations. he was too possessive, and she was too wild. their carcrash of a relationship finally came to a catastrophic halt when nina broke off the whole affair and returned to italy with her family. for months finn tried to contact her, yet his phone calls, texts, facebook messages were always ignored, until finally he was driven to drastic measures and used his savings to get a plane to her home town. when finn turned up uninvited at nina’s house she freaked out – and rightly so – she contacted her agent, accused him of stalking her, and had a restraining order placed against him. finn was arrested, held in a station overnight, and charged with harassment before he was allowed to return to dublin.

after the incident with nina, finn lost the fight in his eyes. he became far more hostile, far less likely to retaliate with his own fists, and picked fights not for the thrill of feeling his own fists pummel another into a wall, but for the sensation of his own brittle bones cracking. he dropped his tap shoes in a dumpster, stopped talking to his friends, followed his father’s advice and went back to school to complete his leaving certificate. a few short months later, and finn was packing his bags, saying his bittersweet goodbyes, and travelling half-way across the globe to be as far away as possible from his past self, his mess of a life, and most of all nina. it seemed somehow ironic that the boy who had been cautioned by the garda so much during his youth for spray painting, busking without a liscence, and raucous parties would become the grumpy, aloof overseas student studying a degree in criminology; that his once reckless spirit could be crushed so easily. 

of all things that finn could be called, straightforward would never be one of them. ever since his first days in atticus, the boy was pegged as hostile, hot-headed, cynical, rude. he seemed to spend more time in his thoughts than engaging in conversation. like a ticking time-bomb, finn’s anger was of the calm kind, liable to explode without a moment’s noticed. his unpredictable personality make him something of an enigma to those who aren’t amiable with the lad, though hostile as he may appear, he harvests a good heart. loyalty lies at the centre of his affections, and whilst his friends are few in number, he makes a lifelong partner. somewhere within finn, there’s still some fight left, but mostly he has recognised that his hedonistic lifestyle did little to leave him fulfilled – mostly, it just emptied him out – and over his three years at university has resigned himself to a nihilistic predicament.

        if u wanna plot with me pls pls pls im me or like this post!! i am always game for plots i love em so excited to write with you all here r some ideas

study buddies. finn is now a phd student so has to start takin shit seriously. he gon be in the library every day doing that independent study. if he had ppl who were also regular library goers n they get each other coffees to save time.... tht wld be sweet

ppl who love techno dj sets and going super hard on the weekends!!! fuck yea

friends with benefits. exes on bad terms. ppl he tried to date but couldnt because he’s always emotionally hung up on someone else. spicy hook up plots

ppl he met touring?? maybe ppl who were also in the entertainment industry..... anyone got a character who is ex circus hit me up

does anyone else study criminology / forensics / criminal psych / law? phd students sometimes lecture so he cld be an assistant lecturer / tutor if ur character is in a younger year

gamers !!! social recluses !!! hermits !!

finn goes to the skatepark and all the young boys there think he’s a gradnpa which he is!