#I am trying SO HARD to be rooted and grounded rn | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

shorkbrian · 3 years

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Prelude - I need to stop catching sight of poetry on my explore page lol. This is entirely self-indulgent and very specific cause I’m rotting thru life rn and so if u dislike I understand lol. When I was in the hospital this last time it sucked rlly bad and like the awful horny degenerate I was I kept thinking abt Kirishima and soft sweet Sugawara idk lol

Pairing - Death god Kirishima x Reader

Warnings - Suicide, suicide attempt, no smut. Death. Drunk Drivers. Yandere but only a little bit and cause I can’t voluntarily accept love it has to be forced bc I cannot handle the thot of someone who is sane loving me bc there is no freaking way lol

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/5Iy1wdO0tMaHwKnfFYtlel?si=-vqod-W6SHia8ui2Hdl_9g

Adding this one bc it’s like one of my favorites and I wish god I wish and I hope that this year is better than the last amen lol also there’s nothing more sad to me than someone pleading and begging and crying for the year to treat you nicely like bitch u okay? no. the answer is no.

https://open.spotify.com/track/0xRO7EKgYKVB8zKIoiXMDD?si=HYBaiBzjRGmQwfCHgnTUxA

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“It hurts.” You had told him, as the entity sat at the end of your hospital bed.

He often sank heavily onto the nearest surface, as if his bones ached with the weight of his body. You saw him often during those first few days in the hospital, days spent puking up pills, every move you made monitored, doctors and nurses scolding you about the severity of your actions.

You didn’t think they could see the hulking figure that comforted you.

“I”ve heard that it’s supposed to.” The red god of death would think aloud.

“I don’t want it then.” Tears upon your cheeks, soft, misty. “Take it.”

“Your life?” A nod would affirm his question, but the red god would shake his head. “I am no thief. Not a hunter, simply a gatherer of souls. I won’t take what doesn’t belong to me.”

“Then it’s yours, have my life. A gift, from me to you. Don’t make me live it any longer…..”

His sadness would show in his eyes.

But the soul-crushing hugs that were provided were admittedly a tiny bit nice.

“You’re far too sweet for your own good. I’ll receive your life when the time is right, not before.”

“But I don’t want it!” You sobbed into his shoulder, the god seeming to be your only friend in the world.

Hands stroked along your back, soft shushing sounds as the god attempted to soothe you in the ways he knew how. Soft touches, kind truths. “Many don’t. But it happens - life happens anyways. All you can do is find the things that make it less painful.”

“That’s not enough, it still hurts. I can’t stand it.” The sobs wracking your body didn’t stop the entity from holding you.

“I know, and I’m sorry.”

——

He’s patient and kind.

Surprising for a god who’s work involves collecting souls as if they were taxes. A job that should be bitter and tiresome, but the entity has infinite softness resting inside of him.

He walks with you, as you get “better“.

You watch him stop to marvel at flowers, to study the way dew drips from trees in little drops, eyes wide and wondering as crows startle from their perches and take off with noisy weeping.

This courtyard is drab and brown, a prison. Safe.

Yet the god of death treats the space gently, with respect. He thanks the old walls for standing, the worn stones beneath your feet. Their service is noted and appreciated. He’s so tender it almost makes you sick.

But you come to realize that he’s simply allowing himself to be vulnerable, to experience the earth and the beings in it.

For as soon as one recognizes vulnerability, which is so different from weakness or tragedy, one experiences a sense of tenderness. Without tenderness, pleasure means nothing. You need only look at the animals to see the truth of that. It is gentleness that distinguishes their playing from the actions they constantly take to ensure their survival.

You ask why he walks with you, why he is so focused on seeing you get “better“.

A soft smile, a meeting of eyes. “There is an end to your pain, sometime and somewhere. It’s most likely not here, not in this place at least-“ and he looks around, at the cold walls, the other sick patients, the staff. All human.

“-It will come. But for now, it’s enough to try and seek it out ourselves.”

You must look more sick than you really are, talking to thin air like that.

——-

Once you return home, the red god writes you letters.

He’s an old soul, an old god. You’re sure if you asked, he’d be able to recount the very first souls he reaped, a man and a woman, sinful and sweet but in love.

The letters help you get out of bed. What new stories or little quips the god has written pique your curiosity, even when you don’t want to move, don’t want to be awake or alive.

He tells you stories about certain souls, how each one is infinitely interesting, how they all interconnect. How some of them struggle against him, however fruitlessly. But he’s not the one who brought about their death, he’s there to comfort and guide.

Other souls, (“souls like yours” he writes) welcome him, run to his arms like a long lost lover. Their death was terrifying by their own hand, and it hurt. He can’t take away that pain, those memories. The red god says he wishes those souls find peace wherever he must take them afterwards, or at least, some form of contentment.

“The meaning of life is to give life meaning, at least, that’s what seems to be the consensus.” You rip off that part of the letter, hang it on your wall by your bed. The other letters you keep in your nightstand, content with the knowledge that there are souls out there like you

It’s hard work, creating meaning for yourself.

The red god takes to visiting you between each letter, says he misses you, the way your soul cries. He tells you that he wishes he could help you quiet it, quiet that raging, terrible storm that hurls you about.

You make him cookies - it’s the only way you know how to say thank you. It’s what your mother taught you, so it may not be right, but the god eats them nonetheless. He likes it when you eat with him, feeding you bites from his cookie, wiping chocolate off of your nose, making you laugh with stupid jokes and a mouth stuffed full of cookies.

Even if some of them are too crunchy, or others too soft, all of them imperfect.

Imperfection is the essence of humanity, he tells you, and it’s more fun eating each cookie with the thought that you’re devouring your imperfections, making yourself whole again, filling up the empty spaces in your soul.

——

Eventually, the crawl back to your feet, rise with the unsteadiness of a toddler. You fall frequently, cry often, but you’re able to get up and try again.

Some days you need to bury yourself in sadness, let yourself feel and feel and hurt. Other days are not so bad, but still tinged with regret and fear and sadness.

The red god is by your side, gives you something to cling to when you waver.

He is always there.

He will be there when you meet your end.

The god is in no hurry.

You question why he wastes his time on you, hours spent reassuring you, talking to you, tucking you in your bed and leaving glasses of water on your nightstand before taking his leave.

Home is a feeling, not a place. Home is with you - that’s what he tells you. You take his breath away, even though he might not even need to breath because he’s the god of death. HIs thoughts muddle and he trips over his feet and can’t help himself from wanting to hold you.

You learn that even gods yearn for home.

He’s capable of feelings and emotions just like any other human. He may be wiser, and older, able to draw from experience and a deep well of wisdom. But he still feels, and feels deeply.

Just as he gives the earth around him such reverence, he extends that same attitude when he deals with you.

“Everything I see reminds me of you. When I wake and the sun creeps over the mountains, hesitant, it reminds me of the way that you rise - haltingly, yet it happens nonetheless. The flowers in the field that so steadily grow, you’re like ground they take root in, soft and unstable yet still tenable with the potential for growth. I don’t know, I haven’t exactly held such closeness with a human-“

He trails off, but you think you understand.

Maybe you don’t. It’s hard to relate to a god.

——

A confession occurs, and you’re surprised to learn that the blood-red god of death is in love.

“What did my hands do before they held yours? What did my heart do without all of this love? I can’t hold enough of you, I carry such love for you in my heart.”

With a frail, hopeless human nonetheless.

You don’t know what to tell him, how to explain that you can barely take care of yourself right now, meet your own needs.

But the red god seems to know, seems to understand the way your breath hitches and your eyes widen. One more hug, squeezed tight to his chest while he promises nothing has to change.

Things do change, even if you wish them not to. The world doesn’t bow to your whims, nor the death-god’s.

Innocent touches, his hand on your shoulder, patting your head, offering to rub out the tension in your back after you’ve had a crushing day - they don’t feel so innocent anymore.

The constant survellience still seemed kind, and you knew it was with your best intentions in mind that the god hovered so close, invading every aspect of your life.

But a creeping tendril of unease took hold, and you worried.

Everywhere you turned, he would be there, ready to support you, walk you through anything you wished.

Again, you questioned his commitment. Why? Why you?

“I can’t explain how fond of you I’ve grown. How heat blossomed in my chest as we grew closer. There’s infinite things I wish to say to you, ways for me to express my-my love, but I’ll just let you live.”

He neither killed you nor let you live.

Was it frightening? Maybe. But you had nothing to really live for, lost, searching for your own meaning in a big big world, floundering in an endless sea of sadness and suffering. You weren’t afraid of anything the god could, or would, do to you.

Until you woke up, not knowing where you were, in pitch black.

Arms encircling your shoulders, a soft body beneath your own, holding you tightly, a hand caressing your cheek.

A sun rose, on a strange new land, on the blood-red god gazing at you.

“There seemed to be so much more time for you. But accidents happen, Drivers drink and hearts give out. I was expecting you to grow old, for us to live and love like that, see how you grew through life.”

He looked around this new world, and you vaguely remember what had come before. A walk along the sidewalk, blaring horns, impact, blood.

“But this will be just as nice. You can stay here with me now. Life can’t cause you anymore pain.”

You don’t feel comforted by those words. There’s no way for you to know whether this new world would be better than the one you left behind.

#kirishima #Kirishima Eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #bnha kirishima #kirishima x you #yandere #Yandere kirishima #tw.death #tw.suicide

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certifiedceraunophile · 3 years

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Hi! A fan of your writing here. I just love the way you write Caroline. An Avoidable Heart is my comfort fic and I am constantly in awe with the way you write and craft the dynamics in that story. Caroline's inner monologue is just priceless and God! I just love that intro scene where Caroline is walking into the Mikaelson compound with vampires and hybrids in the surrounding ready to pounce on her.

I would love to hear how you would have visualized Caroline crossing over into TO or not? Like in what season and why? How it would have likely gone?

Thank you!

First of all lovely anon gimme a moment to breathe, asdfghjkl why are people so lovely 😭😭🥺✨ It means sooo much to me that you’d take the time to jump into my inbox and send these kind words, like please I’m not worthyyyyy, But you make me smile and feel really freaking warm so *handcuffs your hand to mine* you aint leaving 💖✨💞🙃

But OK ALSO oh my god dude THAT CAROLINE WALTZS INTO THE COMPOUND AND TAKES ON A COUPLE HUNDRED VAMPIRES BY HERSELF SCENE???? Ughhhhh I’m sorry but I have SUCH a boner for Caroline in that, like my badass -I admit kinda op- QUEEN IS HERE and she’s fucking shit up, I’m sorry but I love that scene so much it’s so dear to me I was killing myself over how self-indulgent and grossly Over powered Caroline is but like idgaf man it’s such a hot scene and Caroline is practically invincible and we just love to see that, so seriously lovely anon, you telling me you LOVE that scene??? Puts the biggest smile on my face and reassures me a LOT bc I was whining and cribbing over how absolutely unbalanced that scene is to literally everyone BUT LIKE YOU JUMPING OUT OF NOWHERE and pointing that exact scene UGHH…...meant to fucking be the both of us 💖💞✨

And ALSO Caroline’s monologue is quite honestly the easiest inner monologue out of the three voices I wrote for that work, Klaus’s is the real pain in the ass tbvh like it is NOT easy writing pretentious besotted losers with a Kardashian complex especially when you need to make them sound cool when they’re the lamest OP dude bros to ever exist - and no I don’t hate Klaus although I seem to try my darndest to convince ppl I do- I just personally believe that a feral fucker like that with a thousand years of existence under his belt can grow a pair and graduate from his kindergarten level of emotional maturity to adult sometime soon, But then on the flipside he’s so grossly adorkably smitten and feral for Caroline plus hella horny for her all the time that its usually easy to write the trashed and devoted idiot he is into something pretentious and powerful and potent when relating to his unflappable arrogance and his narcissism, but sometimes I also need him to be *deep* and ffs profound for the sake of the plot and jfc my muse just wont work with me on that, she’s like I’m sorry I’m not about to bust my ass to make this mongrel intelligible like no sir all I wanna do is make him uncomfortably horny for Caroline and leave him like that.

So smh yeah the struggle is real….but lmao Caroline is just so precious and fiercely protective and just so achingly lonely in that story, so desperate for connection and trust and intimacy yet so guarded and impervious to everyone like it hurts me to write her like that but it really challenges me as an author to balance out her inherent light with the “void” I create in her and through her, so yeah it’s a very fulfilling task and I wouldnt change it one bit, and also I had to balance out her physical op-ness w half a millennium of the ugliest emotional trauma lol so I guess that figures, but the point being….once again I am overjoyed knowing that you liked a facet of the story that I tried so hard to make as authentically Caroline and achingly real and moving as I can and I cannot possibly feel more accomplished than rn for it so ty ty ty ty for reaching out to me and telling me *tackle hugs* It makes me GIDDY knowing that you enjoyed that particular part of the story like ugh stab me please you're too sweet.

And ok NOW, coming to The Originals part of the ask, (also please note that when I say TO headcanon; Hope does not exist, Hayley is a dead in a ditch and ofc Klaus will stop being that lil bitch they tried to pawn off as Klaus in TO)

HEADCANON 1

Honestly my biggest headcanon when it comes to TO crossovers somehow always include non-humanity!Caroline like it’s just so perfect to me?? The opportunity to make shit BLOW UP b/w them like imagine the DEBAUCHERY, the heat, the SEXUAL TENSION, the repression of one Klaus Mikaelson, the EXPLORATIONS, and omg the role reversal when Klaus has to be the voice of moral reason between them and not bc he believes Caroline would not be able to stand herself if she does something heinous and monstrous but bc he wants her to be completely and utterly herself, and yk *aware*, when she DECIMATES ppl to the ground and is in full-on predator mode, like he wants her monster to come out and play with him when no part of Caroline is locked away or suppressed, so obviously when she is w/o her humanity KLAUS exercises restraint on her behalf, like can you imagine that, Klaus restraining himself and being the vague, extremely broken and just largely inaccurate moral compass between the two of them for ALL the wrong reasons- and the entirety of NOLA just standing there watching him herd this baby vampire who seems to be intent on riling him up and angering him when all she is doing is giving him a massive hybrid hard on, like IMAGINE THE GOODNESS of non-humanity Caroline wrecking NOLA and Klaus letting her wreck it bc he is helpless in the face of Caroline Forbes and also bc he is quite honestly *enjoying* the debauchery himself so why put a damper on the festivities.

-I might wanna add that I favour this headcanon a lot bc I genuinely do not even remotely *like* the idea of NOLA as Klaus's chosen place to set his roots so like I would love Caroline going to NOLA and destroying everything there just bc I detest NOLA and the storyline behind it in TO. (yes is it petty? Obvi, but like I am a petty soul and I make no apologies ma’am)

HEADCANON 2

So yeah that’s my main TO headcanon, but my other one being, one I talk about very frequently, scream about in tag rants to an obsessive level, and like this is a cracky one but still very valid, where Caroline rolls up to NOLA humanity intact and all, finds Hayley preggo and is just laughing her fucking ass off bc anybody ANYBODY, with half a brain and a two minute convo w klaus would know how UTTERLY stupid the entire baby shit is especially when it’s with an immemorable one night stand, and Caroline’s just losing her shit about how like an entire city is obssessed w this baby and she just straight up tells Klaus he’d SUCK as a dad (which he really does tho like he was a shitty fucking dad canonically too) and Klaus is just like *sigh* girl tell me about it. I mean basically he’s finally relieved that someone is on his side about the whole baby thing and how he definitely does not want his entire millennium of life to finally sum up to this one squalling leaking stinky infant/unicorn Hayley is apparently baking in her oven, and I say this headcanon is cracky bc klaus would never have put up w this mess long enough for Caroline to come in and sort it out, there’s this preferred method of disposal of his called heart ripping that would've been employed quite early on and honestly saved us all a lot of brain cells and minused years of life, bc let’s be real any Klaus who’s NOT a lil snivelling bitch wearing a Klaus skinsuit would’ve yeeted the baby and the mama first chance he got, and that’s just how I see it.

Lmao I really hope I didnt scare you away w my *strong* opinions Ik they can be a bit much but I enjoy having them so theyre not going anywhere, anyways this ask answer got WAYYYY too long but I’m hoping I answered your question well with this or atleast left you slightly confused and bemused over my feral screaming....either ways I’m really really really happy to have got your ask and the chance to rant so much bs, Twas cathartic and honestly I had nothing to do today so I was more than happy to dish this baby out for you. Thank you so much sweet anon for putting a smile on my face today I am absolutely HONOURED by your words you’sa cutie 💖💞✨🗣🗣

#first of all #LONG POST #second #I did rant a LOTTTT more than what was prolly expected but lmao am I sorry?#no #anyway so those are my general drivel-tastic thoughts straight from glitter graveyard brain #hope you enjo navigating through so much bs anon #and I hope someone puts a smile on your face that's as large and bright as the one you've put on mine today #anon asks #ask certified ceraunophile #anti the orginals #tvd headcanons #tvd #klaroline #anon youre the sweetest #shakes hand cuffed hand #you stuck w me lovely #💞💞

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yespleasefandomtrash · 4 years

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Catradora fluff request: Adora getting an undercut with her ponytail and asking Catra how it looks

this is so self-indulgent. i love it lmao. thank you for suggesting this prompt! (im on mobile rn so im going to add a line break later. thank you for your patience! xx)

~*~

Catra knew something was going on. She’d walked in on Adora and Glimmer whispering to each other multiple times, but as soon as they saw her they’d snap out of it and act like they hadn’t just been not-so-subtly plotting in a corner. Normally she wouldn’t have thought much of it, chalking it up to Sparkles being weird, but Adora was laying her denial on thick. And her girlfriend, bless her heart, was the worst at acting.

And yet, despite how obvious they were being that they were planning… well, something, they had done a surprisingly good job so far at not revealing what, exactly, those plans were. Which irritated Catra to no end. Why was she excluded?!

“Okay, enough secrecy,” Catra snapped, cornering Adora one day in an annoyingly pastel-colored corridor of Bright Moon, placing her hands against the wall on either side of her girlfriend. “What have you and Sparkles and Arrow Boy been talking about for the past week?” And why am I not a part of it, she added silently.

“Uh…” Adora was avoiding eye contact with her in such an obvious fashion it was almost physically painful to witness. Dammit, Catra hated the two inches in height her girlfriend had on her. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Catra hissed, her tail flicking in frustration, and she had to resist the urge to drag her nails down the wall. Glimmer probably wouldn’t appreciate her defacing the palace with claw marks. “Adora, you are the worst liar.”

“Psh, what, I am not lying! I would never -”

Catra silenced her with a glare. “Fine. Don’t tell me.” Her hands fell down to her sides, her fists clenching and her nails digging into her palms. “See if I care.”

Adora hesitated, something akin to regret flickering in her eyes, but her expression soon morphed to… affection as her gaze shifted away from Catra’s face. She reached out, her hand brushing the edge of her girlfriend’s jaw before gently fingering the ends of Catra’s hair. “It’s longer,” she said quietly. “Are you letting it grow out?”

Catra silently berated herself for blushing at the sudden physical contact. Stupid Adora. Stupid feelings. But she found her hand instinctively moving to rest on top of Adora’s. Her girlfriend was right - her hair was now less than an inch above her shoulders. “Maybe,” she finally muttered. “I don’t - I don’t know what length I like best.”

Adora chuckled, pulling Catra’s hand down to hold it properly. “Not to be a disgusting sap, but I think you look great with any haircut.”

Catra tried to scowl, but she was pretty sure the effect was ruined by how red her face had to be. “Well, that was disgusting. Never say it again.”

Adora burst out laughing, and she tried to pull her girlfriend closer to her. “But Catra, you’re just so cute!”

Catra hissed. “Shut up! I am not cute!” She yanked her hand away and sprinted down the hall, quite literally running away from her feelings. But she didn’t fail to hear Adora’s laughter increase as she started to chase after her.

“Get back here, you cute cat! Ooh, alliteration.”

“No! Leave me alone!”

It wasn’t until later, when they were both lying on the floor of their bedroom panting in exhaustion with tears of joy and laughter streaming down their faces, that Catra realized she was still yet to figure out what Adora was hiding from her.

She turned her head to glance at her girlfriend, who was wiping tears from her eyes, her signature goofy grin wide on her face. Catra felt warmth blossom in her chest - a warmth she was getting more and more used to feeling.

Well… she supposed she could wait for Adora to tell her whatever it was that was going on. She trusted her. And patience was a virtue, after all - one Perfuma was helping her to get better at practicing.

Apparently the universe decided to reward her for her attempts at self-improvement, because Catra found that she did not have to wait long at all for Adora’s… plot to be revealed.

“I don’t want to go to this stupid dinner!” Catra yowled, glaring angrily at a certain queen of Bright Moon. “I am not a princess. I don’t understand why I need to be there!”

Glimmer sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and pinching the bridge of her nose in exasperation. “Perfuma is hosting this celebration, okay? It’s not just a formal dinner, or else I would tell you to stay here if you really didn’t want to go. It’s to denote that it’s been a year since the defeat of Horde Prime. All parties who helped the Rebellion are invited. Including you, whether you like it or not.”

“Well, I don’t like it.”

“I just said that doesn’t matter!”

Catra resisted the urge to smirk. Not teasing Glimmer was almost as hard as not teasing Adora. In other words, she often failed on both accounts.

Glimmer then sighed, uncrossing her arms. “Look, Adora wants you there. You’re right - you don’t have to go. I won’t make you. But Adora is going regardless of whether or not you are, so if you want to put a damper on her evening by staying behind, be my guest.”

“She doesn’t need me to have fun,” Catra snapped.

“I didn’t say she needed you. I said she wants you with her.”

Ugh. Catra hated it when Glimmer was right, which happened more often than she gave the queen credit for. “Fine.” She sent her friend another glare. “But you are not getting anywhere near my hair with that - that thing.”

Glimmer rolled her eyes. “It’s just a brush, but fine.” She shoved it at Catra. “At least do it yourself. Or have Adora do it. Whatever.”

Catra snatched the brush out of her hands, raring to fire back a snarky comment -

“Adora’s ready!” Bow poked his head into the room, his eyes practically glittering in excitement as he beamed at the two. “Not to flex about my abilities, but I think I did a pretty good job.”

Glimmer’s mood changed so fast it was like someone had flipped a switch in her body. “Ooh, yes!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. “I’m so excited!” She then teleported out the door.

Catra was frozen in the middle of the room, unsure of whether she should follow or not.

Glimmer seemed to realize this, as she appeared back inside for a split second and simply said, “Stay,” before teleporting back out again.

Catra frowned at the command, irritation causing her to clench her jaw. Why wasn’t she allowed to see Adora? The hell was going on?

Her enhanced hearing picked up on a familiar squeal followed by, “Oh, Adora! It looks so good!”

Catra then heard Adora laugh. “Aw, thanks. But really, credit goes to Bow. I could not have been trusted to do this myself.”

“Adora. Please. You’re making me blush.”

There was a pause. Then she heard Adora quietly add, “Do you think Catra will like it?”

Catra’s eyes widened.

“Well…” There was a teasing lilt to Glimmer’s voice, and Catra could practically envision her familiar smirk. “Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

Catra instinctively took a step back despite that she was still standing in the middle of the room, her gaze dropping to the ground as she heard the creak of a person opening the door. “Hey, Adora.”

There was the sound of footsteps moving closer, and soon golden sandals entered Catra’s peripheral vision.

“You okay?” Adora asked, and although Catra wasn’t looking at her she could still picture the way her girlfriend’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. “If this is about Perfuma’s party, I know Glimmer was putting a lot of pressure on you to come, but if you really don’t want to you absolutely don’t -”

“No, it’s not that,” Catra grumbled, her grip on the brush tightening. “Of course I’m not letting you go without me, dummy.”

“Okay,” Adora said slowly. Catra could practically see the way her girlfriend’s lips pursed in confusion, though she kept her eyes firmly trained on the ground. “Then why won’t you look at me?”

Catra didn’t know how to answer that question.

A deep-rooted, internalized fear of change, she could practically hear Perfuma say. She ignored the voice.

Adora gasped. “Oh my God, I get it. You saw it already and you hated it and you just didn’t want to tell me!” She groaned. “I’m so sorry, Catra, I wanted to talk you about it before it happened but Glimmer and Bow thought it would be more fun to surprise you and -”

“They - you - what? I haven’t seen -” Catra looked up, confused, and her voice vanished in her throat as the pieces finally fell into place. That was what Adora had been planning. “You cut your hair?”

Adora’s face reddened, and her hand moved up to touch the back of her head where her blonde hair had been shaved down in a neat undercut. “Yeah. I wanted to… try something new, I guess?” Her blush deepened, and a mixture of hope and anxiety flickered in her blue eyes. That combined with her girlfriend’s new haircut was enough to completely short-circuit Catra’s brain. “Do you like it?”

Catra knew that if she tried to speak immediately all that would come out was a strangled “ergm”, which was obviously code for she liked the haircut a lot, probably way too much, but she didn’t want the message to get lost in translation. By the time her neurons kicked back into gear, she was pretty sure her face was as red as Adora’s.

She ended up dropping her head onto her girlfriend’s shoulder, mumbling, “It looks… really good.” Her voice was muffled. Not that she was complaining. Why did complimenting Adora always have to feel so embarrassing?

Because you are making yourself vulnerable by expressing affection openly, Perfuma’s voice said again, which Catra continued to ignore.

“Catra, if it’s that bad you can just tell me,” Adora said, amused, wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. “In all honesty, that would probably hurt Bow’s feelings more than mine.”

Catra lifted her head slightly, though again she adamantly avoided making eye contact with Adora. “No. I said it looks really good.” This was mortifying. “I like it. A lot.”

“Aw, really?” Catra finally looked up to see that Adora was beaming at her, her blue eyes wide with joy and relief. “That makes me so happy.”

Catra’s tail twitched, and she found herself dropping the hairbrush she still held to grab the front of Adora’s dress and pull her into a rough, hasty kiss.

Adora stared at her, speechless, when Catra let go, but shock soon transformed into a mischievous smirk. “Wow. I should have cut my hair ages ago.”

“Ugh!” Catra growled, her face a shade darker than scarlet as she grabbed Adora’s hand and began dragging her out of the room. “Let’s just go already, before Sparkles can yell at us for being late.”

Adora allowed herself to be pulled along, though she was practically snorting with laughter along the way. “I’m serious. If I had known you’d react like that, I would have taken up on Rogelio’s offer to cut my hair at the Fright Zone!”

“Shut up!”

Catra was suddenly spun around, her girlfriend pushing her against the wall of their bedroom. The mischievous smirk was back on Adora’s lips. “Make me.”

Catra gulped.

Looked like they’d be late after all.

~*~

thank you for reading!

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mvrtaiswriting · 4 years

Note

heehee- kinda gay rn,,, can u,,, make a male!reader x Jonathan based off the song Beautiful by Thornly or Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol? Oh and if it could be in a modern universe that'd be nice aaa

Orange juice. - Jonathan Joestar.

Here I am, sorry for the laaate reply. Thank you for requesting something, I absolutely love my boy Jonathan and this was so cute to write!! Expect a lot of fluff, hope this meets your expectations. Enjoy!! x

Male reader (it’s more neutral tbf) x Jonathan Joestar

Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Phantom Blood

AU / modern universe

SFW // minor hints to violence & injuries

words count: 2069

recommended song: chasing cars - snow patrol.

Hi! Are you a new reader? Check my masterlist for more content!

Please feel free to reblog or leave a comment :) help me support my art (it’s free!),

Being Jonathan Joestar’s neighbour was fun. Since the day you first met, the two of you became inseparable and it was hard to imagine a world where he wasn’t by your side. It was a peaceful afternoon when you first met him. He was taking his dog out for a walk, marching proudly on the sidewalk of the street you both lived in, holding the leash tightly to prevent his dog from running away. Jonathan wasn’t older than 6 at that time but he surely was a responsible little man, putting a lot of effort in completing his task.

Unluckily for him, however, a cat dared to cut his dog’s way. In matter of second, the poor boy completely lost control over his dog and its leash. The dog started to bark loudly before starting to chase the cat recklessly, causing Jonathan to trip over and skin his knees. You were playing outside, in the front garden of your house and you saw the entire scene. You quickly grabbed your orange juice and ran towards the injured little boy, whose cheeks were flushing red.

“Are you okay?” you asked in your little squeaking voice, kneeling beside him and patting your little hand on his shoulder. Jonathan simply nodded, too busy trying his best not to cry.

You sat next to him on the cold sidewalk floor and offered him your little orange juice.

“Mommy always gives one to me if I get hurt. It helps!” you encouraged him, who whispered a soft thank you before accepting your kind offer and takin a long sip out of the juice carton.

That was the first time you and the blue haired guy met, and you never left his side since that episode.

Years passed and the bond between the two of you grew incredibly strong. The Joestar’s family welcomed you warmly since the very beginning, making you always feel at home. You and Jonathan spent a lot of time around each other; during the younger days, you either went at Jonathan’s or at your place to have some play dates. Growing up, your play dates slowly turned into study sessions and lazy afternoons spent on the couch, catching up one of the many tv series you started watching together. Over the years, Jonathan undeniably became the most relevant figure in your life. He was the first friend you ever had, and you experienced some of life’s most important first times together.

He taught you how to ride a bike. You helped him remove the first milk tooth he lost.

Little episodes like these were what really made your relationship so particular, the affection between the two of you was stronger than any other feeling you ever experienced. You never really investigated the way you felt towards each other, always justifying the reciprocal need of spending time together with the simple excuse of it being a habit. A part of you however, knew exactly the reason why you felt as if your skin starved every time it missed his touch; it was the same reason why you felt a strange sensation in your stomach every time he’d hold you in his arms while watching a movie or simply looked you in your eyes.

Admitting your feelings towards him wasn’t something you’d ever consider. You feared your confession would have ruined years of friendship – and the bond you two shared was far too unique for you to lose it.

That night, Jonathan had one of his usual boxing matches. You never quite understood how Jonathan, the kindest person of all time, could practice such a violent sport. Outside the ring, Jonathan had a very docile behaviour; he was always so kind and a very easy going person. His beautiful smile surely was his signature, it was almost impossible to catch him in a bad mood. Inside the ring however, Jonathan seemed to become a different person. The concentration that the fight required always gave him a stoic expression, which was very unusual for him. His typical gentleness seemed to completely fade away when facing his opponents – but that was part of the game; sports such as boxing didn’t have any space for weaknesses or sentimentalities.

It wasn’t usual for you to assist his matches. You hated the vision of the man you loved getting beaten up with the sole intention of entertainment; seeing him all covered in blood was something you always tried to avoid.

“I know you’re rooting for me” he said to you earlier that afternoon. “But it would be nice to have you there, you know?” he continued, while delicately tracing random patterns on your back with his fingertips. It was impossible for you not to break under his touch, and you ended up agreeing on going to the match. An excited smile formed on Jonathan’s face, who quickly pulled you closer into his arms, wrapping you in his strong, sweet embrace.

“I should say yes more often.” you chuckled, resting your head on his chest and enjoying the feeling of his strong arms around your body.

Once you reached the gym where Jonathan’s match took place, you sat closely enough to the ring. You felt your heart pounding in your chest, unable to not worry about your best friend.

When his tall figure entered the boxe ring, his eyes started scanning every face in the crowd hoping to recognise yours – and when he did, he couldn’t help but smile shyly. He quickly looked back at the arbiter of the match, trying his best to hide his blushing and starting to focus on the match.

The first rounds were okay. Jonathan seemed more than able to handle the fight – it was highly likely for him to win; but he was tired. As time passed, his movements became slower. His shoulders visibly moved up and down as he breathed, emphasising how fatigued his body was. He staggered but tried his best to retrieve some energy, and never gave up until the last minute. The match ended when a strong, well placed punch hit Jonathan’s face, making him trip down and almost breaking his nose. Jonathan’s face quickly became covered in blood and once the arbiter announced the victory of the opponent, you quickly rushed to the ring, reaching Jonathan’s body.

“Are you okay? Let me see!” you said, leaning over him who tiredly laid on the ground, still unable to catch his breath. He simply nodded in response, looking at you with only one eye open while a soft smile adorned his lips. You shook your head hinting a weak laugh, while you helped him to get up. His almost powerless body relayed on yours as you walked to the infirmary, his arched figure still a bit taller than you. After receiving the medical treatments he needed, the two of you made your way out of the gym without saying a word. You were still shaken from the sight of Jonathan’s face covered in blood, even if you knew he was fine.

The awkward silence was interrupted by Jonathan clearing his throat once you reached your car.

“Do you want me to drive?” he asked with a concerned look on his face, his navy blue eyes looking for yours.

He knew exactly how you felt. He saw how your eyes were full of fear when you looked at him laying on the ground, he knew how badly that sight scared you. Afterall, he would have felt the same way if you somehow managed to get hurt.

“Let me.” he added, reaching your hands and slowly taking the car’s keys out of your grip. Placing a delicate kiss on your forehead, he entered the car and silently drove towards the neighbourhood you both lived in. He rested his hand on your thigh during the entire trip as if he wanted to reassure you, lifting it up only when he needed to change the car’s gear. When you finally arrived, he parked the car in front of his home.

“I’ve got some orange juice.” he said keeping his hand on the handbrake of the car, letting out a small laugh to lighten the tension between the two of you. You nodded in response and agreeing to his implict invite, causing Jonathan to smile.

Walking behind him, you entered the house. He extended his arm backwards, only to reach and grab your hand as both of you silently walked into the kitchen. You sat on the table as Jonathan handed you a glass of orange juice, cheering with you before taking a sip.

“Sorry.” you finally said, making Jonathan frown. “I just worried too much. It’s not because I underestimate you, I just hate the whole concept of you getting hurt.”

Jonathan cheeks flushed hearing your words, cautiously bringing himself closer to you inserting himself in the space between your legs. Towering you, he reached one of your cheeks and cupped it with his strong hands. He left a small kiss on your nose before embracing you, letting your head rest on his chest.

“I know.”

You sighed shaking your head; you were sure he had no clue about the reason why you felt this way. It wasn’t a matter of overprotectiveness, nor it was as simple as a worrying for a friend. It was love, although this meant everything and nothing at the same time.

Without any type of warning, Jonathan muscular arms picked you up. Your puzzled expression caused him to laugh, as he walked towards his bedroom and gently laid you on his bed. He handed you one of his t-shirts and laid exactly next to you, stretching his right arm over the length of the bed ready to welcome you in his arms.

“What –“ you were just about to start ranting millions questions when you saw Jonathan shaking his head in dissent.

“Would you just lie with me and just forget the world? Please?” he said, looking at you with the softest eyes you’d ever seen – he knew you just couldn’t resist his puppy eyes. And he was right, as you agreed silently, leaning your head on his chest and listening to the calming sound of his heartbeat.

“I don’t quite know how to explain what I feel,” he said, his eyes fixed on the ceiling above you. “But I’d react the same way if you’d ever got hurt.”

You looked at him, your hands caressing the wounds caused by the earlier boxing match. Your fingertips traced his handsome lineaments: his jaw, the shape of his lips, his nose; you couldn’t help but being mesmerised by his beauty and wonder whether he ever looked at you the same way you were doing just now. If he ever shivered whenever you touched him, if he ever felt his heart pounding in his chest just because of something you said.

“It’s not the same, Jonathan.” you mumbled with a distracted tone.

“I think it is.” the sound of this words echoed inside of your head. What did he mean? Did he know? You tried to speak it felt as if words were just trapped in your throat; you gulped, trying to not let your mind jumping to conclusions.

Jonathan attentive eyes were locked on your face, following every movement of yours in hope to decipher your emotions – did he just say too much? He cleared his throat, not knowing exactly what to do. He was just as embarrassed as you were, and afraid that his feelings would have ruined everything.

You smiled as your cheeks were boiling hot, colouring your cheeks in red. You rested your forehead on his, your eyes intertwined in his. He slowly let his hands sliding along your back, stopping them on your hips as he gently put you on top of him. You’ve never been this close; you could hear his breath on your lips, you could see your reflection in his eyes – and you never looked so beautiful.

“Are you sure?” you asked whispering as your lips formed a soft smile on your face.

He smiled in response, nodding. Before you could say anything or process his response, he leaned towards you and kissed you passionately, wrapping his arms around your body as if he wanted to eliminate any space between the two of you. He wanted you closer; closer than you’ve ever been to him.

“Sure.” He replied once he broke your kiss, unable to stop himself from smiling.

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makeste · 5 years

Text

BnHA Chapter 242: SANTA IS REAL

Previously on BnHA: We said farewell to the League of Pliff and were finally reunited with the kids of U.A., an institution which I would just like to point out is so diametrical to the League that they literally took the polar opposite route when choosing their name, and focused only on the acronym. I’m 100% sure U.A. doesn’t even stand for anything. Anyway, so Bakugou and Todoroki went on whirlwind press tour following their ch 219 antics, and the resulting interviews were so disastrous that Aizawa decided to bring in Mt. Lady to give the whole class a crash course in PR 101. Meanwhile All Might scoured Ancestry.com for info on the past users of OFA, and Rat Principal announced that U.A. was going to resume its internship program. This is great news for Deku, who’s been taking his sweet time mastering Blackwhip. Like, we’re not even talking baby steps here so much as little tiny flea steps. Kid’s going to need all the help he can get.

Today on BnHA: Horikoshi targets all of my weak points at once. The My OT3 Academia arc gets off to an incredible, award-winning start with a Christmas party and the announcement of Internships 2: This Time, it’s Compulsory. Highlights include: (1) Kaminari and Mina forcing Bakugou to accept the spirit of Christmas into his heart and soul, (2) Iida rocking a Santa beard, (3) Eri holding a giant sword, (4) Bakugou reminiscing about his internship with Best MIA Jeanist, specifically the part where Jeanist was all “A HERO’S NAME IS REALLY IMPORTANT AND SYMBOLIC AND MEANINGFUL, SO YOU NEED TO THINK VERY CAREFULLY ABOUT IT” and oh my fucking god, and lastly (5) Todoroki inviting Bakugou and Deku to come intern with him at the Endeavor Hero Agency (known for its famous business slogan: “Got Plot?”). It’s like I wished on seventeen different falling stars and they all came true at once. I still can’t even fucking process this. kfkdslgk.

(All comments are my unspoiled reactions from my initial readthrough of the chapter. I did a quick edit for grammar and clarity immediately afterward, and added a few ETAs in the process, but aside from that there are no changes.)

I just got like three excited-seeming asks (I haven’t actually read them yet) in rapidfire succession less than an hour ago, and my dashboard is now filling up with filtered “bnha spoilers” posts, so I took this as a sign that I should read the new chapter ASAP. oh gosh

(ETA:

(1) SAMEEEEEE, and (2) YEEEEEEEEP. listen I’m not religious you guys, but I said “oh my god” so much while reading this chapter that I wouldn’t be surprised if he or she finally answers and is like, “YES!? WHAT IS IT???”)

what new state-of-the-art tomfoolery will our intrepid heroes engage in this week. what novel hijinks will they commence. what frivolous escapades will they embark on this lovely Friday morn?

HOMGAAAHHHHHH

THE TITLE IS LITERALLY MY FEELINGS RN. MERRY FUCKING CHRISTMAS TO ME. YES GOD I LOVE IT. I’LL TAKE A DOZEN

okay. so today, September 6th, is officially Christmas. you heard the man and who am I to argue

so we’re opening with a teacher’s meeting! probably about the internships. or the fact that they’re all screwed. I don’t really know what their priorities are nowadays

okay yeah it’s about the internships. also Rat Principal is nested in Aizawa’s scarf for absolutely no reason, and Aizawa is disgruntled about it. heh. tomfoolery already and it’s only the first panel

oh shit, Nezu’s saying it’s now a government requirement. I got so surprised I actually forgot to call him RP

because ain’t nothing safer than hero internships. if the Basement arc taught us nothing else. it’s that

that was sarcasm in case that’s not coming across. this is clearly a baffling decision. but what are government committees for if not for making baffling decisions I guess

and now Midnight is coming to the same conclusion I was starting to wonder at

can someone please tell me what the PSC’s goals actually are, then? is this not the same group that recently changed the rules of the provisional license exam so that an even smaller percentage of people would pass? so do you want more heroes or fewer? which is it?

how do they cope with it? does anyone even have any idea?? it seems to me like they’re just throwing them to the wolves. we have this problem that we have absolutely no idea what to do about, oh I know, let’s toss a bunch of inexperienced kids at it. and hope that none of them gets murdered I guess

anyway so The Sheriff is speculating that the League must have been involved in the Deika situation, and he’s wondering why the PSC is trying so hard to keep it on the dl

oh yeah. friendly reminder that the PSC, thanks to Hawks, probably knows exactly how powerful Tomura and the League have recently become. so they know full well how shark-infested the waters are, and they’re making it mandatory for the kids to all take swimming lessons. nice

lol back when I was brainstorming ideas for future arcs, I seriously thought Horikoshi would have to go out of his way to come up with excuses for the kids to have future encounters with the League, because the school was so concerned with their safety that they wouldn’t allow them to leave the grounds except on rare occasions. well I sure got that one wrong. though to be fair, for once it isn’t U.A. that’s doing the child endangering here

(ETA: and actually, regardless of how insane it is, I do appreciate that when shit inevitably hits the fan again, at least it won’t be U.A.’s fault this time. I’d like to be able to continue rooting for them, and that can be difficult when they keep doing reckless things that needlessly put children in danger. at least this time they’re not the ones driving the Stupid Bus to Bad Decision School.)

a message to who? the League?? “we’re not scared of you”?? did they seriously not think of all the numerous ways this could backfire?

oh shit Aizawa even went and said the d-word

well there you have it. the government is drafting teenagers to risk their lives dealing with a crisis they won’t out-and-out admit they’re actually having. on today’s episode of “Oh Hero Society, You’ve Got Problems”

anyway so RP is making the admittedly good point that “we’re fucked and everyone is in terrible danger” is hardly a new state of affairs for them these days, and so they’re all moving on. okay then. good talk. lol. gonna need my damn Christmas fluff after all of that

and also RP is mentioning some other mysterious new program to Aizawa too. I wonder what that could be

(ETA: oh yeah I almost forgot about this. thoughts??)

and now we’re cutting to “several days later” oh my god. it’s really happening. I need a moment here, I’m not even ready. gotta get all my Christmas headcanons lined up here. Satou baking cookies. Kaminari and Sero running around arm in arm singing “JINGLE BELLS, ALL MIGHT SMELLS” over and over at the top of their lungs until Bakugou screams at them to shut up. Mineta debating anyone who will listen over the merits of the song Baby It’s Cold Outside. the naturally Christmas-themed Todoroki savoring this, his time to shine

oh shit, we’re still with the fucking Rat Principal. for fuck’s sake

-- ooh but are they talking about the traitor??

will this put an end to the “Horikoshi forgot about it” rumors? several people have mentioned this to me here and there (sorry to everyone whose asks I still haven’t answered), but as far as I know, this was part of a fake interview with Horikoshi that was unfortunately circulated around as though it was the real deal. sometimes people are not cool and think it’s fun to take advantage of communities that are enthusiastic and trusting! always fact-check what you read on the internet just to be safe guys

anyway

so there definitely is one, then. got it

so the traitor is definitely a student in the hero class, then. got it

sob. I got an ask about the whole Kaminari traitor theory earlier this week, so I’m in the process of doing up a whole long post about that. but the cliff’s notes version is, it’s not him. it’s Hagakure. but I will actually go into detail in the post. it’s been a while since I’ve discussed the traitor thing in depth anyway

so RP is asking All Might if he’s coming back today, and All Might is immediately all “WHY, DID SOMETHING HAPPEN TO MY CHILD, OH GOD IS HE OKAY” which, omg. so much love for this man

and RP is like “geez relax” and OH MY GOD

[slaps on a paperboy cap and screeches at All Might in a bad cockney accent] TODAY, SIR?? WHY, IT’S CHRISTMAS DAY

OH MY GOD

I SPOT A GRINCH UP THERE AT THE TOP. SOMEONE NEEDS TO BE VISITED BY THREE GHOSTS FROM VARIOUS DIFFERENT TIME PERIODS

LITERALLY EVERY SINGLE CHILD (GREMLINS ASIDE) IS WEARING A SANTA CLAUS OUTFIT. DID U.A. JUST GIVE THESE OUT FOR FREE

AND IN THE TOP RIGHT NEXT TO SHOUJI, SATOU’S COOKIES! JUST AS THE PROPHECY FORETOLD

I SEE THEY HAVE THE REQUISITE KFC PLATTERS LIKE GOOD JAPANESE CITIZENS. WE SHOULD ADOPT THIS TRADITION HERE IN THE WEST TOO TBH

and last but not least, there are only nineteen children in this panel. it took me forever to figure out who was missing, but pretty sure it’s Iida. Iida where are you. clearly the traitor. certainly not off visiting his brother and the rest of his family, what kind of gullible fool do you take me for

looool

I love when the characters start to become self-aware that they’re the main characters in a story and that plot things keep happening to them at an unreasonable rate

oh my god they really are wearing the suits. it wasn’t just a title page gimmick like I half-wondered

ANSWER THE QUESTION, JIROU. INQUIRING MINDS WANT TO KNOW. do we even know where she did her first internship?? I suddenly desperately want to learn more about this

(ETA: she interned with Death Arms, the traffic cone-looking guy who notably chewed Deku out for trying to save Kacchan’s life in chapter one. Jirou my hope for you is that you find someone better this time around!)

also Tsuyu is observing that Momo doesn’t have a chair, and I honest-to-god was trying to count how much seating there was in the previous page. it seems to me like the common room got a lot bigger. it keeps adjusting to their needs like the room of requirement in Harry Potter

also does anyone else wish that Jirou would move her cup off of the armrest. IT’S GOING TO SPILL ffff :/ this is who I am at parties

oh shit wait, that was Iida with the beard?? I honestly thought that was Satou. well then Satou is the traitor. -- NOBODY TOUCH THOSE COOKIES!!

anyway so he’s all “well Deku not to bring up the elephant in the room but YOUR PREVIOUS MENTOR DIED A HORRIBLE DEATH so what’s your plan huh”

oh sweet god

listen, no offense to Centipeder, he seems like a really nice guy, but if I never see his repulsive face again I will count myself lucky

OH FOR FUCK’S

PLEASE GET RID OF IT IT IS CHRISTMAS!!! here I am trying to have a nice time and!!

god. and like, I feel bad, it’s not his fault he is A GIANT BUG and he has like, fucking mandibles and shit! but I can’t help the fact that my skin is trying to crawl off my body right now, and god but I can barely look at this panel long enough to read the dialogue sob why

(ETA: and now that I’ve forced myself to read it again, this doesn’t even make any sense lol. “we have too much work and not enough help, so we have to pass on you coming back to help us out. ...wait.”)

I want Iida to like. pat his lap and tell Deku in a big booming voice to cheer up and come sit and tell him what he wants for Christmas. not in a weird way you guys, come on. but just, he looks so forlorn. do you want Santa to bring you some cozy All Might socks

or wait, didn’t he want a PS Vita according to that one omake thing. what the fuck Deku. someone get this kid a Switch

anyway so Deku says that participation is mandatory this time, so the school will handle assignments if the kids aren’t able to find someone

meanwhile Kacchan is in the background accusing Mina of stalking him. I think she is trying to get him to wear his Santa outfit. doin’ god’s work

OH SHIT YOU GUYS I CLICKED TO THE NEXT PAGE, AND THIS. THIS IS MY CHRISTMAS OMFG

HORIKOSHI YOU DID GET MY LIST! BAKUGOU BEING TROLLED BY HIS SNEAKY DETERMINED FRIENDS AND MANHANDLED INTO A RIDICULOUS GETUP WHILST ANGSTING ABOUT BEST JEANIST BEING MISSING, YESSSSSS. IT’S SO SPECIFIC, I THOUGHT, “SURELY HE WON’T ACTUALLY DO IT,” BUT SANTA IS REAL, EVERYONE

HFMLSDKMGLKLKL!!!!!LKL:DSF

RED ALERT RED FUCKING ALERT PEOPLE!!! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!! GET OUT OF THE WAY!!!!

AHHHHHHHHHH HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS

“MERRY CHRISTMAS MAKESTE HERE’S A WHOLE FUCKING CHAPTER ABOUT KACCHAN’S FUCKING HERO NAME COMPLETE WITH A BEST JEANIST META ON THE TOPIC” mother fucker I need to start reading these chapters with a goddamn life alert and a defibrillator on standby

“your name represents your wish.” ladies and gentlemen, introducing the new number one hero... Number One Hero!

heh. just kidding. “what do you want to become?” this, though. this right fucking here is why I’ve been dying to know what name he’ll actually choose. because it does reflect exactly what Jeanist is saying. whichever name he chooses will be an insight into who he is, and who he is trying to be

and this meta is making me rethink all my chapter 223 feels, and tbh now I’m back to thinking that it’s not going to be Ground Zero, unless he comes up with a cool reason for why that name ties in to the image of the person he wants to be (because right now, that particular name is tied more to the past than to the future). but oh my god, if he does choose the name Kacchan I am going to spontaneously combust. I will fucking do it. I will fucking die from being a dramatic excited bitch

(ETA: because. listen. there is one person who has always looked up to him in spite of everything and has always seen his potential. “in the end, in my mind, you’re the image of victory.” this, to me, is the meaning that the name “Kacchan” would have if he did choose it. it would symbolize him choosing to be his best self.)

don’t mind me I’m just stanning this child so fucking hard it hurts

(ETA: oh hey, and more feels on the reread because it looks like the reason he’s having this flashback is because he was planning to go back to Jeanist’s agency to do his real internship, and to show him how much he’s grown. but then The Thing happened. Hawks I just want to talk why won’t you answer my calls.)

Mina and Kaminari are the MVPs of this fucking chapter and I owe them my life omggggg. THEY’RE HERE TO SAVE CHRISTMAS

what are you thinking about there, Best Friend?

are you thinking about your daddy angst. penny for your thoughts

(ETA: “how can I cheer up my new best friend? I know, I’ll make him a lucrative job offer.” actually that’s a good way to cheer up just about anyone in this day and age, Shouto.)

okay, is there some sort of perverted context to Christmas that I’m totally missing here?? or is Mineta just really into the holiday spirit?

I feel like I missed something. eh

anyway Mr. Traitor himself is walking out now and HE’S BROUGHT THE CHRISTMAS GOOSE! or turkey! but goose sounded funnier

of all the things to be shocked about?? “SATOU CAN COOK!?!” like um yes hello you’ve been living with this guy for four months already? like the only thing more ridiculous than this would be, “TOKOYAMI IS A BIRD!?!”

(ETA: like I know baking and cooking are two different things, but in a manga they’re the same thing. fact.)

now someone is making a dramatic entrance! IS IT ERI I WILL DIE!!!! BRING IT

YESSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

I HEREBY SWEAR FEALTY TO THIS PANEL OF AN ADORABLY AND FESTIVELY DRESSED ERI MIXING UP HOLIDAYS WHILE DADZAWA PATIENTLY CORRECTS HER. I WILL PROTECT IT WITH MY LIFE. SOMEONE PLEASE TELL ME WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS CHAPTER SO THAT I CAN GO DO IT SOME MORE AGAIN, OVER AND OVER AND OVER

Ochako is me

(ETA: DEMONS OUT! DEMONS IN!! THAT’S WHAT IT’S ALL ABOUT!! YOU DO THE HOOOOOOOOKEY POKEY.)

and Kiri is out here asking the real questions, but sadly Aizawa says Mirio is spending Christmas with his own class. WELL FINE. I HOPE HE’S EXPERIENCING THE FOMO OF A LIFETIME. HOW DARE HE HAVE OTHER FRIENDS whatever I’m over it

sobbbbb

WELL HOW MANY FUCKING HOLIDAYS ARE THERE!? CAN SOMEONE HELP A GIRL OUT OR WHAT

oh my god I’m just going to reblog every single Dadzawa panel and none of you can stop me go on and try!!

impatiently waiting for fanart of Aizawa tucking Eri in and reading her A Visit from St. Nicholas. get on it, fandom

ohhhhhhhhh my goddddddd

I know it’s not a Christmas song, but I am this close to cranking up “I Gotta Feeling” by the fucking Black Eyed Peas. ya feel

do you guys see him sitting there next to Dadzawa. he finally gave in. Satou is feeding him chicken. his friends will not abandon him to be on the naughty list. motherfucker that’s it. I’m fucking doing it. fill up my cup. mazel tov

lol I don’t even want to click to any more pages because they’re all so happy and it won’t fucking last. :( noooo

good little boys and girls. noshing on that chicken. Kacchan continuing to be stalked by the Ghost of Christmas Friendship. Tokoyami what even is that. lol and is this their weird way of distributing random gifts. did Sero buy Jirou a scarf. did Deku buy Ochako a freaking All Might plush keychain!? FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, WHAT IS THAT THING AND WHY DOES ERI HAVE IT NOW AND WHY IS SHE MAKING THIS FACE

-- holy fuck, IT’S A SWORD. oh my god. THEY GAVE THE SEVEN YEAR OLD A FREAKING BUSTER SWORD AND SHE IS FEELING IT YESSSS THIS CHAPTER TRULY IS ALL MY DREAMS COME TRUE

“dad can I keep it.” Aizawa: [not even opening his eyes, all bundled up in his oogie boogie suit] “sure”

so now we’re cutting to afterwards and everyone’s cleaning up and Deku’s using his freakish super strength to lift heavy things impressively while Bakugou continues to stomp around with his hands shoved into his pockets waiting for someone to finally tell him he can go back upstairs

OH???

motherfucker. are you going to invite them to come intern with you and your dad!!?!?? I know I was all set on Bakugou interning with Miruko just last week, but I TELL YOU WHAT BITCHES, I’M FUCKING FLEXIBLE LIKE THAT

OH SHIT YOU GUYS!!!!

TODOROKI ARE YOU PLAYING THE OT3 SONG BECAUSE HONEY YOU KNOW THAT’S MY JAM, BRO

OH FUCKING SHIT YESSSSS

BAKUGOU DO YOU WANT TO INTERN WITH YOUR TWO BEST FRIENDS, EXCUSE ME, HATED ENEMIES. DEKU DO YOU WANT TO INTERN WITH YOUR TWO BEST FRIENDS. AND THE NUMBER ONE. WHO JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE BEST FRIENDS WITH THE NUMBER TWO. WHO JUST SO HAPPENS TO BE BEST FRIENDS WITH TODOROKI “I DIDN’T HAVE A FLASHBACK IN THE LAST ARC BECAUSE WE WERE SAVING IT FOR THIS ONE!” TOUYA? THAT’S RIGHT, IT’S BEST FRIENDS ALL THE WAY DOWN. OH MY GOD

it’s like Horikoshi made a long and detailed list of all of his regrets about the previous internship arc, and then said, “fuck it. do-over”

you guys. I’m all out of cans. we only have can’ts and cannots. I cannot

Christmas fluff. Dadzawa. Bakugou hero name meta. hints that the traitor plot will soon be relevant again. and the motherfucking OT3 of OT3s, MY SONS, MY THREE RESPLENDENT OFFSPRINGS, interning together at the motherfucking Endeavor Hero Agency because Todoroki is the sweetest most considerate angel, and because KNOCK KNOCK, IT’S ME THE PLOT, I’VE COME FOR YOU AGAIN AT LONG LAST AND I VOW TO NEVER LEAVE YOU ALONE AGAIN FROM THIS MOMENT ON

shit, y’all. I don’t know if it’s possible for an arc to become my favorite motherfucking arc only two chapters in, but damned if this sunnuvabitch ain’t trying

#bnha #boku no hero academia #bnha 242 #bakugou katsuki #midoriya izuku #todoroki shouto #eri (bnha)#class 1-a #best jeanist #bnha spoilers #mha spoilers #makeste reads bnha #I gotta feelin'#that tonight's gonna be a good night #let's do it let's do it let's do it let's do it #JUMP OUT THAT SOFA #LET'S KICK IT OFF #lol you guys I am in a *good* freaking mood I tell you what

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fairycosmos · 5 years

Note

tried to kill myself last week n slept it off for 24+ hrs before telling my mom. she couldnt take me to the hospital bc we don’t have insurance n my case manager ended up calling dcs /: (ill be 17 next month) rn i feel like theyre waiting for me to say myself i dont wanna live here rather than just removing me bc technically i am safe but im not ready to do that even tho i know i should let them find me help. i feel like theyre waiting for me to mess up to decide themselves. i just feel lost man

oh god, i’m sorry for the late response and that you’re in this position at all, man :( i literally cant imagine how difficult everything must feel right now, and i dont blame you at all for being lost. most 16 yo olds are, but add something like this into the mix, and it’s no surprise that you’re feeling so conflicted and hurt all of the time. i know it hurts to process such vitriolically negative emotions, but it’s also a normal human response. imo, what the real focus should be on, is doing what you can to cope in a healthy or safe way. even if some days, that just looks like crying in your room and waiting for it to pass. but anyway, i want to say that i’m genuinely glad you’re still here, and i hope that one day you can feel that way too. it’s wonderful that you’re alive, and the world would be missing something if you were gone. even if you dont know it right now, and even if you can’t see it in this moment, there is so much growth and positive change waiting in your future. it’s actually inevitable, and nobody really tells you that when you’re a teenager, but it’s kinda true from what i’ve observed. the natural progression of things, the natural process of growing up, makes things feel a lot more manageable. that probably doesn’t feel like a real train of thought to the present day you, but honestly even in the 3 yrs since i was 16, the entire basis of my perspective has changed. especially bc as an adult you’re able to control so much more of your life and the mental health resources that are available to you. it’s all waiting for you, and it’s nothing to be scared of. you dont have to know what to do next and you dont have to have a solid concrete plan. i’m not sure that they’re waiting for you to ‘mess up’, because trying to do what’s right for your own health doesn’t count as ‘messing up’, whatever you decide is okay. it’s a really hard decision to make and i totally understand why you don’t know where to begin. but i think it could help to just have an honest conversation with yourself about what you really need in terms of where you live. try to block out judgement and what you ‘think’ you should do. where do you see yourself thriving, where you do see your needs being met? where do you see improvement, and guidance? are you able to work with your case manager to figure out some sort of middle ground, some sort of compromise? i get that actually taking such a step is way way easier said than done, but you can take it at your own pace over the course of the next two years while you figure out what would be best for you.

i know you said you don’t have healthcare, and i’m not entirely sure how things work where you are. but do you think it’s possible that there could be a support group for young people in your area, or a mental health center/crisis team, literally anything at all that could lend you some support? maybe you could talk to your case worker about this, too? there could also be someone at school available, like a counselor or even just a teacher you trust. another option is to call a mental health hotline to see what they think your options are. and i know these ideas sound vague, and like theyre impossible to take seriously, but i’d really appreciate it if you gave them some real thought. it’s alright to be scared, but the fear of reaching out literally doesn’t compare to the fear of staying silent and letting this get worse on your own. mental health conditions are just as serious as physical ones and sometimes they need genuine medical attention in order to learn to live with them, and that’s absolutely alright. having someone to talk to who is trained to offer you the tools you need can really make a massive difference. they’ll be able to advise you on what the next step should be, in terms of your personal development. initially saying that you need help out loud is the worst part, sometimes you have to force the words out....but it still counts, every small effort does. i just want you to know that a better future is possible and is much more likely than the awful one you’re envisioning, no matter where you go from here. if you’re unable to receive professional help at this time, then i hope you’re able to engage in healthier coping mechanisms anyway even if they don’t work every time. i’ll leave some links that may be helpful to you when you’re in a low moment. not saying they’re supposed to fix everything, but they’re supposed to calm you down and give you some clarity so you dont make an impulsive decision. i promise you’re capable of pulling yourself back from the brink of sadness, and i promise you’re capable of getting through this. every day you survive, you’re learning how to make it all feel lighter someday. i wouldn’t say any of this if i didn’t believe in you. despite my extremely limited perspective of your life, i can see that you’re smart and you’re young and you just want to find some stability. the more you focus on yourself and your own well being, even when you want to self destruct, the calmer things will seem. so like i said before, take all the time you need to consider the choices available to you, and then try to get through each day as it comes. if that feels like too much, one hour. minute by minute is more than good enough. im proud of you for surviving and for being the person that you are. if you ever need a friend or if you want to talk, i’ll be here. you’re not as alone as you want to believe, and so many people can relate to your circumstances because they’ve gotten through it. you will, too. you dont have to have it all figured out, that’s not your responsibility. you just have to keep trying and working with what you’ve been given. im rooting for you.

https://www.healthyplace.com/blogs/speakingoutaboutselfinjury/2018/11/immediate-coping-mechanisms-for-self-harm

https://www.helpguide.org/articles/depression/teenagers-guide-to-depression.htm

https://www.healthista.com/15-daily-self-care-tips-help-depression/

https://bebrainfit.com/stress-management-techniques/

#tw suicide #i think its hard to internalize words of advice when ur in such a negative place but this will always be here for u to refer back to when #ur ready to hear it or consider it #<3

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broodyjc · 5 years

Text

Breath Of Life

(It was a heliotrope.

Eternal love

And Sam is all that comes to her mind.

Eternal love.

And she wishes Sam would’ve stayed long enough for Alex to be brave.

Eternal love.

And Alex spends the next minutes coughing up another fistful of petals.)

It happens two weeks after Sam leaves.

And all Alex can think is if Sam is doing better, if Ruby is adapting well to her new school, if things are getting closer to normal as time passes, if Sam spends as much times as she does thinking about her.

If Sam cares.

If Sam will come back.

Sam, Sam, Sam. It always goes back to her.

The deep tug at her lungs comes as a surprise, then, just as she brought the bottle of warm beer to her lips. A growing, incessant pain, rippling through her tissues and settling strongly against her bones. Her throat starts to tickle, and there’s nothing she can do to stop the coughing fit that takes over herself.

It’s nothing like she’s ever felt before, she clutches to her chest in despair, body doubling over on the couch and she falls to the ground on her knees in her poor attempt of getting up. She can’t. And she coughs until there’s no air left, then some more.

Alex feels her eyes burning with tears she prevents from falling and how sore her throat already feels, how weird it is to feel something getting back up, up and up until it’s out. The offending pieces stare back at her as her mouth hangs open.

The scene should be comical, it would be comical by anyone looking from the outside. Not for Alex. Because resting at her carpet, barely a foot away from her, a few light purple petals hastily bundled together, as if they were crumpled together in a fist and shoved down her throat to be found later.

Later had come.

If she shoves the petals at the bottom of her trash can and goes for the stronger drinks, it’s to convince herself the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. If she spends the rest of her night staring at the ceiling, hands clinging tightly to her thighs in order to keep them from shaking, it’s not because she’s nervous.

In the end, she is not. She is terrified.

What a way to start her week.

(When she goes to bed, she makes sure the trash is taken out with the other handful of light purple petals she coughed out.

She doesn’t need the reminder.)

If she gets home from the DEO the next day, takes out her laptop to the kitchen counter and doesn’t sleep until three am, she has a reason.

(It was a heliotrope.

Eternal love

And Sam is all that comes to her mind.

Eternal love.

And she wishes Sam would’ve stayed long enough for Alex to be brave.

Eternal love.

And Alex spends the next minutes coughing up another fistful of petals.)

Her research is extensive. And it’s such a cliche, that she would’ve fallen in love with the one who would never love her back, and the unrequited love would end up killing her. She laughs when she thinks about it. Alex Danvers, DEO’s most trusted agent, the one who’s being looked at to become a director once J’onn steps out, survivor of the Daxamite’s invasion, hero of the battle against Reign, savior of Supergirl most often than not, defeated by… petals.

Killed because she was in love with the wrong person.

Dead by suffocation because of vines growing inside her lungs.

How lucky of her.

It has a name, because of course it fucking has. Hanahaki disease, born from unrequited love, filling up her throat with flowers until she started coughing them up. Hanahaki disease, cured by the feeling of love being returned in the same way, romantic love. Hanahaki disease, three months until it’s deadly, maybe longer with total isolation, until she suffocates in flowers, if she chooses not to forget her.

Alex won’t, it was never an option. She will not forget Sam, she will not settle for looking at the woman who holds her heart and not being able to feel what she feels. She will never be so resigned to the point where she will go to such extent. To look at Sam, to think of Sam, and not feel her heart racing, the high her body gets just by hearing her voice. She will never do that to the woman she loves.

So, if she only has three months, she’s gonna make them worth.

It’s hard to “make them worth” when she spends most of her time locked away down the labs at DEO, trying to ignore Kara’s worried glances every time she so much scratches at her throat to keep the petals down.

No one has seen it. Not yet. If she has any say on it, no one will see, not until it’s finally too late. She’s not ready to explain how she can’t let go of those lazy moments they shared in the lab, she’s not ready to forget the grateful, warm smile she was always on the receiving end, she’s not ready to be striped away from every memory that made her fall in love with someone else at a time she didn’t thought she would be able to move on.

How could she tell anyone, how could she tell her sister, she valued memories over her own life?

She sighs, adjusts the way she’s sitting hunched over the microscope and takes a look out the glass windows. There’s barely movement out, the agents having gone home hours ago, to enjoy a nice, slow Friday out, Supergirl out there in her usual rounds, and Alex was alone.

How she wishes Sam was here, how she wishes Sam would call, hell, how she wishes Sam would text her back.

The tug in her chest grows heavier, the roots steadily growing and finding foundation, nutrition to grow as they kept shutting her systems down. She knows what’s coming, she knows she can’t stop it.

Falling forward, she braces her head in her arms, and coughs, until there’s no strength left in her core, her lungs burning in need to let go of more. There’s too much already, and she doesn’t have an idea how she’ll survive eleven more weeks of that.

She breathes heavily through her mouth, a sharp intake of air to be let out as a shaky sob, it’s the only moment she realizes she’s been crying. So she presses the heels of her hands to her eyes, expects to will back the tears from falling down and it only makes it worse.

In the table, five petals stare defiantly at her.

J’onn steps out and she’s made the new director.

All her energy had already been used to spit petals, so, when Kara announces that they should celebrate, just the two of them, she lets herself be dragged away, lets Kara’s excitement pull out small smiles from the corner of her lips, adverts her eyes every other time she has to get up and lock herself in the bathroom with the faucet turned on.

Kara is worried, that much is clear, and she knows if things were the other way around, she would be as well. But she can’t tell Kara, doesn’t want to tell Kara, because she’s not ready for the pity and confusion. She’s not ready to say goodbye.

There’s a knock on the door, and she hurries to crash the petals, flush them down, not leaving a sign of what’s happening, not daring to let Kara think something is wrong.

“Is everything okay?” Kara’s voice is low, hesitant, afraid to know the truth that Alex has been keeping secrets from her, has been doing something they had promised they never would. That something is very, very wrong and she can only watch from the outside.

I’m dying, she wants to say and fall into her sister’s arms, let herself be cradled and taken care of for once in her life, to share the burden thrown into her shoulders with someone stronger than herself.

There are flowers growing in my lungs and I’ll stop breathing if she doesn’t love me back, but it feels too much like throwing the blame at others, and Sam should never feel guilty of something that happened. It’s not Sam’s fault, Alex was just born when luck ceased to exist.

“I’m fine.” Alex manages to choke out as tears prick at the corners of her eyes, realization sinking in.

I have ten weeks left, please don’t be mad at me for leaving you, and her throat is scratching again.

Eternal love, yeah, yeah, she gets it.

It gets worse as time passes.

Logically, Alex always knew it was going to happen, it was the rational progression of things: she gets the first symptoms, she learns to live with them, it gets worse, she learns to deal with worse. It’s logical. It’s simple. It’s easy.

Until it’s not. Because, as much as Alex told herself she was ready for it, nothing stops her from standing in the middle of her lab, way past one in the morning, staring at an intricate, though small, vine, possessing exactly three petals. And it shouldn’t be any different from all the times it had happened before, and there were many times before that, yet, it is.

Delicate thorns are starting to show, the pain on her throat dulling at the sight, because this time it had been different. This time, it had hurt more. And it makes sense, because she only has nine weeks.

The reality of her development, of her condition, seems to settle in, and she can’t help it. She locks the door of her lab, lets her body fall to the floor in a dampening thud, and stares blankly ahead.

She’s leaving Kara on her own, when she promised she would always be there no matter what; she’s leaving Winn, when he had finally become her annoying little brother she loved above anything else in the world; she’s leaving Eliza, when they’ve reached the point in their relationship where Alex is comfortable in being herself, she’s accepted for who she was; she’s leaving J’onn, when he struggles with the loss of his family everyday, and she’s making him lose another daughter.

She is leaving, and she won’t change her mind. All of that because she can’t phantom the idea of thinking of Sam, of looking at her name, of remembering her smile and not feel the calmness washing through her veins, the warmth spreading through her cells, the love blooming on her heart.

It’s a sad realization that she’s ready to hurt so many people because she wants to keep hurting. Because she doesn’t want to forget what feels like to love Sam. Because she is afraid that, if she forgets what this feels like, she’ll never be able to feel it again.

Alex is not as subtle as she thinks she is. And it only takes Lena twenty minutes to realize exactly what’s wrong. In all honesty, Alex should’ve expected, because it doesn’t take a genius to realize she’s not in her best shape, but there’s one sitting right in front of her ever since she arrived at Kara’s apartment, and it’s an unspoken agreement that Lena knows.

Part of her is relieved, to share the burden of the secret that’s been keeping her from closing her eyes at night with someone else, feeling flowers slowly growing inside of her. The other part, the bigger part, is absolutely terrified, because Lena won’t understand, because Lena will try to convince her otherwise, because Lena will have to share this with Kara.

Being terrified appears to be a feeling she’s been in touch a lot lately. Terrified of a fate she has a way of changing, but not enough willpower to do so.

Lena doesn’t say anything, though. She sits patiently sipping at the red they’d been sharing for the night, eyes lingering a little longer than usual at Alex’s figure every time she excuses herself for longer than five minutes, every time she clears her throat a little more forcefully, every time she swallows her wine with the smoothness of someone who never drank before.

And, at the end of the night, Lena excuses herself the moment Alex gets up to go home. If Kara hugs her a little tighter, a little longer, none of them mention it, and Alex cannot shake the feeling that they know something is wrong. They just don’t know how wrong it is.

The wait for the elevator is awkward, filled with a lingering silence that neither Lena nor Alex knows how to break, the ride is worse. Alex sees how Lena’s shoulders square, head held high and gaze set forward, a look Alex know all too well, to never show weakness, to show nothing fazes you. She knows things are about to change, because it will only take one question for her to break, to spill the words she’s been dying to say ever since it started.

And Lena, god, Lena was there to listen. Willingly. Showing the silent support she never thought someone other than Kara would be able to provide.

She is leaving Lena, the woman who loves her sister above anything else, who would risk her life to save those that, maybe, aren’t all that worth saving, who would laugh in the face of danger, than drown her sorrows in way too expensive wine. A woman after her own heart.

“How long?” Alex doesn’t look at her, choosing, instead, to let her gaze fix at her shoes, the black leather shinning with the elevator dim lights. “Until you...”

“Ten weeks, if I’m lucky. Doctor expects six or seven.”

“Are you going to tell them?” Alex manages a smile, it’s small, a little too fake, and they already know the answer. “Are you going to tell her?”

It’s where all the roads lead at the end. Telling her. Telling her and facing the look of pure pity on brown eyes, mouth hanging down in shock, guilt washing over her features as rejection spills out of her lips. Telling her, and hearing the words she has always prepared herself to listen to, but never got quite ready for it. Telling her and, and–

“I don’t want her to live with the guilty of knowing that I died because she couldn’t love me the way I needed.” The elevator finally stops at the lobby, Alex shoots her arm up to hold the doors open to let Lena out first, a self depreciating smile at her lips when she looks at warm, green eyes full of comprehension. “I can’t burden her any further.”

Lena nods like she understands, and maybe she does, because Lena is the woman who carries the weight of her family name on her shoulders and doesn’t let anyone help her. Because, at the end, Lena would be the one person who would understand, who wouldn’t question her, who would respect her decision even though she doesn’t agree with it.

Lena gets it and the burden is shared, either she likes it or not. She wishes she would’ve gone to Lena sooner.

Alex starts having trouble breathing during her missions at the DEO. She feels like she runs with someone pulling her back and, when she stops, there’s a fifty pound weight set on top of her chest.

She has trouble breathing, and she has to force the air down her lungs in ugly intakes of breath, a chocked, wheezy sound that leaves all of the younger, and some of the older, agents looking worriedly at her.

If she excuses herself to a dark, secured alley, and empties her stomach with the violence of her coughing, she hopes no one sees it. She thanks whatever deity is out there that Kara wasn’t with them in this mission. She breaks down, and cries for the second time since Sam left, with her back against a brick wall, with garbage discarded along her feet, and a smell she thinks she’ll never forget.

She cries, and every time she feels like it’s stopping, another memory of Sam comes rushing back.

What a nightmare of a kid you raised.

We’re gonna find out together, okay?

I think there’s another person out there for you.

When you wake up, please be Sam.

Please be Sam.

Sam.

She calls her mom instead. The words stumble out of her mouth before she can even process what’s happening, and, now that she started it, she can’t stop it. It feels good, letting all the words out, because, even if Lena knew, they never discussed it, Alex never said the words out loud. Not until now, at least.

“I’m dying, mom.” It hurts more than she thought it would, because it’s the cruel reality that her pain has a deadline, but the people she’ll leave behind will hurt forever. Because death hurt for those who live.

“I’m booking a flight for as soon as I can.”

“No, no, mom, please, don’t.” Alex rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, tries to compose herself, coughs two times and forces herself to believe they were purely to steady her voice. “I haven’t told Kara.”

“Alex, you have to.”

“I know, it’s just” and for a moment, all of her reasons seem too silly, too weak, not enough. “I’m scared. Of leaving her.”

“Honey, you”

“I have to go, mom, I’ll call you later, okay? I love you.”

Alex doesn’t give her a chance to answer. She hangs up, tosses her phone to the side not bothering with the force it lands with the screen against the concrete, and ignores the calls she gets, and the texts that follows. She doesn’t know her next step, for what feels like the first time in her life, she doesn’t have a plan. She hates the feeling.

Forcing herself to stand, she puts one foot in front of the other, picks up her phone and turns it off before pocketing it, returning to her position as if nothing has happened and ignores how everyone stares at the redness of her eyes. She just really wants a drink.

She misses having company to get drunk. So it’s no surprise she gets home that day, takes the most expensive bottle of whiskey she has ever bought from the back of the cabinet, and doesn’t think twice before leaving.

It’s a Friday night and the streets are busy, making her have to squirm her way through crowds to get to her destination. Alex hugs her jacket tighter against her body, the light breeze of middle fall making every breath painful, but she got used to it, the pain is familiar, is a reminder of the inevitable.

No one tries to stop her once she enters the building, there’s no one there to stop her if she’s being honest. The security guard barely even spares a glance in her direction before going back to the football game playing at the small TV on top of his desk. Jess is not there when the doors slide open, never for a second she thought Jess would be there.

It’s a Friday night, and it’s way past midnight, and the only person who would still be there would be Lena, and no one could convince her otherwise.

Alex is polite enough to knock on the door when she gets there, sees the bags under Lena’s eyes from where she stands leaning against the door frame, raises the bottle she held against her hip for dear life as she walked. Lena’s shoulders slump down, the tension leaving her for a split second, giving space for the smallest hints of a smile to take over her lips.

Maybe they both need a break, maybe Alex’s been craving this for longer than she thought, maybe Lena has to be looked after with a little more attention before she works herself to exhaustion.

They don’t make it to the couch. Lena’s blazer is spread on the floor as they sit on top of it with their backs against her white desk, hips pressed together as they lean against each other for support, glasses are never retrieved from cabinets, and they share long sips directly from the bottle.

The silence that stretches is good, it’s calming in a way it’s never been before, and Alex could never phantom the possibility of getting this far, this comfortable with the person she once thought she would never trust. The reality she lives in is: she would trust Lena with her life, hell, she would trust Lena with her sister’s life.

“I’ve been” Lena stops, takes a long sip of the whiskey in one go, barely seems fazed by the alcohol and Alex is even more impressed by this woman “I’ve been doing some research.”

“Lena-”

“Alex.” She lets her head drop in defeat, a sigh leaving her lips because there’s no way she’s winning this argument. “There’s this new procedure, it’s still experimental, that remove the bigger vines, it gives us some more time to think about what to do next.”

It gives us more time to change your mind, it gives us more time to make you realize dying for love is madness.

“And I already called in a favor, they are willing to take you to testing to see if you’re to be considered for the procedure, I-” Alex’s hand fall to her covered thigh, leaves a gentle squeeze there before meeting her eyes for the second time that night.

Lena is crying, has been crying for who knows how long, dark, prominent stains against her cheeks, her mascara tracing the path the tears made before.

“I don’t want it, I already made my choice.”

Simple like that.

“You can’t die.” Her voice breaks at the last word and it shatters Alex’s heart with it. “Wh- What about Kara, and Eliza, and, and… What about Supergirl?”

It’s the confirmation of what Alex always suspected, the recognition that Lena knew and always went out of her way to help because it was Kara and Kara is the most important thing. There no one else she would rather leave Kara with.

“She has you, and you have them. You’re gonna be alright.” The coughing fit that follows is the less violent in weeks, it doesn’t mean that she doesn’t spit out a perfectly developed flower, almost an inch long, the biggest proof that her time is running out. Lena stares at it, with the awe of a scientist and the worry of someone losing a friend. “It’s a heliotrope, they mean eternal love, kind of cliche if you ask me. They don’t usually grow much more than this, more flowers just start coming in the vines, so I’m guessing I don’t have as long as I thought, but there’s no blood yet, so who knows.”

“You’re really okay with that.” Alex smiles, gives a single nod to Lena before placing the delicate, purple flower on top of her thigh, where they could both stare at it. I’m already living in borrowed time. “You really don’t want to get it removed.”

Not if it means I’ll forget her.

“Would you do it? Even if it meant forgetting every single moment you had with Kara?”

“No.”

The answer comes fast, in an unwavering voice of someone with enough confidence to show the love she feels, even with all the chance of getting hurt.

“Then you know why I can’t do it.”

Her ringtone blasts loudly with the clock rapidly approaching two in the morning. She was the furthest thing from sleeping, laying in the middle of her bed, arms behind her head as she stared at the white ceiling of her apartment. The open window being enough to provide just the right temperature that she pulled out an old, large shirt and gray sweatpants, before settling into bed.

She has been sleeping less this past months, and the last three days were the worst. She would turn to the side, to realize the position hurt her lungs, and would get up as fast as she could to try to reach the bathroom, to come back to bed, close her eyes and start the cycle all over again.

It’s a chain reaction; she needs silence to sleep, silence makes her think of Sam, thinking of Sam makes her throw up. The only reasonable course of action, of course, was to sleep as little as she could, it’s not like it would matter in the long run anyways. She only had four more weeks before her lungs would shut down, machines keeping her alive for who knows how long after that.

But, what makes her speed out of bed, vision blurring slightly for the lack of oxygen, is because the call came to her personal number. At two in the morning, it was never good news. Ruby’s name on her shattered screen only proves her right, and she already has her car keys in hand and she’s looking for her shoes when she answers.

“Did something happen? Is Sam okay? Are you okay?”

Is Reign back?

“Alex, things are fine.” She was seriously debating whether or not she could leave the house barefooted when Ruby finally said something, the words being enough o calm her down for now. Leaning her forehead against her front door, she lets out a shaky, uneven breath. “I just missed you.”

“You could’ve called earlier, like, literally, any other time.”

“Sorry.” She doesn’t sound like it at all.

“It’s okay, kid. I’m just getting old, my heart can’t take many of those anymore.” She drops her keys back on top of the counter, before sitting at the couch. “How have you been?”

It’s all it takes to make Ruby launch into every single detail she missed on the past two and a half months. She’s the best midfielder in her high school, has been trying to convince her mom to let her start traveling for the away games, she’s been learning how to cook with Sam taking one evening off a week to teach her, she’ll joint the track team next semester and go to soccer camp in the summer.

Ruby is being a teenager, a normal loved one, and Ale’s heart warms at the thought. It doesn’t mean that she doesn’t feel her throat closing, the air getting thicker and harder to reach her lungs, her stomach begging for her to just let go.

There’s a long pause on the call, long enough that Alex takes the phone away from her ear to make sure it wasn’t disconnected, before placing it back. She clears her throat, waits for Ruby to say whatever she needs saying. She doesn’t, and with an awkward laugh, Alex says “I should probably let you go to bed. You have school tomorrow.”

“Alex.” She hates that tone, because she knows it all too well. Its the same one she used to use, the tone of a kid who never knew how to ask for what she wanted. Alex hates it, because she knows she’ll not be able to say no. Because it’s Ruby. And Sam. “Can you come visit?”

Yes, yes I can. She uses her free hand to wrap her fingers around the hem of her shirt, tugging at it to keep her from blurting out what she wants. I want to see you, and your mom, one last time. She cannot say that, because she knows it’s a one way ticket to cutting her time in half, when she still has so much to do here. I want to tell you I love you, just so you know you are loved.

“I should talk to Sam first, if she’s okay with it, I don’t see why I can’t go.”

I’m dying anyway, a week changes nothing.

“My mom will say no. She doesn’t know how to ask for help.”

“Does she need help?”

“Not like that. She’s just” Ruby doesn’t say anything else, as if she’s looking for the right words to say it, to make Alex understand. “she hasn’t been sleeping. She doesn’t think I notice, but she’s overworking, even at home, and the only time I caught her sleeping was sitting at the dining table, on top of work. She cries at night, when she thinks I’m asleep.”

“Ruby...”

“Alex, please, mom barely talks about National City and, when she does, it’s about you.”

It’s about you. And she wishes she could say she felt roots metaphorically spreading through her chest, but they were quite literal.

It’s about you. And she feels the moment everything shifts in a way she always expected but was never ready for it.

It’s about you. And the pain comes differently this time, ripping her sternum open, not asking for passage through her throat as it shoots up without her permission.

“I’ll see what I can do.” She hangs up, because Ruby shouldn’t have to listen to her knees hitting the ground, her body giving out the moment after, fingers coming up to grasp at the base of her neck, wishing she could just scratch out whatever was there.

It’s a perfectly formed flower that comes out, but it’s hard to see with all the blood covering it. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve guessed they were red from the beginning.

“I thought it was Maggie, for a while at least.” They had found themselves at the same spot where this all started weeks ago. Lena had her bag hanging from the crook of her elbow, eyes set forward, patiently waiting for the elevator doors to open. And Alex? Well, Alex had a what used to be white tissue cleaning the blood from her mouth, a bottle of water to try and get rid of the taste lingering on her tongue. “But it’s Sam, isn’t it?”

Feels good to be seen.

She crumples the tissue in her fist, shoves it deep inside the pocket of her jacket.

“I wish things could’ve gone differently.”

“Yeah.” The elevator dings, the doors slide open and, again, Alex holds it open for Lena to step in first. “Me too.”

She leaves for Metropolis on a Saturday morning, her ticket back to National City already bought for the next afternoon. She still hasn’t told Kara and her mom calls her every night, the promise of going to National City no matter what leaving her lips at every goodbye. Alex knows there’s no way of preventing it, she has roughly three weeks, and she has a lot of people to tell.

None of that is important when the plane lands, and she clutches her backpack as close to her body as possible. She’s thirty minutes away from Sam, and, maybe, three months too late for her own health, but none of that matters either.

What matters is, when Sam opens the door in middle laugh, she freezes, with light brown eyes boring into her own. That she freezes for long enough that Ruby squeals and runs past her mother to hug Alex as strongly as she can. Ruby is taller, at least she thinks so, and stronger too, but that can be just a side effect from the lack of sleep, and you know, the ticking time bomb inside her chest.

Speaking of which, it tightens around her organs, seeing Sam makes it hurt more than it normally does only by thinking of her. Because Sam is more beautiful than she could ever remember, because Sam looks at her with something akin to affection that makes Alex hope, because Alex is sure, now that she’s close again, that she would’ve fallen in love all over again, even if she had forgotten Sam in the first place.

Eternal love seems like the right description.

“The pancakes are burning.” Are Sam’s first words, and it only takes a look at each of them for Ruby to take the spatula from her mother’s hand and go back inside muttering under her breath.

Sam doesn’t say another word, she surges forward instead, wrapping her arms around Alex’s neck, face tucking at her shoulder, and Alex feels like she can breathe for the first time since Sam left. She feels the oxygen entering her body, going through her cells, and she knows, that this will be the last time she’s able to breathe like this.

She understands what Ruby was talking about, it happens when she snakes her arms around her waist to bring her closer, to press their bodies completely, and maybe Alex didn’t have the chance of doing that for so long, but she notices the difference. Sam’s thinner, her arms don’t hold all that strength they used to even before everything, like her body is giving up over something she had no power to control.

They make quite a pair, with Alex looking like she hasn’t known the word sleep for the past month, dark circles under her eyes and a pocket full of bloodied tissues, and Sam looking like she would collapse at any given step.

Her cheekbone are more prominent, Alex notices as soon as she takes a step back, and her collarbones peek from under her shirt, being so big that it barely hugs her figure.

“What, I mean, how?”

“Ruby called. Can we talk about that later? I just really missed you.” It’s the easiest admission of her life, the way her eyes shine makes her heart race and palms sweat, the lingering touch on her neck seizing with a gentle parting squeeze.

“Come in, we’re having late breakfast.”

“So, like, brunch?”

Sam’s laugh is a sound she never thought she would hear again, and, now that she has, she doesn’t want to think about the day she won’t get to hear it again. She doesn’t want to think about how that day is tomorrow. How this is, after all, the beginning of a series of goodbyes.

“Don’t you want the pancakes?”

“Oh, I never turn down free food. Learned it from Kara.”

The way Sam smiles makes her think that maybe, but she won’t. Not when it has the potential of destroying the last shred of hope on the back of her mind.

She only excuses herself once in the course of the afternoon, it happens when Sam’s smile gets so big the corner of her eyes crinkle in the softest of ways, and it’s directed at no one but Alex. She feels like her heart could burst out of her chest.

Blood comes out of her lungs instead.

“You haven’t eaten all day.” Is all Alex says when Sam finally leaves the bathroom that night, hair pulled up in a messy bun, barefoot, and a large shirt stopping barely at her mid thighs, but Alex is sure that any shirt Sam wears would be too large for her. She should’ve come sooner.

And she stands at the kitchen counter, a plate of chicken braised in olive oil with vegetables in front of her, the chair pulled back with her hand at its back, a silent invitation for Sam to sit down. Or, maybe, less of an invitation and more like a command.

Alex hadn’t missed the way Sam’s thumb pressed against her open palm whenever she started to feel anxious, or how she barely even touched her food before she cleaned up the table, or the way her smile was genuine for only a fraction of time before the light dimmed in her eyes. Alex noticed Sam, all of her, and she cared, oh, how she cared.

That’s why, even when all the lights are out in the apartment and Ruby is sound asleep, a pillow and a blanket waiting for her on the couch, after a long discussion she only won because Sam got tired of fighting, she still sees the way Sam’s throat bob, the hard swallow she takes, much like Ruby does when she’s caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“I’m not hungry.” She hums, nonchalantly, but doesn’t take her eyes off of Sam, she couldn’t even if she wanted to.

“I know. But you have to eat.” Her mouth start opening to argue, but Alex is faster. “Just try, please.”

Sam sits down, takes the fork in her hand, and Alex pulls the other stool next to her. She doesn’t even think before placing her hand on Sam’s thigh, thumb making small circles against the smooth skin, and, god, if this doesn’t feel like everything that’s been wrong in her life finally set its course in the right direction.

Of course, her lungs choose this moment to constrict, start fighting for air, but she doesn’t throw up, barely takes in a ragged breath as to not scare Sam.

“I haven’t been able to eat or sleep like I used to. It’s like my body hasn’t understood that I’m me again, that I need this.”

“We’ll get to that later, okay? You’re doing amazing.”

Alex asks about Ruby, only if so to take Sam’s mind out of her task, and it’s easy, then, to listen to Sam talk with love on every word and remember why she fell in love in the first place.

Alex hangs onto the words, how her lips curve to form them, the sound of her voice, as if it would be the very last she hears, and, every time Sam rests the cutlery and lets that hand rest on top of Alex’s own, her heart flutters in her chest in a way she’s not sure whether is good or bad. If it’s gonna give her another month or kill her faster.

Then, Sam gives her this look, more than half of her plate already gone, and Alex acts on instinct. She leans forward, press her lips to her temple the same moment she squeezes her thigh just a little harder. She hears the sigh, her shoulders slumping with the weight she’s been carrying.

“You did great, love.” It slips out with such ease, she has trouble believing it has never happened before and, if Sam is bothered, she doesn’t show. “Get ready for bed, I’ll keep you company until you fall asleep.”

Sam doesn’t try to argue this time, her eyes almost dropping closed, and Alex hurries to cover the plate with PVC plastic before putting it in the fridge, dishes to be dealt with later.

Sam’s waiting for her when she gets there, standing at the side of her bed, fiddling with her fingers as if she doesn’t know how to proceed. Alex doesn’t either, so she opens the blinds to let the bright glow of the city bathe the room, turns off the bedside lamps, to, lastly, sit down at the bed, her back against the headboard.

“Don’t make this more awkward than it has to be.”

With a small laugh, she follows Alex, but lays down completely and turns around to face her in the dark. If anyone would look beautiful with a yellow lamppost light shinning against her eyes, making the bags under them seem way deeper than they actually are, that person would be Sam.

Just her luck.

“I wish you would’ve called me sooner.”

There’s a smile, she is sure of it, but it’s gone so fast she starts to doubt if she really saw it to begin with.

“I didn’t want to bother you, you have a lot on your plate.”

“Sam,” she calls, fingers aching to trace the sharp edge of her jawline, accentuated by the glow against the white pillow, “you, Samantha Arias, are the furthest thing from a burden to me. You are my friend and I-I care so much about you.”

I love you. But she doesn’t say it, instead, she gets closer, lets Sam’s fingers find the hem of her shirt, lets them wrap around it for dear life.

I love you. But she doesn’t say it, instead, she lets her eyes trace every line of her face, to try and commit it all to memory, every freckle, every expression line, every fading scar from something that should never have happened.

I love you. But she doesn’t say it, instead, letting her head fall to the wood supporting her weight, and closes her eyes.

I love you. And I’m sorry.

“Promise me you’ll call me, every night. And when you can’t eat as well, so I can distract you.”

Sam presses closer, the side of her face resting against her thigh, the ghost of a kiss left on top of the shorts covering her skin. “I promise.”

She doesn’t leave her side that night.

They spend a nice day out, and they share a doughnut as they wait for Ruby to decide what she wants for breakfast at the small bakery at the corner of their street. The domesticity of it alone would be enough to make her forget how to breath, but Sam kept making things harder.

It was on the way she would throw her arm around Ruby’s shoulder and turn her head back to look at Alex, the kindest of smiles on her lips, and Alex would find out that she didn’t need to breathe all along. It was on how Sam would steal her sup of coffee, a carefree laugh on her lips and not a trace of tiredness on her movements.

It was on the way Alex’s tongue would grow heavier, the words forming deep inside, to be shoved down again, flowers coming in their place.

It’s just a cold. She hurried to say when the coughing fit got too heavy and she felt like her lungs would give out before she even had the chance to tell her sister, black spots covering her vision and Sam’s hands on her side to keep her balanced. And I’m too much of a coward.

She tries to convince herself that the way her chest tightens and the air refuse to reach her lungs is only in her head the moment she turns around to leave Sam.

She gets drunk in cheap wine she bought at a Seven-Eleven in Lena’s office two days after she comes back to National City. It’s ugly, to say at least. She ends up curled on the two seat couch, head resting against Lena’s lap as she cries, because it just hurts so fucking much.

Lena lets her, Lena lets her and she only runs her hand through her short auburn hair, she doesn’t lie and tell her things are going to be okay when they’re not.

Lena lets her, and she presses her face a little further against her stomach hoping no one would hear her sobs, not that there were other people around.

Lena lets her, and she feels so vulnerable at the moment, so loved, that she has a hard time finding her words after.

“Promise me you’ll take care of them.”

“I will, I promise.”

Thank you, but the words don’t leave her mouth, instead, she her whole body shakes and she stains Lena’s white blouse with blood.

Kara blinks slowly with half a sticky bun inside her mouth and sugar around her lips, maybe blurting out in the middle of brunch at the counter top of her apartment wasn’t the best option to begin with.

Maybe it was the words. Maybe it was the defeat in her voice, the resignation to wait for it to end. Maybe it was on the pleading look Kara sent her way, begging for it not to be the truth.

“You’re what?”

Dying. She casts her eyes down, chooses not to answer the question burning in her sister’s tongue, chooses to not look at those blue eyes, chooses to show her instead.

It’s easy to find a tissue with a beautiful, red stained vine with three purple flowers, all she had to do was reach inside her back pocket. That one came in the morning, right after Sam texted her that she would be busy for the day, and probably wouldn’t be able to call until late night. A rejection that was not quite one, but felt the same to her body nevertheless.

“Turns out Hanahaki disease can actually kill you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before.”

“What are your options?” Kara’s voice sounded just like Supergirl’s, and she only needed one look to realize her posture matched the tone. She hated this, she hated how Kara would handle, because she wasn’t ready to let go.

“There aren’t any. Look, Kara, I chose not to forget, okay? I made my choice and my peace with it a long time ago.”

“What do you mean you don’t have options? How” Kara’s voice broke, it sounded so small, much like the one from the girl who came to live with them over a decade ago, like she was losing everything again. Maybe she was, and maybe Alex was selfish, but it was her decision. “how long do you have?”

The words got caught on her mouth, she couldn’t say them, she couldn’t admit to her sister that, in less than a week, she would be gone. That she would break the one promise she never thought she would. That she would leave her alone, when all Kara needed was her.

“I’m calling Maggie, she loves you, we can”

“That’s the thing, Kara, it’s not Maggie.”

There’s a knock on her door, and she takes the opportunity of not having to face Kara’s confusion even if it means just letting whoever it was in. She didn’t expect Sam. A healthier Sam, with color on her cheeks and looking like she’s been spending more than five hours in her bed at nights.

Sam, with a small, blue cardboard box clutched to her chest, handbag resting against her hip, and a shy smile barely visible behind the locks of hair falling in front of her face.

Sam, and her lungs constricted in a way they never have before.

“I thought you were busy today.”

“I was.” Sam shrugs a half shrug, and Alex suddenly feels completely exposed at the way Sam keeps looking at her. “I had a flight at seven am to come scream at my idiot friend.” Friend. Of course, she wants to throw up. “I just didn’t know you’d have company.”

She had forgotten about Kara, Kara, who looked at her with the most fake expression of power, the telling not even in the crinkle this time, rather in the slight tremble of her lower lip as her eyes never left Alex.

“Kara was just leaving.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.” Alex hugs her with enough force to hurt, and maybe, this time, Kara feels it, because she hugs back just as strongly. Alex doesn’t mention how it makes her unable to breathe for real, how important every gasp of air is at the moment, how little oxygen her body is running with so she can’t spare a single molecule. “We have time. We’ll talk later.”

The door is clicked shut behind Sam and her eyes don’t even faze at the sound, they never leave Alex’s, a question burning in them that Alex has a hard time not answering.

But they don’t say anything, not until Sam leaves her handbag on top of the counter, takes two steps closer to Alex so that she doesn’t have another choice other than to look at her in the eye. She wishes she had another, because the little air on her lungs is knocked out, the roots taking its place the moment they’re gone.

“You know.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Sam doesn’t respond. “Lena told you?”

“She called me last night, in the middle of a breakdown and told me you were dying, and being stubborn and an idiot. I already knew two of the three things.”

“It’s”

“Hanahaki disease, I know.” Her voice is so low Alex has to force herself to listen as she keeps her feet grounded into place, not allowing herself to get any closer. She had so much willpower for so long, she doubts she would have any left at this point. “An infection because of unrequited love, where vines grow in your lungs until you suffocate if the love is not returned, or if you choose not to forget about that love.”

Alex lets out a small, forced laugh, runs her fingers through her hair in an attempt of getting her ground once more.

“You did your research.”

“And you should’ve told me.”

“I didn’t want to bother you.” Sam smiles, closes the little distance there was between them, a small huff coming from her parted lips.

“You, Alex Danvers, are the furthest thing from a burden to me.” Sam’s going to be the death of her. Figuratively, and quite literally. “You are my friend, and you are loved.”

Alex can’t keep her eyes on hers anymore, they are too open, too honest, and Alex has to find a way of stopping the hope building in her chest, to keep the vines growing instead of living in an illusion that Sam loved her back.

She stops looking at her in the eye, the alternative is not that better. She ends with her eyes fixed on Sam’s smile, her lips, the curve of her mouth ever so inviting. Please, let this be real.

“Look, Sam, you don’t have to-”

“Will you ever take your head out of your ass?” And Sam kisses her.

Sam kisses her and her lungs never felt so open. Sam kisses her and there’s enough space inside her body to fit all the air of the room, if it hadn’t been knocked out of her as soon as their lips touched. Sam kisses her, and there’s still a lingering taste of the coffee she had this morning to wash out the blood and then there’s only Sam.

She kisses with her whole body, even if it’s barely a press of lips, a hand resting against her hip to tug her closer. They burn, every place their bodies touch, it burns. Alex’s brain is still trying to catch up with just happened when Sam leans back, glazed eyes and an honest smile.

“I’m in love with you.” Alex cannot think of something else to say at the moment, and it pulls a relieved laugh from Sam.

“I kinda got that.”

“Can you-”

“Alex, you gave me a lollipop once and I fell in love with your smile.”

“Good, that’s good.”

“Oh, I almost forgot.” Sam raises the box still in her hand so that Alex’s attention is on it, smiles from ear to ear. “I brought you flowers, they are my favorite.”

Sam opens it, the tiny arrangement of purple flowers stares at her in pure disdain, the same flowers she’s been spiting out for almost three whole months. Alex groans, drops her head to Sam’s shoulder and hears the beautiful laugh that made her heart clench in her chest in the best ache possible.

“I don’t want to see a heliotrope for the rest of my life.”

“We can work on that later.” Their lips connect once more and Alex couldn’t agree more.

With all due respect, eternal love can go fuck itself.

#agentreign #agentreign fanfic #my work #supergirl #supergirl fanfic #danvarias #don't @me okay #i'm emotional #and i miss them

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