#...so if you have me pick which disables me more i would pick my fuck up of a skeleton....

[giantkillerjack]

Uh-oh! You are like, SOOO awkward!!

You're so awkward that it is occasionally mildly uncomfortable for people!

You're so awkward that sometimes people are confused by you and then there are awkward silences!

You're so awkward ...... that ultimately no one is harmed!!

Oh damn!!! What a vile crime you have committed! What an unforgivable thing it is to make a fellow human briefly confused!

Why, if *I* were ever briefly confused and kind of uncomfortable as a result, I'd be devastated.... by the absolute net zero change in my happiness and health! - From which I might never recover!! Yes indeed! No punishment can ever be enough for you!!

So you better absolutely hate yourself for it.

Better be SO MEAN to yourself about every single missed social cue so you don't forget your horrible crime! Meaner than you'd ever dream of being to someone else for the same thing! This is YOUR responsibility!

You need to show the world that you KNOW you are bad by punishing yourself constantly! After all, think of all the people who BENEFIT from you punishing yourself! - No, really! Think about it! Think about who benefits from your pain.

Think of alllllll the definitely-good people that your definitely-necessary self-torment definitely helps! I mean, you can't just cut off their definitely-life-sustaining supply of your suffering, right?? Sure, everyone else has a breaking point, but you're probably the only person in human history who doesn't, right? Best not to question it probably. Sure, it's a symptom that billions of people with trauma have had, but who knows? You could be a one-in-seven-billion exception. Anything's possible!

Instead, better just accept that idea that bullies carry like guns in holsters - the idea that people who have trouble with social cues deserve to suffer. Better carry on the burden they placed on you until you drop. Aid the cause of the callous by enforcing shame and suffering upon yourself extra hard; try your best to do their work for them. They're very busy.

Better not recognize that you need patience and kindness to heal from your trauma. Better not find out that it was trauma rather than personal weakness filling your head with self-hating thoughts. Better not find out it wasn't your fault.

Better not find out that awkwardness is not inherently harmful or unkind, and, in fact, the people who act like it is *are the ones enacting harm and being cruel.*

Better not get righteously angry when you realize just how much unnecessary damage this has done to you. After all, if you get mad, you might realize you deserve better. You might even feel brave enough to DEMAND better! You might build boundaries that keep you safe! You might make other people think they deserve to feel safe too! And we obviously can't be having that, so...

Better not show yourself even a little kindness a little bit at a time.

Better not make a habit out of it after all that practice.

Better not get confident.

Especially if you can't first wipe out every trace of awkward. (And you probably never will. Because people who experience absolute social certainty at all times tend to be insufferable assholes that enforce the status quo. And you just don't have the stock portfolio for that.)

Better not be confident and awkward because then you might confuse and delight people

- you might accidentally end up making other people feel less shame for their social difficulties

- you might make isolated, traumatized, and shy people feel like they deserve to be included in social situations

- you might even make them feel they can be themselves around you

- you might start loving the effect you have on a room

- you might enjoy conversations more

- you might forgive yourself and bounce back from shame more easily and frequently

- you might come to enjoy some of those moments of harmless confusion you cause because NOBODY expects the Confident Awkward, and that can genuinely be an advantage in social situations

- you might stop apologizing so much.

- you might find that socializing is like a video game: it requires practice but also a safe space for it to be fun and positive.

Or if you can't become assertive and confident, better not remain awkward and shy and quiet, and then love and forgive yourself anyway!

Why, it would be carnage!!

In either scenario, you run the risk of finding out that it's not your fault that safe spaces full of kind people can be really hard to find, create, and nurture. You could end up building a skillset that helps you do those things if you're not careful!

If you start giving yourself even the tiniest amount of grace at a time, you will find that you've accessed a gateway drug with extreme long-term side effects:

- You might realize that it was never your fault that it took so long to like yourself.

- You might realize that you were always worth talking to, even when you didn't like yourself and communication felt impossibly difficult.

- You might realize that you'll still be worth talking to even if communication becomes harder as you age and/or experience disability.

- You might come to know that you deserve to be heard even on bad days when words come slow and blurry.

You might discover that you were always deserving of kindness, first and foremost from yourself.

So. As you can see, it's FAR too much of a risk to start granting your awkward self free pardons for your many heinous and harmless crimes. Better to just leave it there.

[uncanny-tranny]

According to the responses to the 2021 American Community Survey available on the US Census Bureau website, approximately 13% of Americans self reported some form of disability. Initially, I thought that this was a high value simply because there's so little perception of it in media, unless that media is specifically designed to show people with disabilities. But then I looked a bit deeper into it. Nearly 50%(it was like 48 point something) of those who reported a disability reported an ambulatory disability. Given this figure, I wonder if the percentage is underreported. A lot of mental health and disability has only been accepted in mainstream media in recent years. There are also questions I have like:Do correctible vision deficiencies count as disabilities? I would argue yes. I wear glasses. It's not something I think about a lot, but without my glasses, I would be hard-pressed to function normally within society. They are an accommodation. Yet in a group of 25-30 people(the class i was in when i was thinking about it), I easily counted at least 5 who wore glasses. Obviously, that's not a large enough sample size to make any kind of assumption off of, but I think I could probably find similar numbers if i looked in other places. Part of me doubts that I was marked as having a vision difficulty despite having and wearing glasses. And it's made me think and wonder if 13% wasn't that large of a number after all. I mean, it's a massive population. It's 42 million people, but I wonder if the number is even larger than that. What do you think?

So, I think it's complex. I'm not saying you are wrong in your investigation, but due to the personal nature of disability, it makes me wonder, too. I think the answer will be just as complex, is what I am saying.

Simultaneously, disability is very common, but the idea of being "unable" to live or be productive makes it so that disability becomes a taboo. It leads you to believe that disability is uncommon, or only exists in the "extremes". I do think that contributes to the perception people have of their disabilities, especially in being in denial about their disabilities disabling them.

I think you can generally say that certain things, like eye vision, can be disabilities, as long as we also recognize that it exists on a spectrum. I also have eye glasses, but if you ask me what I'm disabled by, I probably wouldn't bring that up unless it is relevant, in the narrow ways it is for me personally. I think that's part of why the ambulatory statistic is high. There are many situations where your disability doesn't really... disable you, but you're still disabled because there are aspects of your life you either cannot do, or you need help in order to do.

Thirteen percent is a large number, but when you consider the vast array of disabilities, the number of veterans and elderly, and (like you said) the number of people likely either in denial about their disability or the people for whom education doesn't include disability, the number could very well be thirteen or higher.

It's interesting that ableism is so ubiquitous, yet so many of us are disabled (with or without our knowledge).

[nexus-nebulae]

another childhood bucket list item obtained: i finally have a snuggie

[pa-pa-plasma]

so this post is definitely about me lol & i just wanna say that

me only having mental illness is a really big assumption

the experiences i talked about were my own & some friends i'd had while going to an alternate school, they weren't secondhand or made up

idk what is wrong with this person but they are super fucking ableist, & going through their blog, it's clear they love to accuse everyone of faking being disabled or needing accommodation for some reason & are obsessed with interacting in bad faith.

just gonna assume they're constantly having a really bad day every day but man if you're gonna make multiple blogs dedicated to speaking about disabled issues, maybe don't alienate a majority of the community & accuse them of not being "disabled enough" for you to fucking listen to them

[nathaslosthershit]

Teen Dad (OP81)

(Part 1 of the Blind Item Series) (Part 1 of the Teen Dad OP AU)

Summary: Rumors are flying about a young driver with kids

Seeing the rumor, and various other tweets commenting on the matter, first thing this morning was like getting a bucket of ice water dumped on him. Oscar immediately sat up, frightening his fiancée who was asleep next to him a moment before.

“What? What's wrong? Are you okay?” she asked, sitting up.

“Fuck this is not good.” He mumbled as he looked through more tweets. He knew he had minutes before his PR team started messaging him on how best to proceed. 

“Osc, you are really scaring me. What is going on?” His fiancée asked again. After 5 years together and two kids, she knew him well enough to know that Oscar isn’t easily woken up. While he usually wakes up early to train or help the kids, on days like today where he has the chance to sleep in, he will usually take it. But the amount of notifications he started getting were enough to get him to check his phone and once he saw the severity of the situation he was awake and alarmed. 

“A blind item about a ‘younger f1 driver with two kids he had as a teen’ just went up. No confirmation on who but it seems they have gotten it down to only a few of us. They don’t know yet but I am sure they will know soon.” 

He was grateful they hadn’t clocked in on him but Oscar was sure with a bit more time to dig people would put two and two together. He wasn’t ashamed of the fact that he was a teen dad, not anymore at least. When he was even more so an up and coming driver, he kept it hush because he was nervous being 18 with two kids would lead teams to reconsider where his priorities were, his family or his career. That wouldn’t have been crazy of them to do though, as important as racing was to Oscar, he would always pick his family first. Luckily, though, he had a great enough support system so he didn't have to choose. 

Most people in Oscar’s life knew. Any teams apart from Prema, Mclaren, and Alpine were none the wiser but why would they need to know? Not all drivers knew either, some who he had become closer to were let in on the secret, especially Logan, who had been there the entirety of his kids' lives. Annoyingly, at least in Oscar’s opinion, he has been titled ‘the cool uncle’ from day one. 

“What do we do?” his fiancée asked, snapping him out of his spiraling.

“I imagine it is up to my team to figure that one out. I’ll message them now. Get the kids ready and I’ll be done in time to help with breakfast.” He said as he got up.

After a long, pretty impromptu, call, it was decided Oscar would make a statement about it before it was revealed to be him. He wasn’t too happy about not getting to really do it on his own terms but this is the way it worked out, and hey, Oscar would be lying if he said he wasn’t already planning which race he was going to bring his kids to first.

oscarpiastri

liked by mclaren, logansargeant, landonorris, and 518,294 others

oscarpiastri This is of course not how I wanted to do this. I had hoped to have more time before I had to let the peace of privacy go but these things happen when you are in the spotlight. So yes, I am a father of two great kids and I have been since I was 18. I am not ashamed by the fact I was a teen dad, and am certainly not hiding my kids out of anything but love. I hadn’t realized I could truly love anything or anyone more than racing but then these two came into my life and I realized I would give it all up for them. Luckily, with the support of their mother (who is my fiancée) and my family, I didn’t have to give it up. My four person family means more to me than anything and I count my lucky stars each night that I have been blessed with them. I ask that you please respect our privacy. This isn’t the end of you seeing the Piastri twins but I, being the over protective father I am, am not ready to throw two 3 year olds into the chaos of the motorsport world just yet.

Comments disabled on this post

Part 2: A Much Needed Interview out now!

[imgae-insertshockedgasps-16]

humans are space orcs

imagine someone with chronic joint pain, whose dream their whole lives has been to go to space and meet the aliens and be a scientist and learn

so they look up the requirements as a kid and go "fuck."

they wouldn't make the cut.

their dreams are dashed. hopes ruined. lifelong dre destroyed.

except....

they've never really said a whole lot about their pain. they don't particularly like doctors, and they think that they've been managing just fine, so they never saw the point.

so maybe... maybe if they just don't say anything, they can make it to space.

they spend all of their time training. doing physical therapy exercises so that their joints aren't so loose, soaking up as much scientific and mathematical knowledge as they can, teaching themselves to push through the worst of it in pursuit of their dream.

and they make it.

they make it to space! it was gruelling, tortuous work, but they made it!

their first mission is an exploratory one, with a diverse crew which only has one other human.

they're thrilled.

they have dozens of alien friends and acquaintances. they spend hours learning and researching alien planets and cultures. it's everything they've ever wanted!

but

it's exhausting.

they're in more pain than they've ever been, more frequently than they ever have.

they keep up their exercises as best they can, but even those are often too much.

they smile when asked if they're alright, tell everyone that "i'm fine! just tired."

but they need a break. they can't imagine going or being sent back to earth, this is their home now, with these people, on this ship. but they don't know how much longer they can take this.

one day, on their day off, a fellow researcher comes and knocks on their door.

"are you here?"

"not today islith."

"but we've been called! there are some exciting new discoveries that need further cataloging and investigation, and carlmoth thought you would enjoy the task!"

"i can't today, islith."

"are you ill?"

"...kind of? but i'll be right as rain tomorrow. it's my day off anyhow."

"nonsense! you should go down to medbay!"

"i'm alright, i promise."

"you get out here right this minute or i'll report you to medbay myself!"

"no!" there's a series of crashes and thumps, and then they open the door.

"oh, you look awful. come on, you really must need medbay, what if you're contagious." islith tries to grab them but they shy away.

"i'm not contagious, i promise."

"how can you possibly know that? what if you picked it up from a sample, or, or, garfon has been sick recently! humans can't survive cerian sicknesses-"

"i didn't catch something from garfon, islith," they sigh and open the door wider. "come in and let me explain."

"alright, but if i think you should go to medbay afterwards then i'm taking you there."

"sure, islith."

islith enters, notices the piles of clothes, rumpled bedsheets, the lights are off and the port window shut.

"what's wrong?"

they sigh again, "my body doesn't work like it's meant to, islith."

islith is wildly alarmed, "and you said there was no need for medbay?!? come with me right now and-"

"no! i can't, islith, you don't understand."

"then explain it to me."

"i've... always been this way, although it's gotten worse as i've gotten older. my body, it just isn't built quite right, there's something wrong with it that makes it not work properly and hurt often."

"you're right, i don't understand. why can't you go to medbay?"

"i'd... be thrown off the ship."

"what?!?"

and so they tell islith a story about a young child whose dream was to touch the stars.

"and now, it's too late. i'd get in huge trouble for lying to the government, especially for so long."

"well- but- but humans are so resilient! you hear all the stories!"

"not every human is the same, islith. some of us are born disabled, and some of us get hurt in accidents, just like any other species."

"well, then, well there must be something we can do?"

they look up in shock, "we?"

"of course we, you ridiculous creature," islith said with a fond sigh. "you didn't think i'd leave you to suffer, would you?"

"but, you could get in so much trouble!"

"that's alright, i don't mind. what else are friends for? and, anyway, we don't have to tell your government, we can tell mine."

"but i'll-"

"we don't have any rules like that. any of us who are disabled can still manage in space just fine with the right support, and i bet you could too."

"i- islith- i don't-"

"don't worry, we'll all back you when it comes down to it. you're out teammate, our family. no one on this ship wants to watch you leave because of something you can't control. now come on, let's talk to glidlep in medical, she'll understand."

and for years, things continued on that way, until eventually it was an open secret that the human with the exosuit was disabled and not technically allowed onboard.

and down the line, when nasa found out and was furious, the entire ship and more stood by their side.

[johannestevans]

i've been listening to a lot more fat liberationist stuff recently and like...

so obvs i already had some backing in a lot of the basic theory, stuff like institutional anti-fatness in medicine, fashion, travel, etc, but like

so as a really thin guy who's always found it impossible to gain weight, its been unbelievably emotionally and mentally liberating to hear people talking really casually about the disability that's associated with thinness

so like being really thin, you lack additional joint and bone support - if you fall, you have less padding and less STRUCTURE to protect your bones from breaks and fractures, right?

obvs theres plenty of fat people that do have issues with bones and joints, im not saying thsres not, its just that normally i feel like im the lone person saying "being this thin is bad for me and is part of various health problems i also have"

and idk its just like. my whole life i was such a sickly child lmao

like i couldnt stand for long periods except "long period" would often be like. any period. i didnt understand how my peers were just standing for so long and just weathering that, bc to me it wasnt possible at all - i breathed badly, my joints were fucked etc

and looking back and realising as i get more disabled like the extent to which i was similarly disabled in my youth, and how i lacked the language to verbalise or sometimes even recognise my own pain and struggle

but also like

the treatment of me as so evil and lazy because i wasn't exercising, or because like. a PE teacher would pick me out as an example because i was so thin, and then be furious that i wasn't remotely physically fit, and that i was disabled

i remember multiple times esp from cis female teachers just. frothing rage at my diet and the things i ate, or when i wrinkled my nose at talk about diets, bc i was so thin so i had to be doing The Right Things, and if i was that thin and doing bad things i had to be punished

and its bc a lot of these ppl thought of fatness and being fat as a punishment, a target for abuse that people deserved, and bc i was a young disabled trans guy like. i deserved punishment for my laziness and nonconformity, and it became a lot about my weight

like expressing that i wanted to gain weight, that i was cold all the time, that i had no energy etc, that eating was hard but that i enjoyed food, all of that was met with such fuckin aggression and really sharp policing, esp from PE teachers and esp from women

and obvs all that is to do with the way that diet culture particularly targets women and those perceived as women, and the desire to engage in lateral violence to police others into complying with gender roles etc as they were upholding them

but idk like. fat liberationist politics is imo inherently tied up with disability liberation, because of the way that "health" is weaponised as a symbol of being good or deserving, and how fatness and disability are both used as targets and symbols of evil and punishment

MOST OF ALL for fat & disabled people

but for nondisabled fat people disability is often threatened as punishment - if you don't become less fat, you'll (deserve to) become disabled

and for disabled thin people, if you don't act less disabled, you'll (deserve to) become fat

and its not a punishment to be fat or disabled or sick. its just how some people are. its not BAD to be this way - and what makes things hard for us is not something inherent to the badness of our bodies, but instead the lack of kindness and accommodation anybody is willing to extend to them

[should-be-sleeping]

Tough day today... and friendly reminder that being human is easier when we help each other.

I saw one of our neighbors, an older woman we sometimes talk to in passing, sitting outside of her house. I don't know what exactly made me look twice, but on second glance as we drove by I realized her walker was in the grass. She was otherwise just sitting there, like she had a thousand times before, so it would have been easy to assume she was fine and go on with my life as normal but something told me to go check in on her anyway.

She was not fine. She was the polar opposite of fine. Just diagnosed with terminal cancer not fine. No next of kin not fine. A veteran facing eviction from her house for missing rent while in the hospital not fine. In constant debilitating pain not fine. Only semi-lucid not fine. She was extremely alone not fine.

I thought, at most, she might be bored while unable to pick up her walker not fine. A five minute detour from my day not fine. A help her back into her house and say "see you later!" not fine. Instead I spent the last three hours with her because she was so scared and alone and no one should be alone.

We talked a lot while I was there. She's actually two years younger than my mom (who also has cancer but slightly better luck, I guess). I helped her into her house and got her a drink and we talked about what all is going on with her. None of it was good. I was as reassuring as I could be, but there's only so much of this I can actually help her with.

"Why did you come?" she asked through tears.

"Because you looked like you might need some help."

She called me an angel. I told her I was just doing my best. I told her that kindness should never be rare. That we should all try to make the world just a little bit better than it was.

She offered to pay me but I told her I was just there as a friend. Before today we were basically strangers. No need to repay me with anything other than her company, I assured her. She cried, a lot. I managed not to somehow. Something tells me she had needed to cry long before this but in being Strong she never had the chance to.

She needed to get her mail, which is a long walk when you're disabled because it is not at all handicap accessible (across a parking lot, over a bridge, across a small field). So I helped her get her mail. We stopped every three feet because her pain was so bad, but she was determined to be able to go do this with me and not just send me on an errand. I patiently stayed with her and reminded her, through her apologies, it was fine to take our time: there was a nice breeze and birds were singing. She appreciated this. She loves nature.

Halfway back she said she wanted to go to the pool. To put her feet in the water. She loves water, and has not been able to even see the pool in a month. Neither of us were dressed for swimming, but I took her to the pool anyway. There is a stair leading down to it, meaning she couldn't bring her walker, so I offered her my arm.

We went to the pool. She put her feet in the water and then, with more energy and enthusiasm than I'd seen the whole time, she jumped in. In her fancy dress! She was instantly ten years younger at least, clear and happy, floating in the sun. Dress and all. She grew up with a pool and had been on a swim team.

I sat by the edge of the pool while she swam, keeping her company and also making sure she was okay. When she got tired I took her back home and then had to help her get undressed and redressed. I made sure she felt no shame. Getting out of wet clothes is hard for anyone, let alone someone with like twenty pounds of tumors racking them with constant pain.

She was so fucking happy to have gone swimming.

She is trying to "make everything right" before she goes. Trying to repay her debt to society and her debts in general. She couldn't understand why the corporation that owns our houses wouldn't take her money. She was genuinely distressed -- not to be homeless on her deathbed but to not leave this world with a clean slate. I told her intent matters. She can only do her best.

This company not letting her repay her debt was their fault, not hers.

When I finally needed to go, I told her to let me know any time she needed a hand or just wanted company. She told me she was going to die tonight. I told her I hoped not, so I could see her tomorrow. I offered her a hug, we hugged and she sobbed for a solid ten minutes into my shoulder. I told her she was okay. That it was okay.

When I got home I cried myself, because I could not believe she was going through all of that alone. I cannot even imagine how isolated she must have felt. Once I pulled myself back together I sent her a text reminding her to reach out any time and I'd do my best to come over. Like, any time at all.

I hope she is here tomorrow.

[wildestdreamsblog]

Latibule Epilogue

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Reader (Mafia/Detective AU)

Summary: In which you didn’t know who he truly was- until it was too late. Or in which he found heaven in you.

Warnings: Secret Identity, Yandere behavior, Obsessiveness, Possessiveness, Manipulative behavior, Violence, Mention of death, Disability, Sexual themes, If you’re not 18+ please, PLEASE, do not interact. Be mindful of the warnings. Let me know if I miss anything.

A/N: This contains a lot of unaliving, hence the chosen GIF. Proceed with caution. Also bb will take a break from latibule after this. Hope you enjoy!

Masterlist, Latibule IX

Suga looked at Jackson junior with a fond smile on his face as the little child stabbed the cake with his little fork, the redness of the cake in perfect contrast to the white frosting of the red velvet. He ate it with such gusto, uncaring of the red crumbs coating his mouth.

“You kept your promise, ahjussi,” he mumbled with his mouth full that Suga couldn’t resist pinching his chubby cheek.

“Of course, I did,” he scoffed as he helped him sliced the cake. “I always keep my promises.”

Jackson looked up at him with his innocent eyes, his little legs swinging back and forth from the bench they were sitting on. “Then, do you promise to love my noona forever?”

“I promise.” It was the easiest promise he ever did.

“And do you also promise to marry her? She shouldn’t be alone, ahjussi. No one should be,” he stated with seriousness. Despite him being so young, he was so perceptive. He saw what loneliness could do to someone, and how it was slowly destroying his father. He didn’t want that for his favorite noona.

“I’ll marry her. Don’t worry,” he agreed with faux annoyance in his voice as though what he was requesting was such an imposition to him. It wasn’t. It was his most pertinent goal.

“Make sure you do! Or I’ll make my dad marry her!”

He was late, Suga thought. It had taken him longer than he would have wanted to. Jackson Junior sure did have a lot of energy for someone with such small body. He was smiling as he walked home.

Home.

When he thought of that word before, it never meant anything to him. It was just a noun, something that existed for everybody else but him. It was a place you returned to at the end of the day, someplace that brought you comfort. It was a place where you were safe, and warm, and loved.

Suga never did have that.

But then, you came. And now when he thought of home, he thought of you. You were his latibule. You were more than just a place, more than just a mere place to rest his weary body to. No, you were his hiding place. You were the one that saved him. You were his safe place.

And he would never leave you, nor would you leave him. He didn’t want to know what would become of him should he ever lost you.

Bitterly, though, his house was now on fucking attack and someone had the fucking audacity to ruin it.

He knew as soon as he walked near your house that something was fucking amiss. The hair on the back of his neck stood as though in warning about something. He never not believed his instincts, after all, it was what kept him still alive to this day.

His eyes roamed the area around your house, looking for the impending danger. He hated how he didn’t even have a fucking gun. He badly needed it now, he thought. The sun had now long set, surrounding his fucking house with darkness he didn’t need at the moment. He didn’t hear a thing inside your house, no movements could be heard nor seen. And he would bet his fucking life that something bad was happening.

Instead of entering the house through the front door, he automatically went to the back. His pace was brisk and determined, his steps light. He had memorized the whole layout and could avoid any steps that would give away his position. As soon as he reached the garden, he picked up the small hand trowel and tucked it behind his jeans. As quietly as would be allowed, he opened the back door, his eyes assessing the area with precision.

He knew you were in danger, yet what he never expected was from whom.

Sitting beside your trembling form on the sofa was his own fucking brother, Jung Hoseok.

He was smiling as though nothing was amiss, as though this was a fucking good visit.

He was smiling as though no one would die tonight.

“Brother, long time no see,” he greeted lightly. His other hand rested on the back of the sofa, his hand timidly holding his gun. “I have missed you so.”

Suga turned to look at your eyes, and he fucking hated how terrified you looked. This was what he was attempting so hard to avoid. This was his fucking nightmare. “Are you okay?”

You jumped when Hoseok touched your shoulder lightly with his gun, your lips quivering from the situation you found yourself in. “Of course, she is! You wound me, brother. I could never hurt a woman…unlike you.”

Suga’s jaw clenched, his dark eyes going to Hoseok’s amused ones. He scoffed, calmly walking around the house to get closer to the pair. “I do have to assume that this is your admission of being the Judas.”

“Hmm,” Hoseok thought, his fucking smile still on his face. “I guess that makes the two of us, right?” He turned to you, his tone friendly as though the two of you friends, as though he wasn’t holding a gun right now, “Did you know that this guy is the personification of Lucifer, himself? He’s the worst man out there. In fact, you should be more scared of him than me. I have never killed a woman before,” he smirked back at him, “cannot say the same thing for Yoongi.”

“Y-Yoongi?” you repeated, looking at Suga, your Suga with questions and a betrayal in your eyes.

A booming laughter from beside you erupted, making you jump lightly from your seat. Hoseok was laughing as though this was all funny, like your life wasn’t on the brink of collapsing. “You didn’t even tell her your real name? That’s so fucking funny, Yoongi-ah,” he chuckled, wiping the tears from his eyes from laughing too hard. But then, in a somber tone he said, “That’s fucking low of you, Agustd.”

At your stupefied expression, Hoseok turned to you in faux pity, “Oh no…you didn’t know you were housing the fucking mafia lord. Poor you, sweetheart.”

And betrayal turned into anger. The dark emotions seeped through your eyes, tears blurring your sight. But through it all, his face remained impassive.

“I-is that true?”

“Don’t listen to him. You know me the best, Angel-”

“Do I?”

“You do. You love me, right? You said so yourself. You need to trust me-“

“That’s so fucking sweet. Sickeningly sweet. I’m over it,” Hoseok cut him off. He nodded at someone from behind him. And then he felt it. The cold barrel of the gun pointed at the back of his head. Yoongi glared at the man stupid enough to point a gun at him, and he recognized him as someone from the organization.

Fucking traitors.

“As if you know anything about love, Agustd. You’re fucking incapable of it.” Hoseok sighed before calmly standing and pulling you up with him. “You killed the only person I love. Don’t you think it’s only fair that I kill yours? An eye for an eye and all that shit?”

Yoongi stared at Hoseok and then at the trembling form of yours. “You’re making a mistake,” he stated, his demeanor cold as he stared back at the eyes of the man he once considered his brother. “Stop and all of this will be forgiven, Hoseok.”

The man merely scoffed, his head tilted, “You still don’t realize you are in the losing position, do you?” he inquired curiously, chuckling under his breath before losing all his emotions completely. “Take him away from here. And if you as so much make a fucking move, I will blow your angel’s head off. Do not test me, Yoongi. Or do. Let’s see.”

Yoongi knew he was saying the truth. And against all his instincts that were screaming at him to go to you, to save you, to pull you in his arms, he went with the other traitor outside the house. His eyes never left yours, not until he could no longer see you, and not until the man punched him with the end of the gun in the head.

You couldn’t see from the onslaught of tears flooding your eyes. Was this how everything was going to end? After you found a taste of happiness? Were you brought to this earth just to suffer?

The man called Hoseok let you go gently, and you were no fool to think that you were safe. No. Not with the barrel of gun pointed behind your back.

“I’m sorry you were dragged to this mess,” he murmured honestly, his arm was firm as he adjusted his gun. “Had you not saved him that night, none of this would happen.”

“P-please. Let m-me go,” you cried, your hands shaking from all of this. This was straight out of your nightmare. You had lived a fairly calm and peaceful life, until that tragedy. And even then, you were never at the end point of a gun. Even then, you were spared.

But alas, maybe your luck had ran out.

“You did nothing wrong. But this has to happen. I hope you forgive me.”

You nodded, slowly facing him. And when you looked up at his mad eyes, your stepped closer and pushed the gun on your head. If this was to happen, then he had to look into your eyes. You may be trembling with terror, but you were no pawn. You would take control of your life until the very end.

You saw him faltered, saw him gulping once. He didn’t want this, you thought. But his judgement was too clouded, and Hoseok was too far gone in his scheme. He had no way but to see this through. And just when he was about to pull the trigger, a knife was plunged to his arm, effectively making him dropped the gun.

A hand pulled you behind, shielding you from the bloodshed that was happening.

“Still a good aim, Namjoon hyung,” the man in front of you praised the other man who threw the knife, his deep, baritone voice almost familiar. “Good to know all your time spent in the courtroom didn’t make you soft.”

“Shut up. Take her away to safety, Taehyung.” The other man, Namjoon, ordered lowly as he wrestled with Hoseok who was grinning despite the blood seeping from his wound.

“Namjoon, came to join the party?”

“You need to stop, hyung!” Namjoon growled, willing the him to understand the gravity of the situation. “We can still fix this-“

“I don’t want to. You should have never saved me that night. You should have left me to die!” he grunted before punching him. Everything was fast, and before you could blink, the booming sound of gunshot resounded. You felt Taehyung’s hand pushing you, ordering you to run.

And you did.

You ran. But the outside was just the same as the inside. You saw Suga kneeling on the ground, behind him was the man who was grinning as he twisted his arms behind him. But when he saw you, he pointed the gun at you.

Suga watched as though it was a fucking movie. He watched it all in unhidden horrification as you fell the moment the bullet pierced into your fragile skin. He watched helplessly as your precious blood drenched the clothes you had carefully chosen just this evening.

He stood there frozen as the love of his life fell to the ground, your head hitting the cold, hard step with a deafening thud. He could have sworn his heart stopped in disbelief at someone’s audacity to hurt the woman he had only ever loved.

And the moment your eyes closed was the exact moment Agustd came back to life with a bloody vengeance.

A curtain drew closed on his mind, effectively clouding his self-survival. Yoongi had always been a one-track mind. Nothing else mattered but to you, he didn’t find it in himself to care whether he would have to break or even cut his own arm just to get to you. There was no doubt in his mind that he would get to you, that he would be able to save you.

No, it was a given fact. It was the most certain thing in his mind at the very moment. You had to live, otherwise he would need to burn this whole world down.

You simply had to survive if you didn’t want other people to suffer his wrath. There was no living without you, he thought. With a practiced movement he twisted his own arm away from the asshole that would soon leave in a body bag. The man looked at him in horror as Yoongi snarled at him, uncaring of the arm now hanging limply on his side. Hell, he couldn’t even feel it. He stepped back unconsciously as his former boss marched to him, his hands holding the firearm faltered for a moment. That small window of opportunity was all Yoongi needed, and before he knew it, the cold barrel of gun was pointed on his sweaty forehead. Yoongi didn’t even blink as he fired the gun, and horrifyingly, he didn’t even flinch when his blood splattered all over his face. It wasn’t enough. With the weapon he hid behind him, he stabbed the deceased man in the neck, blood sputtering in his face.

Yoongi immediately turned to you, but before he could get to you, a swarm of men dressed in black walked in with guns pointed at him. Of fucking course, Hoseok wouldn’t go to him with only a man in tow, Yoongi thought. And he was fucking outnumbered.

But nothing could deter him from reaching you, not before when you were alive, not now when you were bleeding on the ground. He didn’t even blink as he shot the gun at the man on his right. Surprise was his edge, but he needed to be smart about this.

It was him that they wanted, not you.

He stepped back, grinning at the audacity of these assholes. And just like he knew, they all followed him. He was running when four of his brothers stepped in with danger and madness in their eyes.

All of them were as deranged as Yoongi, they all just hid it better.

“Long time no see, hyung!” Jungkook greeted him, showing him his signature bunny smile before shooting the first man he saw.

Seokjin only looked at him, seriousness in his eyes as he assessed his bleeding head with clinical aura. He didn’t even blink as he stabbed the man in the neck stealthily. He was annoyed. He was mad. And most of all, he hated how they were almost too late. He had almost failed to protect the family he claimed as his own.

Jimin was uncharacteristically quiet, only going to work. Yoongi felt a little hopeful that this was not going to end badly. Not now that he had his brothers with him. He saw Taehyung and Namjoon joining the fight, their moves as precise as the other brothers. Their fight was away from you, just as Yoongi wanted.

He swore that once this was all over, that you would never be hurt again. This would be the last time you would be hurt. So, you had to fucking survive, lest he ruined this whole fucking world.

Yet, just when it was about to end, just when they eliminated the last traitor, your house exploded and a bullet pierced Yoongi’s chest.

After the ashes had settled and the fire was contained, after they cleaned the crime scene, after they brought Yoongi to the hospital, after desperately looking for you- all they found was your necklace.

They never did find you that night, nor did they find Hoseok’s body. The police they bribed said that it was possible your bodies melted from the intense fire, that you couldn’t possibly survive that.

That you were dead.

And you were declared dead.

When Min Yoongi woke up from his week-long coma, he unleashed hell.

Agustd was fucking back.

Season 2: Prologue

[josephquinnswhore]

it ain’t weakness, baby - joel miller x female reader

Summary: Joel survived Abby’s brutal encounter, but has left him with major mental and physical disabilities.

Word Count: 2k

Content Warning: mentions of reader having ptsd, blood, amputation, scars, disabilities, murder. blowjob, Joel whining and begging????? cumming in mouth. female masterbation/orgasm. Joel praising reader. insecurity. Joel treating reader like shit. implied age gap.

Note: yeah.. I kinda ruined my own heart with this one.. anyway, enjoy!

Things weren’t the same. They’ll never be the same. That’s what Joel said, over and over. Saying anything he could in order to push you away, to try and build back the wall between you that you’d seamlessly picked away at.. brick by brick all them years ago.

His old age wasn’t his hinderance. His physical disability wasn’t his hindrance. Though, these were his painful claims, that he couldn’t bare to see your youth wasted on someone like him. A no good—worthless old cripple. That’s what he called himself..

“You’re wasting the best years of your life on me! There are plenty of healthy and capable men that could take care of you here! Just.. just go and find someone else!” He’d spat through gritted teeth, his insecurity gnawing at his insides after he saw a younger man offering your hand at the Christmas dance.

Joel Miller had sunken into the dark and ever falling abyss of self destruction and isolation, daring to say cruel things to you, to push you away.

He’ll never admit it’s the last thing he truly wanted, in fact he was terrified of the thought of you leaving.

One day he found out what you did.

“Tell me you’re not that stupid.” He insults, glaring at you from the recliner he’d come so attached to.

“I did. Tommy and Ellie and I, we fucking did it Joel. They’re dead, all of them, we made them suffer. I made her suffer before I buried her sorry ass for ever touching you!” The argument was bound to get heated, after all, they were talking about the girl that mutilated Joel and left him disabled.

“Do you realise what she could’ve done to you? Look at what she did to me!” He snarled. “Goddamn fools the lot of you!”

He didn’t want you to leave, to stop fighting for him. But he convinced himself he was worthless. He saw it; the looks people gave him, sympathy strewn on their faces. Sympathy he didn’t need. He was fine.

It was the irony of it all. He told himself he was fine, he didn’t need help, he could somehow maintain some semblance of control and independence. No matter the wheelchair, or the crutches. Yet, he would snarl and snap at you, unwilling to keep you close. He would angrily claim he was worthless, useless.

“I can do it!” He growls, shrugging off your hand from the metal crutches, his first time using them as a result of his amputated leg. Refusing any help, as he had done every single day for the past few months.

Perhaps at one point, you did grow tired of it. Of his inability to try. After months of trying and limited resources, you’d tried to teach Joel how to write again, how to play guitar, how to sculpt, how to fix.

“Baby come on, please! Just try again for me. Five more minutes then I promise we can stop.” You pleaded, and were met with a dismissive snarl.

“I ain’t no damn kid so stop treating me like one. I’m done with this!” The pen was sent flying, ink splattering all over his favourite journal, which you’d spent a few hours delicately cleaning to save the important book.

You were trying to get him to live. To have the independence he so desperately craved, but he was stubborn, always had been. He was his own worst enemy.

You were even kind enough to take the only spare time you had, to build him a wheelchair accessible ramp, it was weeks worth of labour, and trading a tonne of sentimental personal items to trade for the wood and nails. Yet, it remains unused, even now, as it rains and the snow coats the wood, they begin to rot and wither. All your hard work and dedication to your husband had gone completely unnoticed.

Yet, for some reason, you never quit on him.

“Stop scowlin at me like that and just try, would you?”

He grunted, his hand trembled, the majority of his soup fell off the spoon. With whatever strength he had, he tossed the spoon onto the floor, as it clattered along the wood, it sends soup flying all up the wall. The bowl soon clatters to the ground before you can catch it.

The bowl was heavy, and the sound of it on the hardwood floors sent your movements to a halt—frozen. Your ears ringing as if it were that forsaken shotgun again, tearing a hole through Joel’s leg, flesh and blood splattering against the carpet rug and the floor. Stumbling, you take a moment to yourself, rushing out of the living room and into the kitchen.

The noise over and over replaying in your mind, the golf club coming down on Joel’s head, sure you would witness the love of her life being brutally murdered in front of your eyes. What Joel didn’t know, as far as he assumed, that you had these triggers as a result of ptsd.

The ticking of the clock in the kitchen becomes unbearable and you find yourself back in the living room.

Waiting for you, is another mess of his you’d have to clean.

“It feels like you’re not even trying anymore Joel. It’s been months—why can’t you see I’m trying to help you!” You insist.

“I don’t need your help!” He growled bitterly.

“So you’re just going to sit in that stupid fucking chair till you die huh? Is that it?” Finally reaching the breaking point after your recent trigger, tears cascade down your red cheeks.

His scowl softened, into a look she hadn’t seen since the incident happened. He battles his ego and his stubbornness to finally reach a hand out to you, his shaking fingers just graze your own.

“Baby—you know I don’t mean it.” He murmurs hopelessly. “I’m—I’m sorry. I appreciate you tryin’.”

The atmosphere changes in the air, the winter suddenly doesn’t feel so harsh, and the breeze that slides through the crack in the window frame can’t be felt over the warmth of the heater that Joel nests by.

You kneels down onto the floor, taking his trembling hand. “I’m not giving up on you. When we took our marriage vows I fucking meant them. Just let me be here for you. It’s killing me that you’re trying to push us apart. Please.”

For some reason, your plea pierced his old heart with such reverence that he doesn’t argue, he relaxes his tense shoulders and murmurs, “okay.”

Finally, acceptance, peace. The white flag was being waved. Seventy two days of fighting was finally over.

“Shouldn’t be.. on your knees like that baby. You—you’ll get sick.” The worry in his voice had another kind of anxiety behind it.

One that you soon found the reasoning of.. his cock.. stiffer in his pants than you’d seen it in months. “Don’t tell me you’ve been suffering all this time.” You gasp in disbelief.

His aimless gaze and silence was enough to confirm the accusation. He’d been so sexually frustrated.. that he hadn’t been able to cum.

“This is why you’ve been so upset.” You murmurs. “Isn’t it?”

He answers with a simple and shameful nod, you press a kiss to his hand, ready to offer him a solution. “Can.. Can I help you?”

The question takes him off guard, his thick and greying eyebrows meet together in a low frown.

“Why would you want to touch me? I’m .. I’m a goddamn freak—“

“You shut up and let me decide what I see you as Joel Miller.” You scold. “I see someone strong, brave, handsome.”

He scoffs, but it doesn’t deter you. Instead it only motivates you more. Leaning up against the recliner, your chest on the left side meets the fabric, where his leg had to be amputated from the thigh downward, due to the inflicted shotgun wound.

“I see a man so incredibly capable, of living, thriving. Needing help doesn’t make you weak, baby. Let me take care of you.”

His trembling hands struggle to unclasp the stubborn button on his jeans. “Hey, just let me look after you baby. Relax.” You insist softly.

Making quick work of his button and zipper, your cool and small hands make his cock look enormous as it springs out of his jeans, rock hard. Has it always been this big? Perhaps the illusion of deprivation has her mind as desperate as her dripping cunt. Even your mouth begins to salivate, gulping as you come eye level with the small clear bead of precum.

Without warning, you lurch forward, pressing a small kiss to the red and aching tip, before swirling your tongue around the bulbous head.

“Ah, ah fuck baby,” he whines, sharply inhaling a breath, his good hand moves to grip the back of your head, begging for you to swallow him.

His desperate pleas only serve the purpose of rilling you up, with the gentle touch of his fingertips in your hair, desperately clutching at a fistful of your hair..

Opening your mouth wider to fit his enormous girth, halfway down and you’re already gagging. He whimpers, sounding the most vulnerable she’s heard since their last intimate encounter. Sneakily, you slide a hand down to your entrance, sliding your fingers inside to collect some of the slick before, sliding them upwards towards your enlarged and throbbing clit. whine is muffled by his cock.

You push on, feeling the mushroom tip sliding down your throat as you gag, covering his cock in your warm and sticky saliva. His untamed coarse public hairs tickle your nose.

The noises were absolutely despicable and lewd, the way you took the whole length of him, gagging at every descend, it was a sensation that had him trembling underneath you. His trembling hand attempts to clutch the arm of the recliner.

“Baby, baby stop.” He begged. “Not.. I’m not gonna last.” His breath quickens and as he tensed up, you take his length out of your mouth, but he quickly thrusts back into it, craving the warmth and the pleasure of the hole.

“Don’t stop, hmph please don’t stop.” He pleaded in a whine, Joel Miller, begging you.

You felt your stomach tightening, the pleasure of your fingers on your soaking clit, swirling at the perfect pace and Joel’s soft voice begging. You moan around his cock as your legs tremble underneath you.

Joel finally catches on and it’s the last straw for him before he throws his head back onto the recliner and grunts, the growl that leaves his lips is primal and comes from his throat. “Fuck—such a good girl.” He stutters and thrusts his hips upward, filling your mouth and throat with him, sending his ropes of warm cum straight down your throat, you drink, like it’s the last source of energy you’ll ever receive.

His hand unclenches from your hair as he feels himself shrinking inside of your mouth, encouraging you to look up at him, and you do. You’re met with Joel, looking at you with all the love and adoration and affection you deserve.

“Come here baby.” He murmurs, his thumb caresses your cheek as you look up at him. Climbing up onto his lap, you rest your head on his shoulder.

“Could.. could you please pull the recliner back?” His voice escapes timidly. Here he was, asking for your help; finally.

With a swift movement, you pull on the latch on the side of the recliner and the bottom end swings upward, now you’re both laying, your hand reaches for a warm blanket on the nearby couch, and toss it over the two of you.

“Thanks for not giving up on me.” The world circle in her ears, and she runs her thumb over the large scar on his forehead that spans to his temple and eyebrow. “I wouldn’t ever dream of it.”

“I love you, Mrs Miller.” Is the last thing your happy heart hears before your eyes flutter, peace and pleasure lulling you into a dream.

[ju1cyfru1t]

Heeeeey! First of all, I wanted to say that I love your writing style! It's amazing and it's making me feel emotions♡! Second - I hope you have an excellent and nice day or night!

Can I request headcanons about Leo crushing on reader? And that he is so in love that it causes annoyance to his brothers, especially Donnie, that he decides to help his twin get the Reader?

If it's too much, you can ignore that, that's totally fine!

(and I'm sorry for any grammatical errors, English is not my first language, Haha!)

THANK YOU POOKIE I REALLY APPRECIATE IT 🤭🤭🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻 HOPE YOU LIKE IT

Rise! Leo x gn! reader crush Headcanons + Drabble

fluff :D, contains swearing

- literally eats up any and all attention you give him

- maybe just slightly very delusional

- like you could just brush past him and he’s like

- “did you guys see that? they’re sooooo into me.”

- whatever you gotta tell yourself, pal.

- Him? Laying awake at night thinking about you? Whaaaat? That’s crazy, couldn’t be him.

- except for the part where it is, and it’s interrupting his precious beauty sleep.

- def would wake up one of his brothers *COUGH*DONNIE

- “Psssst…Donnie~..DONNIE! Are you awake? Great! Hey, did you notice earlier when Y/N-“

- someone tell him to shut the fuck up about you. Jk not that they haven’t tried, Leo just doesn’t listen.

- ABSOLUTELY believes that he is incredibly smooth

- The worst pick-up lines you have ever heard in your entire life + just him (trying) to flirt with you ALL DAY EVERY DAY bitch doesn’t let you have a moment of peace

- You have no idea what you’ve done. To him sure, but mostly to Raph, Mikey, Donnie, and even April.

-“Aaappprriiilll, did Y/N say anything about me when you saw them?…No? Oh.🥲”

- Leo is forward and confident towards you, he ain’t trying to hide anything. Trust me, you don’t know how anxious this makes him because of his deep rooted insecurities BUT THAT’S A STORY FOR ANOTHER TIME-

- esp if he can’t tell if you are feeling what he is, yk?

- MEANWHILE, Donnie is one “Y/N” away from finally snapping (and becoming a mad scientist)

- EVERYONE is growing tired of this. It’s not that they aren’t happy their brother found someone he’s interested in, but oh my god.

- But Donnie would do anything, and I mean anything, for more than 5 minutes of peace.

——————————————————————————

So there Donatello was, peering around the corner watching you, Mikey, and Leo in the kitchen. It had been a lovely afternoon! You guys watched a movie, and now you were making brownies.

“You know, Y/N..” Leo had a cocky smile, leaning against the counter, “I don’t know what’s sweeter…you or these.”

You and Mikey both rolled your eyes, “Shut up, Leo.” It was completely fair for Mikey to be annoyed, he’d been listening to this all day. Like, take a hint.

Donnie was fiddling with the door, and glanced down the hallway, making sure to look out for Raph because he wasn’t sure his eldest brother sound agree with his…plan.

“Oh, Angelo, could you come here for a moment?” Donnie stared intently at Mikey, motioning his head towards you and his twin.

Mikey looked back and forth between you and Leo confused for a second, before shrugging and heading towards Donnie who then pulled him straight out of the room. He slammed the door shut, and activated his digital lock. No one was getting in or out unless Donnie disabled it, which he did not plan on doing anytime soon. This ended NOW. I mean, he thought it was pretty obvious that you both liked each other and just needed to get it over with! Mostly because Leo’s painful obsession was getting really old.

Banging and muffled yelling could be heard from the other side, and Mikey grabbed Donnie by the shoulder. “Donnie! What are you doing? My brownies are gonna burn!”

“Trust me, Michael. This is for the best and they’ll be thanking me later.”

.

.

“ Dammit…we’re locked in.” You let out a deep sigh, letting yourself slide down the wall to sit, the smell of baking brownies still in there. Why would Donnie do this?

“Yeah…” Leo was trying really hard to keep his cool, but the panic coursing through him was undeniable. I mean, he was actually alone with you. There was always someone else with you two, whether it be one of his brothers, his dad, or April.

“But…I mean, it’s not all that bad, just you..and me.” He winked, with his usual confident, sly smile even though his hands were shaking.

“Ugh, will you stop that?” Your tone and expression was annoyed, and confused, Leo’s stomach sank.

“Stop whaaat?~” His voice trembled a bit, but he was still keeping up his playful demeanor.

“The…the flirting! Seriously, it’s not funny.” You looked away from him. “I’m not trying to be funny-“

“Seriously, shut up! Stop playing with my feelings, Leo. You’re so confusing…I can’t tell if you’re just toying with me or what- God, why do I even bother?” Of course you were frustrated, who wouldn’t be?

Leo was taken by surprise at your outburst, and it was obvious. As soon as the realization of you were saying hit, you were embarrassed. “Just…forget it, Leo. I shouldn’t have said anything-“

“Wait, no- Y/N, it’s not like that!” What the hell was he saying? Was he really about to do this right now?

He kneeled in front of you, taking in a deep breath. “I care about your feelings, ok? I’m not ‘toying’ with you, I really do like you!” Even as his anxiety rose, Leo felt like a weight was be lifted off of his chest. He couldn’t believe he really just said it…

Now, it was your turn to be surprised, staring into his hopeful eyes. “Leo…I don’t know what to say…I mean..” Leo swore his heart stopped, and he felt like he imploding right then and there. He couldn’t handle rejection like this.

“ I like you, too.” You grabbed his hand, taking it in yours. “What? For real?” He swiftly wrapped his arms around you, squeezing you tightly. “..ohgodthankyouthankyou…”

“So, what now?” You couldn’t help but smile, leaning your head into the crook of his neck.

Leo laughed, “I don’t know, I never really thought I’d get this far.“

——————————————————————————

TY FOR READING!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

Some requests from my inbox will be posted very soon. I stared school again this week, so I’ve been busy but I’m trying to catch up! Sorry it’s been taking a hot minute. :)

[schrijverr]

Batman Fatale

While on a mission with the Justice League, Batman (who hasn’t revealed his secret identity) pulls out his Brucie voice, shocking the others.

Inspired by Head Problems by That_One_Curly_Haired_Fangirl on AO3.

On AO3.

Ships: none

Warnings: none

~~~~

The Justice League is going for stealth, something Bruce didn’t think they were capable off, but so far he’s been pleasantly surprised. Though, maybe the promise of a good brawl later is what is keeping them quiet.

They’re infiltrating into Luthor’s office, underneath which he is building a robot army to overtake the world in the name of peace. Hacking in to disable them means sounding the alarm and Bruce has already calculated that it will take too long for him not to get swarmed by them, before he can take them out. Hence, the League, who will keep them off his back while he works.

However, they’ve run into a bit of roadblock in the form of the security guard, who is manning the front desk during the night shift.

Everyone has thrown out ideas to take him out, but Bruce wants to attract attention as late as possible and there are likely human operatives further down as well. They’ll notice if the guard were to disappear.

Besides, the guy, Amir, cleared his background check when he was planning this mission. He doesn’t know what he’s guarding and is just trying to make ends meat.

So, he holds up his hand and the whispered deliberation quiets down. As he pulls out his phone, he says: “I’ll handle this. Wait for my orders.”

They all shoot him confused and wary looks as he sets to dialing on his phone, keeping the screen away from them. He can say that it hurts that they don’t fully trust him, but he doesn’t care. He has his own family/team back in Gotham and if being a mysterious prick keeps his kids safe, he’ll gladly play the part.

He knew this roadblock might come up, so he prepared in advance. So, within seconds he is bringing the phone to his ear, while the others continue to look between him and the guard that’s on the other side of the glass doors.

Bruce mentally laughs, they probably expect assassins to swoop down and drag the man into the shadows.

Which is the opposite of what happens, because instead Amir startles then looks down at his now ringing phone. He smiles, then looks around a bit, checking that the coast is clear and completely missing the League, before picking up.

As Amir looks around, Hal hisses: “What the hell are you doing, Spooks? You don’t call the guy you wanna sneak-”

He shuts him up with a hand over his mouth, because Amir has picked up now. “Hey, hi, uhm, how are you doing, John?”

John is the fake name he used on the dating profile with the doctored photos. He feels a little bad about catfishing him, it’s slimy and Amir is actually cute too. Still, can’t be helped, so he puts as much Brucie charm into his voice as he flirty replies: “Hi, Amir, I’m good, just lonely. Would be better if you were with me. I’m practically indecent here for you.”

Immediately all the League’s heads snap his way, but he ignores them in favor of observing Amir. He is blushing, but looks pleased, before he sags a little. “I would love you, you’re so handsome-”

“I’d prefer pretty,” Bruce interrupts. “If you’re letting me down, at least call me pretty so I’ll know what it’ll sound like from you.”

Now Amir’s darker skin gets even more dark as he continues to blush. He stammers: “No, no, no. Not letting you down. Fuck. You’re so pretty, John. Of course I’m not letting you down. I’m just working, pretty boy, just working.”

“Booo,” Bruce whines, knowing how to sound appealing instead of annoying, albeit a little spoiled. “Can’t you just have a little break? Where do you work? I can come over, little blowie in the ally on a smoke break never hurt anybody.”

Amir groans at the offer, leaning back in his chair and looking at the ceiling, feeling a little despair by the look on his face. “I could get fired,” he protests, but it’s weak. Got him.

Bruce knows that he’s going to get fired anyway for letting them pass, but at least like this he’s out of harm’s way. He’s planning on offering him a job anyway. So, he insists again: “Promise I’ll get you off before they notice. It’ll tide me over until they let you go and you can show me what a proper good time is.”

Now Amir is looking around, no one except the League (who are all still staring and he wishes they’d stop) to see. So, he relents: “Alright, I work at the Luthor office. Uptown, you know it?”

“Oh my god, you’re kidding?” Bruce laughs in his most ditzy Brucie voice. “I’m literally at one of the bars down the street.”

“And what are you doing there?” Amir asks, trying to sound flirty, but coming across as a little insecure. It’s cute on him.

Bruce imagines himself twirling the phone cord at this point as he bats his eyes through his voice as he says: “Feeling lonely and thinking about you.”

Amir looks relieved at that, straightening up again as he asks: “Well, I can change one part of that for you. How fast can you get here?”

“Like two minutes,” Bruce answers.

“Meet you in the alley on the left then,” Amir says. “See you soon.”

“See you soon, handsome,” Bruce greets back, before hanging up. The second the line is dead, he reverts back to Batman’s voice and grunts: “Get ready to move.”

“What the fuck was that, Batman!” Hal is unsurprisingly the first to break. He never does know how to keep his mouth shut during stealth missions.

“Are you still Batman? Please tell me you’re still Batman. Because if you’ve been replaced by some alien, shape shifter or pod person, I don’t know what to do with myself. So you have to be Batman, even though Batman is creepy and mean and stand-offish and not flirty and-”

“Flash, quiet,” Bruce cuts of the rambling of the speedster. He’s not in the mood.

“You can at least tell us how you know the guard,” Clark speaks up, going for firm leader. Bruce can respect him for trying to lead these people who are all obviously not used to working as a team nor good at it. But the boy scout act sometimes gets on Bruce’s nerves.

He’s sure his kids and Alfred will have something to say about it, pointing to his trust issues that makes him perceive everything as an interrogation, but they aren’t here right now. Plus, he knows Damian at least will be on his side. He has people in his camp.

… Though that might not be a good thing. Hm, should he talk to Damian about it?

“It seems familiar somehow,” Oliver comments and Bruce hopes Amir moves soon. The last thing he wants is for Ollie to figure out who is under the cowl, the man is insufferable enough as it is.

“Batman?” Clark prompts, apparently he’s been quiet for long enough.

Falling back on one of his contingencies, he says: “Everyone should have skills in the acting and grifting department. Contact is sometimes unavoidable. I study people and I plan ahead. This is planning ahead.”

Right at that moment, Amir finally moves. Bruce feels a little bad about standing him up, but is glad to grapple away from the rest of the League. He hopes there will be a fight soon, because that way no one can ask him more questions.

[sulfies]

Mermay Fic pt1

Ezio always felt bad about the small number of humble gondoliers he sent into the canale for a swim, he really did. He did try to apologize the first couple of times but honestly, he just did not have the time for it anymore. He usually did just toss them coins if anybody did walk up to him all angry the next day at the square.

And it truly was not that big of a deal, It's just water… 

“Oh did you hear-”

Ezio picked up his freshly repaired boots from the apprentice of the cobbler when trained ears picked up on the two ladies gossiping about the latest in Venice.

“No wait he did not! The assassin?!”

Who? Did what? What did he get up to this time? Ezio nodded at the shop as he slowly walked closer getting into the earshot more to get the full story on his new supposed doings…

“Yes Yes! Elena saw it too! He was docked as he always is around those times, you know that man likes a schedule” The other woman nodded agreeing and Ezio held a sigh.

Stalling aren't we… get to the juicy bits woman. His foot tapped on the stone ground

“and suddenly the brute jumps down on him and throws him into the canale, doesn't even yell sorry or look back, just takes off with the gondola!”

The other woman did an offended gasp as Ezio finally also clocked what they were talking about

“And I normally like the assassin guy too! So I was shocked ofcourse, everyone was-”

He tilted his head remembering yesterday's run-ins, Yes maybe he did throw another one into the Canales torrents as he was on a chase but what was the big deal this time, if he got legs he can swim, it's not like the gondolier was-

“I mean what kind of a sane man throws a paralyzed man into the water and steals his boat!”

Oh…

The gondolier was Paralyzed...

Nothing is True everything is allowed so might as well toss a disabled towner into the water Ezio!

“Well was he all right? Is he injured?” 

Yes was he? Ezio wanted to rush out to the woman and shake her asking if his victim was okay, what was his address and would he accept a sorry in payments.

“Thankfully no, but he refused to let us help him out…” The woman's tone took a curious tune. “It was weird but he was probably embarrassed and didn't want people to see… you know…” The hand gesture around the legs told what she meant and it only drew another stake at Ezios heart so Ezio took it as his cue to leave and look for the man.

Well… He fucked around too much and now has to beg this old dude for forgiveness…. 

He looked at the new boots in his hand… can't even give him these, great fuckup Ezio. Leo will laugh his ass off about this.

—------------------

It took him two days to track the man down, turns out when half the city is traversable via water everyone tries being a gondolier at least once, but this one has made a name for himself, which did not help Ezios conscience because all everyone said was;

“Oh, that man? yes, you can find him around here when the sun is up midday, very sweet and strange that one, always jokes with the others, nice to talk to.”

”Oh you mean him? Such a nice fella always chats to me about my day…”

”Paralyzed Gondolier…. ah you mean the nice one that hangs around here all day?”

So needless to say Ezio was sweating a bit but he was here to make things right!

His purse was heavier than usual today with an apology gift added into it, he walked the middle district scanning over any water he could see as he passed the bridges, he came to an opening of a small courtyard where people were sitting under the tree on benches and some street kids were playing around. It was one of those areas that had access to the water via stairs and docks. It was one of the busier yards since it had few shops around it too.

Ezio realized this was, in fact, the route he took 3 days ago, hopefully finding him will be easy, there can't be that many disabled gondola rowers. His eyes moved over the body of water,  there were 5 gondoliers docked near just hanging about, 2 of them sitting on a dock near their boats. He tried to look for an old weak man but the one he did notice did not show up on his eagle vision at all. 

When the same man also got up to stretch Ezio erased him off of possible victims.

Then he caught a flicker of gold light and his eyes zeroed into a golden bright figure on the left,

He blinked turning the vision on and off a couple of times...

”Ah cazzo, just my luck”

He didn't almost drown an old man who couldn't walk, he almost drowned one of the most handsome gondoliers in Venice.

[abyssalzones]

What's your comic writing process like? I'm starting to get into making my own comics and I really admire your work!!! Any advice?

Ah, intrepid traveler, you've done well to journey to this secluded mountaintop spire, in search of the answers you seek. I indeed can provide such forbidden comicmancy knowledge... at the cost of your mortal soul...

coughs. anyway, I'm going to warn you immediately that what works for me does not work for everyone else, and in my experience the way I do things can prove very slow and discouraging for anyone who is more interested in the actual "drawing the damn comic" part of the process. I only do it this way because I enjoy weaving a narrative web that feels not only fully contained but re-readable, but my projects are often so long and my memory so shitty that I can't just keep all of it in my head! It would spill all over the place and make a really embarrassing mess of brain-juice. Not ideal.

but as for my own process, uhh... I suppose a comic would be fitting, right?

a little choppy but you get the idea.

as for turning words into art, I've been experimenting with figuring out the best way to do that for a little while now. Originally what I was doing for something like Ad Astra Per Aspera was to take my "script" and sketch it out on paper very loosely, before transposing that onto my canvas and working from there:

...but, I've found that can make it kind of difficult to space everything around on your standard page-size, and the thing I'm having the most problems with currently seems to be finding the sweet spot of panel-size proportions. So, I've taken to printing out standard thumbnail templates (you can just find these on google) and sketching very tiny panels in those, which seems to give me a slightly better sense of scale... (mild chapter 5 spoilers, sorry ad astra fans)

but I have yet to totally pull through on this, so who knows, maybe I'll try something else in the future!

As for advice, this is probably most applicable to me, but as a disabled artist I have a very hard time managing my workload without literally working myself into injury. I don't think I talked about this publicly but when I was working on that ten year anniversary comic I was literally drawing every single day for 3 solid months. Sometimes, in my case, I really can't bring myself to stop once I've latched onto an idea, and sometimes I find the most rewarding thing I can do with my time is to draw- but I seriously cannot overstate: Do not fucking do this.

You will fuck up your wrist, your back, your neck, your eyes, and probably your mental health. It's a well-known fact that mangaka have a lower life expectancy than the average japanese person due to the intense workload imposed on them by deadlines and personal expectations. Comics are a very demanding artform, and even though I'm not on any sort of mandated schedule there are times where I've toiled away at something when I likely should have been exercising or taking vision-breaks. Therefore the best advice I can give you is to chill the hell out.

Namely, find parts of the process you can be lazy about, and embrace the laziness! You don't like digitally sketching? Don't do it! Skip it, or maybe find a way to traditionally sketch things out in advance like I do. Hate lineart? Don't fucking do it. You really don't feel like wasting your time writing 72k words of comic scripts? ...then, don't be like me. skip that part. I'm a flawed human being and what works for me might not work for you.

The second most important piece of advice I could give is to read comics. Of all kinds. The reason for this is pretty self explanatory: In order to figure out your own comic-making style, you should first pick out bits and pieces from the artist's buffet to add to your plate. Manga, graphic novels, american comics, european comics, weird niche little webcomics, funny papers, anything and everything. This advice rings true of pretty much any art form, but I find it to be essential to honing comic-making skills because so many things you feel will just come intuitively often don't. and that's okay! nobody is born knowing how to leave space for speech bubbles or shape their panels in a way that imitates stretches of time. The best way to figure out stuff like this, in my experience, is to study the "masters", and then after becoming well accustomed to the basics, figure out what rules you want to bend or break to create your own style.

I consider myself to be in equal parts a writer and an artist, which lends itself well to making narrative comics, but maybe you're a bit more of an artist and want to focus on panel-by-panel visual storytelling. Or, conversely, maybe your talents lean closer towards writing, and the art itself is more of a secondary skill. Regardless of your unique blend of talents you can and should make a comic, you should just also be aware of your strengths and try to hone in on those- there will always be opportunities to build up skills you lack, but focusing on what you do best will always lead you in the right direction.

Anyway, that being said, here are some recommendations in no particular order:

Monster, Naoki Urasawa (!!)

Bone, Jeff Smith

Witch Hat Atelier, Kamome Shirahama

The first IDW run of Transformers comics (namely More Than Meets the Eye and Lost Light)

Persepolis, Marjane Satrapi (!!)

Through the Woods, Emily Carroll (really any Emily Carroll comics)

Kill Six Billion Demons (webcomic) (!!)

Akira, Katsuhiro Otomo

The Third Person, Emma Grove

Tintin, Hergé (can be super racist please be wary)

Dungeon Meshi, Ryoko Kui

Calvin & Hobbes, Bill Watterson

Maus, Art Spiegelman

Cucumber Quest (webcomic)

Jellyfish Princess, Akiko Higashimura

Golden Kamuy, Satoru Noda (!!)

Note that I did not grow up with manga so I am seriously behind on a lot of extremely influential japanese comics such as Dragon Ball, One Piece, basically any of the original Shonen Jump comics, but they're widely considered building blocks of the genre so if you love the artform I think you should give them a try! Same goes for classic non-shonen manga genres like various Shoujo, Josei, Yuri, Gekiga, ETC.

same as above applies to a lot of classic DC and Marvel works, I unfortunately am just not a big fan of superhero comics... but I'm sure there's good stuff in there. a couple of my mutuals talk about booster gold and the blue beetle all the time so I'm assuming there has to be something worthwhile.

...and many, many, many more that I'm forgetting! I noticed as I made this list that, to my knowledge, hardly any of these are made by black or just non-japanese-mangaka BIPOC artists, which makes me sad about the gaps in my own comic collection. Therefore, anyone is welcome to add their own recommendations in the replies!

now go forth, and combine images with text!!!!!!!!!!!

[petite-phthora]

Nova... after a supernova

[DP x DC fic]

[Love at first... murder? - part 7]

<< Prev | Next >>

Part 1

Ao3

---

In-chat nicknames:

OGnerd = Jason

BatDad = Bruce

Discowing = Dick

BloodSon = Damian

TheHotOne = Steph

TheCuteOne = Cass

Omnipotent = Babs

Flashlight = Duke

---

Clockwork watches as the scenes unfold from the screen in front of him, a fond smile on his face.

He chuckles at the awkward farewell young Danny leaves one of Gotham’s Knights with.

However, as his gaze turns to one of the other screens, his expression switches from amused fondness to one of contemplation.

As he watches the recently deceased manic clown cackle his head off at the revelation of his newly ghostly existence, Clockwork can do no more than let out a weary sigh.

As much as he would like to interfere so young Danny would not have to deal with this endeavor, alas, he is not allowed.

Regardless, he muses, Danny will be able to handle it quite well on his own. Clockwork has complete confidence in him, as he gazes at the many timelines that may yet come to pass.

It will all work out in the end...

---

After taking some deep breaths to calm himself somewhat, Jason puts his glove back on before getting back on his motorcycle and leaving the apartment building behind.

He should probably use the rest of the night to sleep, as it’s already quite late.

However, not too long after he leaves he starts feeling eyes on him. He's being watched, and he has a pretty good guess of just who it could be...

And that guess is confirmed when he sees the shadows moving across the rooftops.

Of course, they followed the tracker to find out what he's up to even after he told them not to follow

He lets out an irritated sigh as he revs the engine and makes his motorcycle pick up more speed. At this point he’s most likely going way over the speed limit but, it’s Gotham, so no one’s gonna care.

At least they only just found him and started following him, rather than when he was still with Danny. Small mercies…

Though, he notes with mild curiosity, interestingly enough Replacement doesn’t seem to be with them.

Jason decides not to jinx his luck by questioning it, for now. Tim’s probably just overworking himself on a case again while doped up on so much of his awful Red Bull, Monster, and coffee mixture monstrosity that he should’ve had a caffeine overdose by now 3 times over.

Either way, Jason’s so not in the mood for their questions

Jason wants to keep his family as far away from Danny as possible, for as long as he can. And not just because of their not date, but he wants to help Danny keep people off his back about the murder of the Joker.

While, as he has mentioned to Danny before, most people will probably celebrate his death more than anything, he wants to spare Danny from B’s disappointment and his 5 hour long morals speech at the very least.

At that point, Jason decides to try to throw his stalkers off by making some unexpected, sharp turns and using a lot of alleys. He avoids the cameras and makes a point to also disable the cam and tracker the Bats ‘sneakily’ left in his helmet, again.

…

After spelling out ‘Fuck off’ with the tracker’s path on the map.

Luckily for him, Jason has just made it to Crime Alley, which is his turf. He knows his way around better than the furry brigade that's still following him does and he’ll gladly use this to his advantage.

With a small grumble that's muffled due to his helmet, he decides to try another more blunt method to try and dissuade them from following him.

Or, at the very least, distract them so that he has an easier time getting away.

---

0 days without the Joker breaking out of Arkham

OGnerd: Stop stalking me.

BatDad: Don’t text and drive.

OGnerd: It's speech to text. Dumbass.

Discowing: Jason!! 😃 What’s up, Little Wing? 🐦 Sooo, why didn’t you patrol tonight?? 👀

OGnerd: That's none of your business dick wad. Fuck off.

OGnerd: What part of don’t follow me did you not understand.

Discowing: I just wanted to catch up with my little brother!! 😁 Is that too much to ask? 🥺

BloodSon: Todd. Who are you courting?

Discowing: Dami!! 😠 I wanted to ease him into it before bombarding him with questions 😩

TheHotOne: no damian id rite

TheHotOne: we ned a more direct aproch >:)

TheHotOne: so jayyyyyyy, whos ur mystery boo ;)

TheHotOne:  dont worry u can tell m privtely ^-^

TheHotOne: i wnt tell, scuts honor o7

TheCuteOne: scuts

Omnipotent: scuts

Discowing: Scuts

Flashlight: scuts

Flashlight: Wait, you were a scout??

TheHotOne: no <3

OGnerd: I was just following up on a lead on a case I’ve been working on.

OGnerd: Besides, shouldn’t you all be focusing on finding that clown freak instead of stalking me after I explicitly said not to.

Omnipotent: Do you buy flowers for all of your ‘leads’ or are those just for the cute ones? 🤨

Discowing: Oh!!!! 😲 He got them flowers?? 🌼 That’s so cute! 🥰 I didn’t take you for such a romantic, Jay 😉

BloodSon: Considering Todd’s reading material it should not have come as much of a surprise, Richard.

BatDad: Red Hood, what do you know about the disappearance of the Joker?

BatDad: Is the person you were meeting with involved?

OGnerd: Nothing and no. Now leave me alone.

OGnerd: Middle finger emoji.

~ OGnerd changed the name of BatDad to WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl ~

~ OGnerd locked the name of WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl ~

WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: Red Hood, this is extremely immature.

WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: Change my name back and come to the cave for a meeting, now.

WhyDoesClarkCallYouBabyGirl: That was a misunderstanding and you know it.

---

Jason turns his phone back off and mutes the chat once again. He managed to throw them off of his trail a bit ago and just now reached his apartment.

They know where he lives, yes, but it seems that they had finally noticed how not in the mood he was and decided to make the smart decision to give up and leave him the hell alone. For now at least…

Jason wouldn’t be surprised if they showed up at his apartment tomorrow anyway. But the metal baseball bat by the door and the gun in his holster should help.

After getting inside he changes out of his clothes and takes his time taking a shower. After getting out, drying off,  and putting on something comfortable he practically collapses onto the couch.

His eyes fall onto the faded number sequence still scribbled on his hand. With a small smile on his face, while thinking of the person who wrote it, he takes his phone back out again and makes a new contact.

While he’d love to call it some sappy shit like ‘Danny <3’, he knows his family and it has enough hackers in it that he’d rather make the contact name a bit less obviously stand out.

It takes a while, but after thinking back on Danny’s space rambles earlier that evening in the observatory, Jason settles on a contact name.

He names it Nova, after a supernova.

He doesn’t know how right he is.

---

Taglist:

@i-always-say-yea   @uraniumwizard    @why-must-i-be-like-this   @griffinthing

[lovelywritinglady]

Hobie Brown x fem reader

When the reader has dyslexia, ADHD, and has trouble with spelling certain words or just forget how to spell the most simplest words ever gets insecure about their learning disability and then falls into a depressive episode (which is just them distancing themselves from other (Hobie) for weeks)

Who Needs Words Anyway?

Hobie Brown x femspiderpersonReader

Reader distances themself from Hobie after they fail to read a recent mission report in front of him. Hobie thinks nothing of it, but reader falls into a depressive episode.

Your Pov

I hate this, I fucking hate this. I asked Miguel to just get Lyla to tell me my missions over and over again, but it seems like that suck up ass won't listen. Now an envelope with my most recent mission assignment is staring at me. I feel myself begin to panic at the very idea of opening up the document, but considering my job, I have to. No way in hell am I going to get stuck in my reality, especially since my boyfriend might be restricted to see me. Although, he's never been one to play by the rules, and that's what I absolutely love about him. Taking much needed deep breath, I opened it and immediately I couldn't read a damn thing. All of the letters were all jumbled up except for a few, which didn't help because I still had no idea what the mission was. I let out a frustrated groan of annoyance and slammed the document down on the table in front of me.

"Oi, what's goin on in here love?" Hobie suddenly spoke making me nearly jump from my chair.

"Nothing, just a mission assignment, no biggie." I responded as casually as I could.

"Alright, what you got goin on?" He questioned walking towards me. He then sat on the table flashing one of his heart melting smiles that got me to date him in the first place. He really is a charmer, and he doesn't even need to try.

"Um...I haven't read it yet, but once I do I'll let you know." I said fidgeting with the paper before me.

"Can't you read it now, I want to see if there is a chance that I could come with you, not that I need permission or anything though." He said chuckling at the thought of breaking the rules once again.

"Nah, I think I'll read it later." I lied.

"Why can't you do it now, you ain't got nothin better to do." He joked.

"Sure, yea." I spoke quietly beginning to read the document once more yet failing once more. My anxiety began to spike considering Hobie still hadn't known about my conditions. I needed to get out as this situation was far too overwhelming for me to think. I began picking at my fingers trying to calm myself, but that didn't work. And suddenly I got up and ran out of the door unable to form a sentence to my boyfriend as he yelled my name.

Shooting my webs, I went to the highest point of the building and begin pacing all around it trying to calm myself. I couldn't face him and no way could I face Miguel again, especially since he knows about my conditions and hasn't even tried to accommodate me. Quickly I called Lyla and the fashionable AI came into view.

"Hey sugar, what's up?" She asked fixing her coat

"Can you please tell me my mission?" I asked her quickly

"Sure, but didn't you get the report?" she asked and I immedietly deadpanned at the fact that Miguel didn't even put my conditions on my file as she would know.

"Lyla I can't read them very well, can you please just tell me from now on and put it on my file considering the boss forgets to do so?" I asked her standing upside down looking at the futuristic city before me.

"Sure thing, and... done. Now as for that mission, you are to go to Earth-2341 and capture an anomoly known as the viper. Have fun!" Lyla said almost as though she was celebrating something.

"Thanks, I'll go right now." I told her knowing that going without preperation might not be a good idea.

"Be careful, want me to get Hobie to assist you?" She asked wiggling her eyebrows.

"Nah, I'll be fine." I reassured.

Three days later...

I was not in fact fine. My wounds were far more severe than I expected. I guess that's what I get for acting on my impulses. I numbly walked towards the infirmary sighing at the thought of getting scolded by the doctor for being too reckless again. My agony was washed away when out of the corner of my eye I saw Hobie. Although, as soon as that feeling of happiness came another feeling of regret and shame hit me like a truck and I began walking as fast as I could to try and avoid him. No way in hell was I going to talk to him right now, especially after what happened. I'm far too emmbarassed to be around him right now. However, I was no where near fast enough and I felt the soft touch of my boyfriend's hand on my shoulder and he tried to turn me around to face him.

"Hey love, oh shit are you alright?' Hobie greeted quickly as he began pulling my arm to the infirmary.

"No, I feel like shit, I was just on my way there and I don't need your help getting there, I know where its is." I snapped at him immidenietly regretting it due to the painfuil look in his beautiful brown eyes.

"I'm sorry, but don't take it out on me, I'm just trying to help." He said calmly and I was reminded once again why I'm with him in the first place. As he is the kindest and most honest person I have ever met.

"I don't need your help Hobie, just leave me be please, I need some space." I told him turning away and walking straight to the infirmary.

Two Weeks Later...

Fuck, I really should not have snapped at him like that. And all because I was too nervous to tell him about my dyslexia. He probably hates me now, but I'm too chicken shit to ask him. I haven't gotten much sleep since that day and I don't care considering I feel like I deserve it for how I treated my boyfriend. I sighed laying back down on my messy bed that I haven't had the energy to make it. Due to the severity of my injuries, I'm off missions for a few weeks until I'm fully healed. Miguel hates when we aren't perfect when completing our missions. I feel physically fine, I'm just not entirely there mentally at the moment. I felt so tired but all I've been doing is sleeping and waiting for Hobie to burst through the doors and make me do something with him. But he won't, I asked him to leave me alone and he's respecting that even though I don't want him too. Closing my eyes for the millionth time these past two weeks, I'm interrupted by someone shaking my head. My spidey sense didn't go off because it was the one and well many, Gwen Stacy.

"Get up, you need to go talk to him." She demanded picking me up off of my bed as I slouched onto the floor.

"No, don't wanna." I whined not looking up at her.

"Bullshit, you two love the hell out of each other. Talk to him and tell him everything." She said softer

"Girl, he's literally the least judgmental person ever. He won't even care about it because it doesn't effect you as a person." Gwen spoke crouching down placing her hand on my shoulder.

"You're right, you know where he is?" I asked getting up and finding fresher clothes to put on.

"Yeah, he's at his place." she said helping me pick something to wear even though there were piles of dirty clothes like everywhere.

"Thanks, wish me luck." I spoke finally dressed as I opened the portal to his dimension.

"You don't need it, but good luck." Gwen smiled with a thumbs up.

After making my way to his place I knocked on his door. He immediatley opened it and his eyes lit up as soon as he saw me. This clamed my nerves knowing he was still excited to see me I find myself seated on his couch that was probably over 100 years old. I can't complain though, this bitch was comfortable. Hobie stat on the other side of the couch looking at me as though he was waiting for me to speak.

"Love, you alright? What do you need to say." he asked

I took a deep shaky breath realizing its really okay. Gwen'sright about being the least most judgemental person here. Taking one more deep breath I began to tell him.

" First off, I'm so sorry for snapping at you two weeks ago and for telling you to leave me alone. The reason for it is that have dyslexyia meaning I sometimes get certain words mixed up and that's why I prefer to just be told my mission by Lyla rather than receiving a report like you or Gwen. I didn't tell you because I felt embarassed about it." I told him quickly looking down at my hands as I picked at my left palm.

"Love, that ain't nothing to be embarressed about. Wanna know why?" Hobie questioned with his right eyebrow cocked with a mischevious grin on his face.

"Why?" I chuckled at his face knowing he's say something ridiclous.

"Who needs words anyway, none of em' make sense most of the time." he joked cuckling at himself

"Pfft, Hobie lots of people do, that's how people communicate." I responded folding my arms across my chest giving him a grin as well.

"Nah, fuck the rules and everyone else. But seriously I'm glad you told me I feel like I know you better. So thank you for letting me in on that, love and I forgive you." Hobie reassured as he scooted next to me wrapping his longs arms around my body in a comforting hug as he stroked my head.

"I love you." I whispered leaning into him.

"Yeah, I love ya too." he said as he kissed my forehead nuzzling into temple. "Alright now, how's bout we cuddle and then order some pizza later, yea?" He suggested.

"Yeah, sounds good to me, Hobie." I told him as we both basked in the warmth of each other.

Thank you so much for reading💜

I hope I executed this well enough. I apologize if I did not. Im not the best at writing these topics, but I did my best. I’m officially off my break!

Please feel free to comment, request, and reblog

Click here to see what I’ll write for and HERE for my master list.

•I do NOT own any characters except y/n•

-L.W.L