#but she does Need a community so she latches onto the person she lets closer to her to fulfill her emotional needs

[bacchuschucklefuck]

love thinking kipperlilly spends her afterlife looking for lucy in a familiar forest

[frenchpuppycormier]

fluff 10 and/or 11 + supercorp for the sentence starters pls 💞

"Are we on a date right now?" / "I think I'm in love with you."

—

Saturday signals the best day in Kara's book for one simple reason: the farmers market. It's the perfect place to buy fresh produce directly from the grower at a lower price than those pesky retailers. Not to mention, it's fresher and it's a great way to support local communities.

Kara enjoys it most in the early morning between 8 and 9 when the California heat hasn't bombarded its citizens yet. One of her favorite memories of going to the market was when she first arrived on earth, and Eliza and Alex took her to the one in Midvale. Eliza bought her the sweetest miniature doughnuts which practically melted in her mouth. She's been a huge (understatement of the year) fan ever since.

The farmers market is located 20 blocks from her apartment, just a short jaunt or flight for the hero.

Today she decides to walk and enjoy the nice cool breeze, and the warm sun spilling on her face. She can already hear the acoustics of a folk band covering a Fleetwood Mac song at the end of main street. The leaves are starting to change, indicating the beginning of fall, and the ones already on the ground crunch beneath her feet.

Her reusable cloth bag with the words, "Okey Dokey Artichokey" and a cartoon artichoke with a smiley face and tiny stick arms, is slung over her shoulder. Lena had given it to her as a gag gift, but Kara uses it the most out of all her bags. Any gift from Lena is special and she will always treasure it.

As she rounds the corner to the market, she sneaks another look at her list to remind herself what she needs, when she bumps into someone. Hard. Fortunately, Kara manages to grab the other person's arm before they fall.

"Oh my gosh," Kara cringes. "I'm so sorry, I wasn't watching where I was—" she interrupts herself when she sees, "Lena?"

"Hey there, slick," Lena laughs and nudges the hand latched on her arm to tangle with her fingers.

Kara responds by swinging their arms back and forth, like what friends do when they haven't seen each other in months. But Kara and Lena just saw each other yesterday. This is normal, right? Kara thinks. The fluttering in my chest is completely common whenever I see my friends....Right?

"Wh-what are you doing here?" Kara speaks before her brain can catch up with her.

Lena's face lights up with a sly grin. "Can't a woman go to the market every once in a while?"

"N-no no, of course you can," Kara laughs awkwardly, "I meant, gosh I'm not sure...I guess I just didn't expect to see you here. You live all the way on the other side of town."

"Relax, love," she chuckles and squeezes her hand and releases it, Kara immediately missing the warmth. "I'm teasing you. But to answer your question, I'm in desperate need of fresh kale, and I heard this particular stand has the best in the city."

Kara feigns gagging and Lena playfully shoves her shoulder. “I still don’t understand how you can eat that stuff.”

“Who knew the green stuff that incapacitates you was kale.”

“More like your eyes,” Kara mumbles.

“What was that?”

Kara’s eyes widen. “N-nothing,” she rubs the back of her neck. “Um, so….do you care if I join you? Wandering aimlessly through the market checking out food stands with my best friend sounds like the perfect way to spend my Saturday morning.”

“I’d love nothing more,” Lena replies, smiling brightly.

—

“Oooh, look! A food truck!” Kara points.

Lena laughs at her zeal. “Let’s see what they have.”

Kara reaches for her hand and twines their fingers together before dragging her toward the truck. Lena’s stomach swoops at the action, but she calms herself down enough so Kara doesn’t notice her rapid heartbeat. Not that she would, considering food is the best distraction when it comes to the blonde.

Little does Lena know that nothing can distract Kara from Lena, especially considering 98% of the time Kara is listening to the constant thumps and quivers of Lena’s heart, but Kara doesn’t say anything.

Kara looks up at the man in the truck and politely rattles off her order, then looks at Lena and asks, “What do you want?”

“Um,” Lena quickly glances at the menu and says, “I’ll have the Avo Smash, please.” She moves to hand the man cash, but Kara stops her and insists she'll pay for it. "My treat."

Once they give their order they move to the side and wait until their names are called.

When they get their food they move to a shady spot on the sidewalk and admire how delicious it looks.

“What’s that?” Kara asks.

“Oh, it’s a piece of toast with smashed avocado, egg, and tomato,” Lena replies, noticing how Kara turns up her nose. Lena rolls her eyes and gestures at her hands, “What’d you get?”

"Uh, only the most scrumptious and melt in your mouth-watering food you can get here," she replies, eyebrows pinched, incredulously. Lena raises her eyebrows in a get-on-with-it kind of way. "French toast bites," Kara finishes, exasperated at Lena's lack of enthusiasm.

"Sweet food for a sweet girl."

Kara's cheeks grow a slight pink. Instead of replying, she dips a piece of her toast in the syrup, and shoves the whole thing in her mouth. Lena simply hums and takes a bit of her own food. Kara smiles like a chipmunk with cheeks full of goodies.

When Lena's finished with her slice of hipster toast, as Kara calls it, a small body runs into her legs from behind. She looks down and finds a small boy with sandy blonde hair and big, blue eyes looking up at her with a toothy grin.

"Hi, there," she smiles at him.

"Henry!" a woman in a flowy maxi dress and brown sandals comes running toward them. She picks him up and gives him a stern look. "I told you not to run off like that!" The woman adjusts him on her hip and shyly realizes she has an audience. "I'm so sorry! He gets too excited about their french toast."

"Oh, no worries," Lena reassures her. She carefully grabs Kara's elbow and says, "This one does too."

Kara acts hurt by placing a hand over her heart. "Well, can you blame me? They're delicious! Aren't they?" she smiles at the boy and waves. He giggles and hides his face in his mother's neck. "Someone's a little shy, huh?"

"He is, isn't he?" the mom kisses his cheek. "I think he has a little crush on you."

"Who, me?" Kara laughs. "No, I think he has eyes for Lena. As most people do." She steps forward and tickles his stomach so he looks at her. Kara holds out her hand for a high five and whispers, "Good choice." He gratefully slaps her hand.

When Kara steps back, Lena is blushing, but rather than call her out on it she ignores it out of respect. Kara smiles at her and Lena smiles back, but then she's suddenly laughing through her nose.

"Darling, you have a little," she gestures at her own face.

"What? I have something on my face?" Kara touches her cheek, but completely misses.

"Here," Lena's fingers tenderly touch the side of her jaw while her thumb swipes her lip. Lena's completely focused on what she's doing, but Kara only has eyes for Lena.

Lena pulls back her hand, thumb now sticky with syrup. Instead of wiping it on the napkin Kara knows Lena has in her bag, she sticks it between her lips and licks it clean.

Kara completely stops breathing.

"How long have you two been together?" a voice snaps her out of her reverie.

Kara gapes at her with wide eyes and stutters, "Um...we, we're uh, just friends."

"Oh," the woman almost looks upset. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to presume. Well, I'll let you get back to your morning." She smiles at them and walks away, leaving a flabbergasted Kara and quiet Lena.

They don't say anything and choose to ignore it while they continue down the street.

—

"Lena, you have to try this," Kara doesn't give her a chance to respond before shoving a spoonful of gelato in Lena's mouth.

Lena gasps and nearly chokes on the ice cold dessert enveloping her tastebuds. She hisses and nods, as she lifts her hand to hastily catch the dribbles of melted chocolate trickling down her chin. Kara winces, "I'm so sorry!"

"No," Lena shakes her head as she swallows, "I just wasn't expecting that."

"Well? How was it?"

"Y'know, I'm not gonna lie...it was pretty fucking delicious."

"Right? Marco really knows his stuff."

"Um," Lena holds her hand out, fingers spread apart to prevent more sticking, and shakes it like she doesn't know what to do.

Kara jumps to action and runs off. She's back in two seconds with a wet wipe and cleans Lena's hand. "Where'd you find that?"

"Don't ask."

"Okay?" Lena laughs breathily. "You're a mystery wrapped inside an enigma, Ms. Danvers."

"I aim to confuse," she jokes.

Lena shakes her head, and eventually says, "Thank you."

"Don't mention it," Kara smiles at her, their eyes locked onto each other. She's finished cleaning her hand, but rather than letting go, her hand stays curled around Lena's, not wanting to ruin the moment.

—

“Oh Rao, you didn’t,” Kara gasps.

Lena turns around and frowns at her. “What?” Kara gestures to Lena’s bag. Lena looks down and chuckles when she realizes what she’s talking about. “In my defense, I was drunk. You know how my shopping brain acts when I’m drunk; I buy things I don’t need.”

“Hmmm, well maybe your alcohol-addled brain just remembered how funny I thought it was and wanted to impress me,” Kara teases with a twitch of her eyebrow.

“I’m sure that’s exactly what happened,” Lena deadpans. She glanced at the words on her bag again and fondly shakes her head. It reads: Oh Kale Yeah, with a bunch of kale on both sides.

“I think so,” Kara steps closer and smiles.

“Oh, really?” Lena raises her eyebrows.

“Yep,” she ends with an extra pop of the ‘p’ and boops her on the nose.

Lena opens her mouth in surprise, a protest on the tip of her tongue, but a voice interrupts her from in front of them.

“You two are such a lovely couple,” the vendor gushes.

Lena and Kara startle, forgetting they’re standing right in front of a stand selling various vegetables and fruits and jars of honey. Behind the table is an older woman, most likely in her late 70s, with streaks of gray hair, crinkly eyes and facial lines as if she’s smiled her whole life.

“Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you,” Kara answers, smiling bashfully. She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear and says, “I’ll take one bunch of radishes and one spaghetti squash.”

“Coming right up,” the woman replies.

Kara glances over at Lena and gives her a shy smile, before handing the woman a $10 bill and thanking her. She grabs the veggies and carefully drops them in her bag.

“Thank you two, have a wonderful day.”

“Of course, you too!” Kara places her hand on the small of Lena’s back and guides her forward.

As they make their way to the next stand, Kara laughs, remembering their conversation, “I can’t believe you bought that bag. You’re such a giant dork.”

Lena whips around and eyes Kara curiously. Kara’s hand shifts from her back to loosely rest on her waist. Lena’s eyes are squinting from the bright sun, but Kara can see the speckles of gold in them and thinks she’s never looked more beautiful.

“Are we on a date right now?”

Kara's heart quickens and she opens and closes her mouth a few times, until finally she clears her throat, "Did you want it to be?"

"I thought—”

"Because I do," Kara states. "Want it to be a date. But only if you do, of course. I don't want you to feel pressured or like I forced you to hang out with me," she retracts her hand. "That's the last thing I—”

Lena grabs her hand as she pulls it way, not wanting Kara to close herself off. "Hey, I want this just as much as you do."

"Really?"

Lena lightly presses her thumb into the grooves of Kara's knuckles, and absentmindedly plays with them. She smiles, fully dimpled, and says, "I do. Actually, I uh..." she lowers their connected hands and looks off into the distance, mind seemingly elsewhere.

"What is it?" Kara asks. She playfully shakes their arms back and forth to get her attention.

Lena looks at the ground before completely focusing on Kara and those baby blues she's come to know and love. She takes a deep breath and her voice shakes when she whispers, "I think I'm in love with you..." Lena stumbles and shakes her head, "No—I am in love with you."

Kara inhales sharply and Lena thinks she's made a giant mistake. She starts to turn and do something stupid, like run away, but Kara keeps her hold on her and pulls her forward.

Smiling, Kara slowly inches closer leaving the opportunity for Lena to stop her. When Kara's lips press into hers she welcomes it completely. Kara's hands come up to cup Lena's jaw until she moves one to tangle in her hair.

Kara disconnects from her lips, but stays wrapped up in her, their foreheads touching. "I'm in love with you, too," she whispers against soft lips.

"Good," Lena smiles and kisses her again.

[wh6res]

UP IN SMOKES — DOYOUNG

psych student! kdy | tw. college au, violence, a knife, GASLIGHTING, hallucination, psychosis, swearing, just pure manipulation, minor charac death, there's a court scene, this is a repost! | wc. 10k she a beast

life could’ve been simple;

you shouldn't have met kim doyoung.

what does a freshman in college hate the most other than the high-stress levels of moving into a new dorm? a shitty roomie and a smelly, moldy mattress. the girl you call roommate refuses to help move the mattress because it will ruin her new manicure. what a fucking classic. 

"sounds like a 'you' problem. figure it out yourself, plain jane." 

she said before heading out, annoyingly popping her bubblegum as she kicks a few of your scattered boxes by the front door. you roll your eyes; classes haven't even started yet, so why is she already making your life miserable? as much as you'd like to snap at her, you don't, merely glaring daggers at her back as she finally turns the corner of the hallway and disappears. 

"bitch," you mutter under your breath. 

you eye the abomination that is supposed to be your bed, cursing how you shouldn't have made a 15-minute pit stop to starbucks for a drink when you could've just bought one from the instant coffee vending machines in every corner of the hallway of this dorm building because if you didn't, maybe you could've beaten regina george wannabe from taking the better bed. sighing, you suck it up and start getting to work. life's full of shit, anyway; no point sulking.

moving a moldy mattress is easier than you thought, to say the least. you can't ask for help from the other freshmen you bumped into in the hallway because they, too, are under a huge amount of stress from the move and are busy getting their affairs in order. it was a good thing, though, that a committee was formed specifically for this day to help out the freshmen if they were to stumble upon problems or mishaps with moving in. they were all around the campus, and they prove to be way friendlier than your batch mates. since this morning, three people have already offered help in carrying your luggage — which you have politely declined.

"hey, uhm… is this the stall for the welcoming committee? oh, wait. i'm sorry, there's a sign right there —"ugh.

you mentally shut your eyes in humiliation. why do you have to be this bad, this awkward at communicating with strangers? why couldn't you be born like all those socialites who already (probably) got their contacts filled with new numbers on the first day of school or something?

"yeah, this is them — welcoming committee, i mean. how can i help you?" he smiles, sweet, radiating the epitome boy next door aura as he looks up at you from where he's sitting behind the stall. your eyes quickly land onto the name tag stuck on his varsity jacket before meeting his eyes again. 

"i have an issue with my mattress. it has mold, you see..." your voice slowly trails, becoming quieter as you feel small under the weight of his piercing stare. oh, come on. he's just a guy with a beautiful face, woman the fuck up.

"really? let me see..."

he needn't finish rounding the stall when his nose is hit by the pungent smell brought forth by your mattress. frankly, you weren't that picky. you could've covered it with bedsheets and call it a day, but the odor is too strong to ignore. you mentally hope the smell didn't latch onto your clothes, especially not when someone so cute is around — what a bad first impression.

"oh, god!" he exclaims the moment he lays eyes on it, taking a step back. “now, that has to go. and you lugged it from the fourth floor?" 

ah, yes. according to tradition in these dormitories, which you've only found out today, freshmen get the curse of climbing four flights of stairs up while the seniors strut into their rooms on the ground floor like the hallway is a goddamned runway. 

"doyoung! help me carry these!"

someone calls his name as you both turn your head to spot a chestnut-haired girl clad in the same varsity jacket he's wearing. you grimace at the sight of her. for someone so small, she just had to volunteer to carry all those heavy bags. however, he doesn't move in front of you and brushes her off as if she doesn't look like she's carrying rocks over her shoulders. "i'm already helping someone else! go find taeyong or something. i'm sure that shit's loitering around here somewhere!"

"oh, it's okay, you can go help her. i'll just look for someone else —"

"nah, it's fine!" you try hard to school your face into indifference when you notice his gummy smile. "plus… trust me when i say no other person from the committee will help you with this. this shit smells like my roommate's sweaty basketball socks!"

you can't help the smile forming on your face as you help him carry the mattress off to the side of the hallway, the stinky thing leaning vertically against the wall and behind a huge terracotta plant pot. "don't worry, let's report it to student affairs so they'll get you a new one. congrats! you'll have to share beds with your new roommate tonight, freshie. it'd be a great ice breaker."

the universe truly hates you.

your expression must've been a dead give away because he's suddenly patting your shoulder, regarding you with utmost sympathy. "been there, done that. i hated taeyong, too, when i met him last year. still, for some mind fuck of a miracle, we've grown to be friends and developed a talent of not wanting to kill each other every two seconds."

"highly doubt i'd be friends with a regina george-level bitch, but thanks, anyway," you mutter under your breath. suddenly, you whip your head towards him after internalizing what he just said. "you met your roommate last year? you're a sophomore?"

he scoffs, leaning down to your height to lowly mutter against your ear as he eyes the lobby's front desk. "why? do i look like some 4th year who radiates 'don't touch me' energy?" 

you feel the heat on your cheeks with how close he is, only releasing an exhale when he finally gets out of your personal space. "i'm kim doyoung. you've heard it from wendy earlier, but anyway — i'm a 2nd-year psych major."

"no way!" you exclaim, a little too excited. "i'm taking psych, too!"

"oh, you are? well, if you need anything or if you don't understand stuff…" he winks. "feel free to approach me anytime."

hmm… how sweet of him. 

it was only hours later that you found out who kim doyoung is in your department during the acquaintance party. and for god's sake, you found out from your best friend who is a major in english lit and has never even seen the guy. "seriously, you didn't know he's a genius? i hear the professors call him a prodigy, girl! a fucking prodigy. if i were you, i'd ask for his help in every subject."

"you know i prefer keeping to myself. how'd i know stuff like that when i have no one to talk to in the psych dorms?" you look down, making the ice cubes in your drink clink against each other. "i didn't think he was this big shot or whatever. he looks normal, and everyone treats him normally."

"well, what do you expect?" she hisses, hitting your arm. "the other students don't want to make him feel alienated or something just because he's tons smarter than them. but anyway… the real question is…"

you roll your eyes when she pauses for effect, tentatively leaning closer to whisper under her breath. 

"is he cute?"

you didn't want to answer her question, but he's been stuck in your head since he offered walking with you to the student affairs office. doyoung had smiled his cute gummy smile and had even ruffled your hair before leaving you for committee duties — saying he's cute would be an understatement. 

"you have no idea."

for his first act;

he gains your trust.

fast forward to one year, many things have changed, but the only constant remaining is the handsome sophomore — who is now a 3rd-year, by the way — whom you've met on your first day. coursework has been pretty tough this year. instead of the content written in your textbook, your mind is plagued by the horrible twist of fate your best friend had encountered; she didn't have enemies. or so you thought.

she disappeared in the middle of christmas break last year. her beaten up body was found only a month later, in january, floating around the university's lake. happy fucking new year. 

the first time she chose to spend the holidays with you instead of her family back in her hometown, and that happens? some rotten luck you both have. it's why you didn't put it past her family to hate your guts with strong convictions. it's okay. the feeling's mutual. after all, it had been your best friends' own family, the same ones who had been so willing to take you in when you got kicked out, that were so eager to pin you as the murderer of their child. all under the argument that you have been the last person seen with her. 

oh, the things her mom said about you when she had stormed into the police station, red in the face, tears streaming down her cheeks..."i warned my baby not to hang out with that — that bitch. came straight out of a cursed family, that one. abusive dad, a nutjob mom. that bitch is a danger! probably got her dad's nasty temper and beat my baby to death! i want her on the electric chair!"

in those times, you once again realize this world is fucked up and cruel in every bit of its glory as you fought tooth and nail to defend yourself. but even then, they never believed you — the law will only favor the rich . the prosecution had been so sure it was you until a certain witness appeared and presented himself before the jury.

"do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?" 

doyoung raises his right hand, fixing his stare straight at the judge. "i solemnly and sincerely declare that the evidence i shall give will be the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth."

"how long have you known the defendant?" the prosecutor asks, arms crossed in front of her chest as she paces in front of the witness stand.

the boy briefly meets your gaze, and it's enough to make his heart sink. doyoung can't bear seeing you in those grey overalls when he knows it himself. you're being accused of a crime you didn't commit. "i've known her for one year."

"how'd you meet?"

and the questions went on and on; your defense attorney isn't all too keen on winning the case and had never once yelled "objection!" in her seat, but what could you expect? all the evidence kept stacking against you, and some of those you knew were even fabricated. you've never felt this hopeless in your whole twenty years of living. 

"what's the point in this, anyway?" doyoung snapped in the witness stand, fiercely glaring at the prosecutor. "how is my history — or lack thereof — with the defendant any relevant to the case? you're not even asking me about evidence nor what my statement is!"

"easy there," the prosecutor retaliates, jaw locked. "i have to first measure what exactly your relationship is with the defendant for us to think twice about your statement. who knows..." the prosecutor makes a grand gesture of turning her head in your direction, affixing you with a condescending stare. "she might've just hired you to say these things."

your attorney doesn't come to your aid.

"perjury isn't my thing." 

the prosecutor seems to have taken offense by the tone of doyoung's voice, but he doesn't let her speak further. "the victim isn't all sunshine and rainbows, you know. she'd been a part of a sorority and one with quite a nasty reputation in the college, too. i have to say she made very poor decisions, ones i'm sure her family didn't even know about. you see, they take their oaths and pledges very seriously. the victim wanted out. they didn't like that."

"and you have evidence to support this claim?"

without a moment to waste, he digs around the front pocket of his jeans before proudly presenting a black usb between his slender fingers. "knock yourself out."

the professor calls your name, snapping you out of your reverie. this isn't the first time your mind had transported you back to that particular day in the courtroom, where doyoung had swooped in and saved you from a lifetime in prison. the whole ordeal had been so scary, so frightening that you remember everything vividly as if it had only happened yesterday.

the classroom is empty. even your social psych professor has long packed up his stuff and is already standing by the classroom door. damn. were you that out of it?

"i'm so sorry." you mutter under your breath monotonously as you walk past him and out the door without another word. this is bad, very bad. no one would help, much less lend their notes to someone charged with murder — especially of their very own best friend. whether you were innocent or not doesn't matter to the student body. you've been ostracized, gossips of your problematic family spreading like wildfire, and the ridiculous part is only a fourth of the gossips are true.

the damage is done. 

at this point, you realize with a heavy heart that you have to face doyoung again sooner or later. you haven't talked to him at all since the start of the new school year, ignoring his lighthearted greetings in the hallways, rejecting his calls, ghosting his texts. you are afraid people would judge him harshly for hanging around you. frankly, you were embarrassed to ask any more favors from him with how much he's done for you already and the fact that he had seen you in such a state of vulnerability.

but you also didn't want to fail your subjects and lose the one thing holding your life together — your scholarship.

that is why you found yourself standing before him, in his favorite spot in the library tucked behind shelves upon shelves of books, next to the windows overlooking the empty football field. he's wearing black-rimmed glasses and is clad in the usual navy blue sweater as his head turns to and fro between a textbook and his notebook. the air had been so silent, you hear the aggressive scratches his pencil makes against the paper.

you feel a little hurt when he makes no move to acknowledge your presence, but you think back to what you have been doing and figured he has a right to act this way. 

"hey, doyoung." your voice is meek, hesitant.

"if you're not here to explain nor give me an acceptable reason why you've been ignoring me for the last few months, then please get out of my sight. i'm busy, as you can tell." he is brutally honest, knocking down the remaining hope you have left of ever reconciling with him.

something within you snaps, the steady streams of tears running down your cheeks as you pinned your stare on doyoung's open pencil case lying on the table. you have nobody left. your family — father, specifically speaking — has disowned you for taking a course your heart wanted, and the one friend you have lies motionless in a white coffin buried six feet under the ground. you didn't want to lose doyoung, too, no matter what role he plays in your life.

"i'm sorry," your voice cracks. "life's been… fucking shitty, and i'm sure you of all people know what i've been through. i've thanked you before for — for what you did, and i'm thanking you again right now but — i'm sorry, i'm really —"

your voice cracks when you feel him pulling you into an embrace. you feel the tension in your body breaking loose as you crumble in his arms. all those months grieving and wallowing in self-pity took such a heavy toll that you can't help but tightly clutch the sides of his hoodie, scared he'll slip through your fingers.

one of his hands comes up to push your face against the crook of his neck, muffling your cries in the silent library. doyoung felt like a jerk for snapping at you the way he did. how inconsiderate can he be? however, he felt elated because you sought him out yourself and wanted his help of all people.

his eyebrow raises in amusement. 

well, not that you have a choice, anyway.

it took you a few good minutes to calm down, cringing when you see the wet patch on doyoung's sweater because of your tears. 

"why don't you tell me everything, hmm? i'll help you as much as i can."

you sheepishly look down, fiddling with your fingers as you sit across him, the open textbook and notebook before him long forgotten. "well, i've been so out of it lately? my mind's just a whole bloody mess and i can't focus on any of my subjects at all and if i can't, then i'll lose the scholarship and it's the only thing i have in my life right now —"

"hey," doyoung cuts you off, placing a warm hand against your forearm to calm you down. "you won't lose that scholarship. trust me, okay? why don't we arrange tutoring sessions and i'll even lend you some of my notes from last year. what do you think?"

"okay... thank you, doyoung."

"for the record, you have me in your life, too. i'll always be here for you."

in the first session, you woke up from your deep slumber with only 15 minutes to spare from the scheduled time, but thankfully, your tutor only lives one floor down with the rest of the 3rd-years. bringing nothing with you but a pen and a pad of paper, your textbooks were destroyed as some students from your batch thought it'd be fun to throw them into the lake to "honor" your friend. 

you offer a small smile when taeyong opens the door, sporting an oversized shirt and track pants, eyes wide in shock when he sees you. "hi? can i help you?"

"hello! i'm here for doyoung. he's tutoring —"

"he doesn't live here anymore. his mom bought him a place outside the campus."

what?

"i'm sorry for disturbing you, then. do you by any chance know where he lives?"

that's weird. doyoung never mentioned he's already moved out. you feel a wee bit irritated that he forgot to tell you; it would've saved you the embarrassment of interacting with the varsity player. you weren't stupid, you can see the hints of repulsion in taeyong's eyes the moment he opened that door and saw you standing before him, no doubt thinking about: oh, look, it's the crazy murderer with a fucked up family standing in front of me.

he had shut the door in your face. you stood awkwardly for a good minute in the hallway until the door reopens, taeyong handing you a small piece of paper with doyoung's new address scribbled hurriedly in black ink. he doesn't give you a chance to thank him for he's already closed the door again without another word. 

you opted walking to his place instead of catching a ride because the money you have on you is enough to buy yourself dinner. to say the least, the apartment building is mediocre, not too grand, nor is it too rundown. double-checking the floor level written on the paper before pushing the elevator's button, you then realize doyoung lives on the very top floor of the building.

the hallways are painted a boring brown. some acrylic number signs plastered on the doors are broken, hanging vertically with one screw left. it says on the paper he resides in room 720. taking the right hallway, you mentally count as you eye the mahogany doors. 718… 719… there it is!

when you raise a fist to start knocking on his door, there is a tinge of hesitation surging through you. perhaps being alone with a boy in his apartment is not the best setting for a girl like you should end up in, but this is doyoung we're talking about. if he had ill intentions for you, it would've manifested a long time ago. you shake your head, feeling bad for thinking of him that way as you slowly knock on his front door. not long after, it swings open, revealing the 3rd-year in a white shirt and boxers as he lazily dries his hair off with a small towel. 

"you're late," is the first thing he says to you before spinning on his heel to disappear further into his humble abode. 

"you didn't exactly inform me you've moved out of the dorms. so, whose fault is it?" you retaliate, inviting yourself in and closing the front door shut.

"whatever. let's get started!" he plops himself on the floor, coffee table filled with loose papers as he struggles to find a specific one amongst the mess. "i've already scanned, exported to pdf, and emailed you my notes. it should be in your inbox by now. anyway, answer this quiz i made so i know what i'll be working on."

"you didn't really have to send your notes, doyoung. i could've just read everything from the textbook," you sit down across from him because otherwise, you'll be too distracted to remember information. 

a thought crosses his mind. with what textbook?

"i just think it's missing some essence. that's why i love reading over other psych books in the library for fun. be grateful, those notes are like my babies and i don't simply give them to anyone," he looks at you pointedly. "they've all been summarized and explained in layman's terms so you wouldn't have to spend grueling hours of reading and trying to make sense of the big words as i did — i know that's not the definition of 'fun' normally, but it is for me, and that's why i do it."

"okay, doyoung. you sound so defensive when there's nothing to be defensive about," you tease, feeling pleased with the hint of red on his cheeks as he averts his gaze from yours, muttering incoherent words under his breath.

you spent the following tuesdays, thursdays, and sundays like that; hours upon hours with no one but your tutor, laptops with tangled chargers, a printed copy of his babies, and a mountain pile of loose papers filled with the specialized quizzes doyoung makes to measure your progress. the location varies from a cafe or his flat. but in what you've gathered from the time you spent with him, doyoung's a homebody. cafe tutor sessions are rare, and he always complained about how "noisy" the atmosphere was — "i can't stand it."

but the conversation hadn't always been about academics. 

sure, for the first few sessions, doyoung kept an image of professionalism and had heavily insisted on it — "it's for your learning experience!" — despite your lighthearted teasing. but as time passed and he eventually grew more comfortable in your presence, you find the strict 15-minute break he had initially imposed between 45 minutes of studying turned into hours of talking about whatever; how he likes his eggs in the morning, your favorite coffee brew, his favorite show, your strongest pet peeve. 

and you wholly welcomed the change, not minding that it's practically dark out whenever you go back to your miserable dorm. you feel butterflies in your stomach whenever doyoung offers to walk you home but never had you taken his offer, still cautious of other people seeing you both together despite his constant reassurances. you've already thoroughly ruined your image. you didn't want to ruin his, too. 

kdy the cute tutor, 2:14 pm —last day of midterms! & its all majors today  —good luck —remember what i taught u —lets get ice cream after u cant say no

you shake your head bemusedly. his texting style is the most doyoung thing he does and it's as if you can hear him say these things to you in real life. too caught up in your own world, you fail to detect another student sitting next to you and had nearly fallen off your chair in shock when they spoke.

"why are your notes like that?"

you fight the urge to glare at the person, especially when you turn your head and see lee jeno looking at you in genuine curiosity. he's the only batchmate that treats you a wee bit nicer among the rest. although he isn't technically your friend, at least he doesn't look at you like you're a piece of bubblegum stuck under his shoe like all the others.

"what do you mean?"

"they're… the definitions are all jumbled up. where did you even get that?" 

what? jumbled up? doyoung himself said these notes are a combination of most of the psychology books he had read last year concerning his subjects. how would it be jumbled up? then again, lee jeno was not tutored by the prodigy himself. maybe things are bound to seem "jumbled up" when information is too great to understand for a feeble mind. 

just as you were about to claim these notes aren't yours, the professor has already waltzed into the classroom with a thick wad of papers — the exams. after one last concerned glance directed your way, jeno averts his gaze with a confused tilt of the head. 

hours later, you walk out of the classroom with the biggest smile on your face. aced it, you thought. your hands feel numb with how much you wrote on the essay portion but it's worth it if it meant you get the full 25 points, which you no doubt will as it was a topic you surely tackled with doyoung. speaking of... he sure is a man of his word.

"what are you doing here?" you hiss, head ducked with hair framing your face as to not draw attention from the rest of the students filing out of the testing hall.

"i texted you that we're getting ice cream. remember?"

"i did. but i didn't remember agreeing."

he shoots you a comforting smile, planting his hands firmly on your shoulder. “i told you, y/n. i don't care if they all see us together, so what? we all know you didn't commit that crime and it wasn't your fault you were born into the family you had. i don't care about the trivial things, baby, so don't shy away from me, okay?"

how the fuck can you say 'no' when he's looking at you the way he is as he brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear? doyoung's just so bewitching that he has you wrapped around his slender fingers. he seems pleased when you stumbled over your words as you come up with a reply, caught off guard by his bold gestures.

"i just — you, uhh — fine..." you gave in, rolling your eyes out of pretense.

he just had to call you 'baby' and erupt the butterflies in your stomach.

it had been doing that for the last few months now and it had only truly manifested today when he took you out for ice cream to celebrate the end of hell week. and since you didn't want to go back to your dorm yet, you asked if you guys can watch some movies in his house but it had simply become background noise to your heart-to-heart talks. and what better accompaniment than the classic, chicken and beer?

you listen to him drone on and on about the little realizations he had on some of his past lectures even when you barely understood anything he's saying. doyoung's so lucky to be extremely good at something he's so passionate about, talks about the human mind and the complexity of a person's behavior will never fail to make his eyes light up in interest.

he calls out your name.

your eyes snap open.

"why don't we get you home? it's past 10 and it's alright, stupid, you don't need to pretend to be interested in my psychological findings." he chuckled light-heartedly, stealing the can of the now room-temperature beer from your hands before you can protest. 

"i wasn't dozing off, i swear."

"i caught you in the act. stop lying."

like all the other times he has you as his guest, doyoung once again offers to walk you home and you decline for the thousandth time. it really isn't that much of a long walk anyway. you don't see the need for him to go out of his way to secure your safety. plus, you were the one who insisted on hanging out in his house anyway. you weren't that thick-skinned to let him take you home, too.

"you're drunk!" he scolds.

“no, i’m not. i can perfectly handle myself."

"but —"

"bye!" 

you feel a little guilty for shutting the door in his face. still, a minute longer of his persistence and you would've taken his offer. unfortunately for doyoung, you are one stubborn girl. only if you don't make brisk movements with your head, then you won't see doubles. you'll be fine, it's just a quick walk and it's not as if you're stupid enough to pass by deserted alleys. 

but you had underestimated the divine prowess of your fucked up fate.

everything happened in a matter of three seconds; one, the blinding headlights illuminate your path from behind; two, you hear the loud honk, and as you turn around — three, the vehicle sends you rolling against the asphalt.

you should have taken the alleyways.

for his second act;

he alters your reality.

when you open your eyes, you thought you were dead and your spirit is wandering elsewhere — because you don't believe in trivial things like heaven and god — until an agitated doyoung comes into view. for a split second, you thought, is he dead, too?

"i'm not dead, you idiot." too dazed, you hardly register his anger. "i can perfectly handle myself, she said. i'm not drunk, she said. this wouldn't have happened if you had simply let me walk you home! you're damn fucking lucky you're alive and breathing right now!"

a person clears their throat.

"i don't think it wise to… nag at the patient the moment she wakes. don't you agree, sir?"

pink splotches on doyoung's cheek as he looks down, embarrassed at getting scolded as he stands closer to your bed. "i'm sorry, doc."

you didn't know when your vision cleared or when you started hearing normally again, but it was enough to find out what exactly had transpired on the very night of your tragic accident. a hit and run. fifty-fifty chance of surviving. doyoung getting a call from the hospital in the middle of the night —"they were trying to contact your dad, but he wasn't answering. i was the last person in your call history." 

six months in a coma. but today, you wake… only to find out your world has crashed and burned.

"what do you mean i lost my scholarship?"

"baby, listen to me —"

"why did they take it away? is it because of my accident? i'm behind by one term only and i swear i can catch up. they need to let me back in the program. there must've been some mistake —"

"your gpa didn't reach the cut-off grade."

that can't be possible.

"but you tutored me!" you claim with conviction, pointing an accusatory finger at him until you groan, bowing in pain as you clutch your head.

doyoung springs into action. the chair's legs screech against the tiles as he jumps to your aid, ushering you gently back against the hospital bed despite your refusal. "you're not well. lay back down, please."

you don't hear a single word he says, not when you had lost something so crucial. "i put in the effort and learned everything you taught me... i aced those fucking mid-terms! i know i did!" you were on the brink of tearing up as doyoung settled himself in front of you.

"i… i actually saw your papers," his lips set in a thin, hard-line. "everything was all wrong, sweetheart. what happened to you? i tried reasoning with the professors, mentioned your state — you know, with your best friend dying — but they didn't relent. i'm sorry y/n. i'm so —"

gone. everything is gone. the money. the dorm. what if they ask you to pay the fees from last year? what if they ask you to pay the tuition fee for this year? you have no money, no family, no relatives. no one to help. who's even going to pay for the hospital fees?

you weren't able to process anything after that. not with the sudden news of your now revoked scholarship. doyoung pulls you in a tight hug. "i was a bad tutor," he says, snapping you out of it. "maybe i shouldn't have pushed you that hard to learn them. why were your answers even mixed up y/n? i thought you knew those topics already…"

he pulls away, observing your confused state as your eyes dart everywhere in the room. "what — how are they mixed up? i know i got them right. there has to be some mistake. you taught me those topics, remember?"

"i did... "he averts his gaze. "but i don't remember teaching them to you mixed up, darling. i think you did that all on your own."

"but… why would i mix up my answers? that's —"

"see, what i mean?" he cuts you off, raising a hand to give your cheek the most delicate caress. "you're not well, baby. you need to be treated, especially with how much you hit your head during the accident. don't worry, i'm here. we'll try asking if you can stay in the dorms at least until you find another place —"

"am i a charity case to you?"

oh, the surprise on the junior's face when you push him away as you pin him with a hard stare. you just don't get it. why is kim doyoung so adamant about helping you? in becoming your hero, even when you never asked him to be? if you let him help you this time around, that'll be the 3rd time he came to save your ass. it's not as if you're ungrateful. simply, you've had enough of his help. you don't know how a person like you, who literally has nothing, can return the favor to someone like doyoung.

"what are you saying —"

"i'm saying…" you fix him a hard stare. "you helping me out doesn't even benefit you in the slightest. so why do you do it?"

he pauses, staring at you with hesitance in his eyes as this seems to be the very first time you've truly seen him speechless. when doyoung opens his mouth, he mumbles, and you hardly make sense of what he said. 

"do you really want to know why?" 

you urge him on with an arched eyebrow, his softened tone creeping into your heart. 

"you're someone special to me y/n. i don't know how or when i admitted it to myself, but you are, and it hurts me to see how shitty your luck is," he cracks a small grin, slowly settling back onto the hospital bed as he grabs your hand. "it's okay to seek help from others. it isn't a sign of vulnerability or weakness. i help you because i want to, and i'm more than willing to take care of you. will you let me?"

you're not blind. you've noticed the way he had slowly started coming closer as he continued to speak, hands held securely in his as he looked straight at your eyes then down at your lips. and so, you act in a way you know that will surely answer his question — with a kiss. 

the man before you immediately reciprocates, overpowering your own eagerness as he curls the tips of his fingers into the roots of your hair. he pulls you close, cradling you against his chest. you can taste his desperation in the way his tongue dances against yours, the kiss transporting you into an alternate reality where your world revolves around doyoung and doyoung alone. 

when he pulls away bleary-eyed, both of you ignore the thin strand of saliva connecting your lips. "how about you come live with me for the time being, my love?"

still high off his kiss and natural scent, you hardly mull over the question he asks you. "okay."

days later, after you've been discharged (he wanted to chip in for your hospital bills but you had given him a firm no), doyoung had been the one to show up at the dorm to collect all your things after leaving you in his apartment. the cutie had refused to simply drop you off and had deliberately accompanied you up the elevator, through the halls, and finally into his apartment. 

"i'll be out for just a minute, sugarcube."

"oh, can you get take out?"

doyoung had smiled, playfully booping the tip of your nose. "no, because i'll be cooking for us tonight as a little celebration for you getting discharged. you'll love it; i'm making your favorite!"

it was funny how the night had been nothing but utter bliss. the foreign feeling of being taken care of sprouting in your chest as you watch him cooking from behind the counter. it felt… nice. but funny enough, as if doing a 360, you both had immediately gotten into an argument the next day. 

"i don't see the need for skipping another day if i feel perfectly fine! i'll figure something out once we get there, doyoung, so can we just —"

"you' re not fine, babylove — hell, you got discharged yesterday! i'm not just about to let you back into the arena with those students. they've only grown more immature since your coma, love. i seriously don't want you near them."

"fine! then i won't talk to them. simple." you throw your hands up. "there. problem solved. now, can we please just go to uni? i need to talk to the dean and the head of student affairs, too —"

"i'm going to uni, not you."

maybe it had been the way he firmly stated his claim, the way his eyes pierced through your soul as if daring you to argue further with him that made you snap.

"i'm not a prisoner in this apartment, doyoung! don't treat me like i have the plague! i'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself — jesus christ, i've been doing it nearly half my fucking life!"

too caught up in your anger, you've failed to notice the tears pouring down his face as he sets his gaze on the floor. 

"you're right," his voice cracks. "i shouldn't be pushy like that. i'm sorry. you just mean so much to me and i'm so scared of losing you again. with your coma — i just — it's like i was fighting a losing battle each day that passed when i saw you in that hospital bed. i've never felt so scared in my whole life and i hated myself for not being able to protect you that night."

his tears run like waterfalls, and when you step forward with your arms wide open, doyoung sobs harder as he pulls you against him. you hardly comprehend what he says as he spoke, shaking against your frail body as you felt his tears stain your blouse. "i'm sorry, i never should've dictated what you felt — i'm so sorry."

"no, it's okay. i was feeling a little lightheaded, anyway. i'll stay here and i can come back to school next semester, right? doyoung? just… please stop crying."

he lifts his head, staring at you with bloodshot eyes before giving your forehead a kiss. you let a relieved sigh escape your lips, melting into his warmth as you prop your chin on his shoulder. if you had only been more attentive, you would've seen the reflection of his wicked grin on the tabletops. too easy.

living with him became a blur after that incident. everything fell into a routine for the next four days as you spent the day watching netflix, eating, reading, sleeping. nothing felt fun anymore. but your peaceful life had ceased during the fifth night — the whispers, they woke you up. you can hear them from behind your door at night, and when you rouse awake, you see doyoung walking around the hallway from the tiny gap at the bottom of the door. you had sighed, falling back into your plush bed as you pray to god, he keeps it down. 

but what he told you the next day rendered you speechless. "me, walking around the hallways? whispers?" he says, confused. "i was already asleep, love. knocked out cold the moment my body fell on the bed."

"but…"

he doesn't spare you a glance as he takes his sweet time skimming through his notes on the dining table, coffee in one hand. "maybe it's just the meds kicking in."

"no, surely it was real! i literally woke up in the middle of the night," you repeat. "it's okay if it was you, doyoung. i'm not mad."

he sets his coffee mug down a little too loud. 

"well, you can't be mad at me, sugar, because like i said — it wasn't me," it doesn't take a genius to notice he's awfully cranky today. you observe him, dark half-moons under his eyes as he relentlessly reads his notes with instant coffee in one hand. 

"you're just imagining things, okay? stop acting crazy."

for some reason, the way he had uttered certain words like 'imagining' and 'crazy' made you curl into your seat in embarrassment. he was right that your doctor did prescribe a generous amount of pills per day, but his tone made it feel off, made you feel like there was something wrong with you even when there wasn't… 

right?

you didn't say a word after that and had hesitantly pecked him on the cheek before he left for school. with the amount of time you're with him, two things stood out to you — his keen sense of observation and his knack for reading people. you highly doubt he didn't notice a shift in your behavior but a part of you thinks it's just the stress talking. he is about to take his finals and had recently started on his research paper. 

every psych student is required to present a paper in accordance with the department's annual theme. it could be anything from proposing a theory (if you dare) to constructing a well-developed psychology model. if you don't turn one in, you don't graduate — the paper's that important, and you've been bugging him for so long about sneaking a peek on what his study is about. but he always refused. 

the next week came rolling around, and both of you had been spending every day together due to the semestral break. the arguments have significantly lessened, but your episodes — eventually, you started calling it that way because that's how doyoung labels it — have only gotten worse. you end up moving out of the guest room and into his. privacy be damned. the whispers stopped momentarily but what came next became your imminent downfall.

the first time you heard it, you thought you were dreaming. but the doorknob kept rattling aggressively even as you sat up. just as you climb off the bed, your half-asleep boyfriend asks where you're going. 

"bathroom," you lied.

you were always the one to snort when it comes to the supernatural, claiming it's all bullshit. yet, as whatever outside continues to fight its way inside the room, the rattling progressing into loud bangs against the door, you're not so sure of your beliefs anymore. you're not crazy. nothing is wrong with you, and you're perfectly fine. this apartment is cursed, and you are going to prove that to doyoung.

grabbing your phone from the bedside table, you turn the flash on, pointing the camera at the door as you take a footage of the mad entity that has been playing games with you. a squeal escapes your lips when a particular bang! reverberates louder in the room than all the others. the phone slips your hand, falling onto the floorboards. you don't bother to retrieve it as you scramble to get yourself back under the blanket and into doyoung's comfortable warmth.

you snuggle yourself plush against his chest, shaking as you wrap your arms around his waist, inhaling his natural scent to anchor you back. 

bang! bang! bang!

you didn't get a wink of sleep last night.

"can't the video wait? there's a new episode of start-up, and i want to watch it already!" he whines, shoving his face further on the throw pillow situated on your lap.

you giggle, shaking your head as you scroll through your gallery to find the video. i'm not imagining things. i'm not hallucinating. i'm not crazy. "here! watch... i'm telling you this apartment is haunted, and the ghost probably likes you, which is why it doesn't bother you —"

your lighthearted rambling cuts off when you notice no sound emitting from your phone. weird. you could've sworn you started recording right when the loud banging has already started. your heart drops upon the wary stare doyoung shoots you before he continues to watch the video. 

no, no, no, no — please!

you quickly scoot over to his side, watching as the video unfolds before your very eyes. the shot was messy as the phone was handheld, not to mention you were panicking at the time. but the video is silent. not a single noise of a rattling doorknob or banging on the door can be heard through your phone's speakers. 

"maybe — maybe you didn't turn the volume up?"

you hardly contain the mortification in your face when you realize the volume's at 100 already. and as if on cue, your squeal is heard in the video and the noise of the phone hitting the floor.

doyoung's silence shakes your whole being. as you kneel before him teary-eyed, your voice breaks. "i swear, i'm not crazy."

but at this point, you don't believe yourself anymore.

for his third and final act;

he triumphs.

his deprivation began in minuscule ripples. 

it didn't take much effort on doyoung's end to convince you to stop studying for a year or two, at least, only until your hallucinations aren't as severe anymore. everyday felt like hell on earth as the fine line between what's real and what isn't has blurred over one too many times. in sheer paranoia of accidentally hurting him in his sleep, you moved out of his bedroom and had started sleeping in the guest room again — much to doyoung's frustration. 

but he's a smart man, one that recognizes an opportunity amidst the hurdles thrown on his path.

"why does my door need a lock outside again?"

he approaches you, who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, after screwing in the last of the screws that came with the new doorknob. doyoung is familiar with the look written on your face, has observed and studied you enough to navigate his way inside your pretty little head with ease.

he can't have you doubting him, can he?

"you know i'm all about protecting you, right?" he starts. you nodded. "i've been doing it for a year now, and i will continue to do so until you need me to. the world is a bad place, sweetheart, remember? your own best friend's mother tried framing you. your dad disowned you. you've been ostracized in the whole college... do you think i'm just like the rest of them, baby?"

doyoung has already mastered the perfect expression of a kicked-puppy, one that easily pulls at your heartstrings and has you cooing at him.

"no!" you say with conviction, reaching forward to thread your fingers through his. "i know you're different, not like any of them at all. i know you're only doing what's… best for me."

he ignores the underlying hesitance in your tone. that will be corrected, sooner or later.

doyoung tightens his hold as he kisses the back of your hand. such an innocent gesture — but such ill intentions.

"the outside lock helps me in protecting you, love. you don't need to worry about anything. just focus on getting better, alright? i'll keep the bad guys away from you."

it was during his first semester of senior year, a few months back, doyoung and a good few students of his batch had been granted the opportunity to intern for a mental hospital located near the edge of the city. he was supposed to decline the offer but you convinced him to take the spot. it had only been a two-week “job” yet it was enough for doyoung to conclude — he’d rather kill you than subject you to the horrors of what the patients have to go through in the loony bin. 

eventually, the small ripples shift into unforgiving waves, dragging you into the depths as everything comes crashing down before your very own eyes.

it should have been like any other day inside the apartment. doyoung's already gone in the morning to attend classes. though not before setting a tray of your brunch on the nightstand, making sure to lock your door on his way out. he knew your nightmares and anxiety kept you up at night, resulting in longer hours of sleep during the day. 

turns out, you moving out of his bedroom had been a blessing in disguise. coming home to an empty apartment has become his biggest fear yet, and you unconsciously found a solution for him. one that doesn’t have him fidgeting on his seat as he counts down the minutes ‘til he’s back by your side.

doyoung smiles unconsciously as he listens to his professor drone on and on in front of him — his mind at peace, knowing you're safe and sound in your little prison.

until he received a text that made his blood run cold.

ty, 11:34 am —im done.

meanwhile, you rouse awake once more to thunderous poundings against your bedroom door. oh no, you thought. it's happening again. this time, there'll be no doyoung barging into your room, half-asleep and hair messy, as he tries to calm you down. you throw the blankets over you as you sob, hugging your legs against your chest as you try to 'wake yourself up' from the hallucination.

the person outside calls for your name, the desperation in their tone alighting a new-found fear in your heart. you don't know what's real anymore. is this truly happening, or is it another hallucination your fucked up mind has conjured up?

"please! it's taeyong! y/n, can you hear me?"

taeyong?

slowly, your head peaks above the blanket, warily staring at the door. doyoung has warned you about these kinds of things, has practically ingrained in your mind that whoever comes looking for you will take you away from him. not to mention, doyoung slipped one time and said he isn’t friends with taeyong anymore.

the banging on the door progresses.

“are you in there? answer me! i can’t find the key!”

you don’t say anything, merely pushing the covers off your body as you keep your eyes fixed on the beating door. it looks like it’s about to pop out its hinges as taeyong relentlessly fights his way inside your room. what are you going to do? do you open the door? oh. right. you can’t do that on your own accord. the key is with doyoung and he isn’t in the apartment at the moment.

all your thoughts come to a halt when the boy outside sends the door flying open, finally breaking the lock with one powerful kick. you flinch back, his actions pushing you on your feet, wanting to place a maximum amount of distance from the intruder. 

taeyong looks frantic, disheveled as he immediately notices your alarmed state. he approaches you cautiously, hands up to show his empty palms. “hey, hey… it’s just me, y/n. i’m not going to hurt you. i’m not the enemy here.”

“doyoung doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

the look of surprise on his face is an answer in itself. for someone doyoung had proudly claimed to have “broken” you’re still quite quick to catch up on things, taeyong observed. and he doesn’t know what to feel about it — pity? guilt?

“that’s not important!” he claims, boldly surging forward to grasp your shoulders with a firm grip. taeyong felt his heart dropping when you flinch under his grasp. 

“listen to me. we need to get you out of here. doyoung isn’t — he isn’t everything you thought he is!” he can’t help but raise his voice, panic surging through him because there’s not much time left and you aren’t exactly cooperating. you’ve been trying to shrug off his hold the whole time. 

“do you think he actually loves you?”

“he does! stop saying bullshit!”

“doyoung never loved anyone and you want to know why? because he’s too in love with his research to care for anything else!” taeyong felt bad to have been so direct, especially when he sees the tears now falling freely down your cheeks. “listen to me, y/n! i’m not the enemy! if there’s anyone you should be pushing away, it’s doyoung! he turned you into his lab rat! you are nothing but a variable in his study! don’t you get it?”

taeyong grabs a firm but gentle hold of your head, trying to make you look at him straight in the eye for the gravity of what he’s about to say to you.

“doyoung had his eye on you since sophomore year. i told him this was a bad idea and that he should change the topic of the research and he was. fucking hell, he was about to scrap the whole thing until your bestfriend died and did you know what that psycho told me? that it was a sign for him to continue the research! and i’ve been pestering him so much that he moved out because he claimed i was going to get in the way of his discovery.

tell you what, if you can tell me right here, right now, that he has mentioned anything — anything at all — about his study to you then everything i’m saying is a lie.”

you have asked doyoung for the longest time about that research but the answers have always been the same. “not yet, my love. it’s not time for it to be seen with your eyes. soon, okay?”

with a voice not louder than a whisper, you ask. “what… what’s his research about?”

you fail to see the sorry look on taeyong’s face. “in psychology, they say a person only develops psychosis mainly through genetics or drugs. although you’re technically already a worthy “lab rat” considering your mom and upbringing, he wanted to expand the external factors of what causes the disorder — grief, grades, toxic family relations…”

you hear a ringing in your ear and a sudden urge to throw up. only, you didn’t have anything to hurl because your brunch remains untouched on your bedside. 

“but he hadn’t been successful. and that’s… that’s where i came along. doyoung thought the medications he’s been giving you isn’t doing what he wanted it to and he knew he needed a little push. i was… i gave him that push. remember the whispers, the banging on the door at night? it was all me. he made me do it. you know what that means, right? you’re not crazy. you don’t need to stay here cooped up like some kind of pet, believing all his lies as if it’s written in a fucking bible —”

he stops. and if he hadn’t, you wouldn’t’ve heard the familiar beeps of the front door’s automated lock going off. doyoung’s home. 

in lightning speed, taeyong has you sheltered behind him, throwing his warm coat over you in the process, hoping to give the smallest comfort amidst the chaos that’s about to erupt. there’s no point in pretending or hiding — one look at that lock and his crazy friend would know something’s off. 

taeyong feels you flinching behind him with every heavy footstep against the floorboards as doyoung wastes no time in getting to your room. and when he finally appears, hands braced against the door frame, you’ve never been this scared your whole life. his eyes are drawn into slits, fixated on taeyong alone. “how fucking dare you?”

“it’s over, doyoung. give it up or you wouldn’t have to suffer a longer sentence than you’ll already get.” taeyong tried with his whole being to appear intimidating.

“what’re you saying, yong? i meant, how fucking dare you barge in here and disturb my girlfriend in her sleep? that’s not very nice of you…” doyoung sports a disarming gummy smile as he approaches, hand outstretched and beckoning towards you. “c’mere, baby. i don’t think you’ve eaten lunch yet?”

“drop the fucking act, you psycho!”

“what act?” doyoung tilts his head innocently, gaze shifting from taeyong’s and yours, who keeps peeking from over his ex-friend’s shoulder. luring you out is a piece of cake unless taeyong decides to make things a wee bit more complicated, doyoung thought. “i’m just concerned for my darl —”

“we’re leaving.” taeyong cuts him off, breaking eye contact as he places a firm grip around your wrist. he pulls you towards him, farther away from your supposed lover as he tries walking past doyoung. 

but the said man pushes taeyong back with a humorless smile on his face. “and who told you that you can do that?”

a pregnant silence befalls the room as the two men size each other up. they regard each other with such hostility, you can't help but unconsciously fist the back of taeyong's sweater in nervousness, prompting the man to turn his head over his shoulder for a swift second to check up on you.

but a second is all that doyoung needed to deliver the first kick towards taeyong's legs, throwing him off his balance. if it was one thing doyoung knew, is that he needed to eliminate taeyong's agility all together if he wants to win against him. 

but taeyong isn't one to back down. the moment doyoung straddles him on the floor, with a fist raised to throw a punch, taeyong grunts as he rolls them around. doyoung now receiving taeyong's rain of fists as he yells. "fuck you! you manipulative asshole!"

you sat on the corner, horrified of the scene happening before you. you've never seen doyoung this way. he has always been your sweet, caring bunny, but after everything taeyong said, you aren't so sure you even know the man you've been living with. 

"everything i did, i did it for her!" you flinch at the sound of bones breaking as doyoung kicked taeyong's ribs. "she had nothing to lose! i saved her!"

the door is open, you noticed. wide-open and inviting you to make a run for it. and you would have made a run for it...  but taeyong. you can't leave him behind, not when he lays there bloody and grunting in pain as doyoung lets his anger take over him. so, as stupid as may be, you did it. you had to.

"you didn't save me," you say, schooling your face into indifference as doyoung whips around, forgetting about taeyong in the bat of an eye. "you caged me in here, treated me like there's something wrong with me, gaslighted me into believing everything you said! and... what did you say? 'saved me'? you made me go through hell!"

the whole time, taeyong tries his hardest to stand upright, but his broken ribs don't allow him to. the pain too great that he had no choice but to crawl instead, arms pulling his weight as he drags himself across the floorboards, desperately trying to get doyoung's attention back on him even if it meant getting beaten to death.

meanwhile, he had his eyes trained on you the whole time you spoke, sobbing as you walk backward in fear as doyoung approached you with a dark glint in his eye. he doesn't like what you're saying; that much is very clear. he wanted to yell at you, to scream of your ungratefulness despite his constant care but instead, he says.

"i thought we were making progress, baby. i guess i have to drill everything in your brain again. you're not okay, but you will be after i treat you."

you try to fight the urge to look at taeyong as he finds his strength, silently rising up from the floor to ambush doyoung while he's so busy preaching about you. 

"what i said is true, baby. do you actually think this scum over here is doing this to save you? do you actually believe everything he said? i've been here since day-1, my love. literally. and have i ever let you down? no. everything i'm doing is for us. even this damned research!"

taeyong surges forward to put him in a chokehold, but everything happened so fast, and the next thing you knew —

"did you actually think i'd fall for that?"

you didn't know the sound of a knife cutting through flesh could sound that loud, but nothing could beat the strained gasp that tumbled through taeyong's lips as he shakily held the knife pierced through his heart. you would've been concerned about how doyoung got it so accurate in one go or where the knife even came from. but you were too busy screaming, collapsing against the wall as you let out a broken sob. 

"no," you mutter. "no, no, no..."

you can't bear to avert your eyes from taeyong as he lies dying before you. the look of fear in his eyes would forever be ingrained in your mind, and no amount of brainwashing or gaslighting would ever make you forget.

doyoung killed him. you lost.

the knife clatters loudly on the floor as he slowly turns around as if he himself has yet to register what he did. you didn't know what to expect from doyoung's reaction but certainly not the eerie smile that starts spreading on his face. 

"now... how about that lunch, baby?"

✉ : a repost no one asked but i respectfully dont give a fuck <3

[loverdrew]

Do It For Me | b.b

Synopsis: Y/N may never be able to forgive Bucky if he goes through with his decision. (pre-endgame with a twist, very inaccurate storyline and writing I know but it’s all fiction)

Warnings: a few cuss words here and there

Based off of Greys Anatomy (between Izzie and Denny)

My first ever Bucky Barnes fanfic! I’m getting more into writing for Marvel characters.

I had been sat up in my room at the Avengers compounds for the whole day at his point; harnessing my magic, drawing/reading to calm me down, and just enjoying a nice day off. Everything seemed quiet, a little too quiet for my taste. No one had come knocking on my door to talk or check up on me. After a few minutes I started to hear talking through my headphones and it was coming from outside my door. I slowly let my earbuds drop from my ears, silently opening up my door and creeping downstairs. It had seemed to more I got down the steps, I saw more people come into view. All backs were turned, some arms crossed, but voices were definitely raised. It felt like more than one person kept trying to speak and once at the bottom step, I saw the one person who was the center of it all.

Wanda was the first one to see me, cutting her sentence short, and soon everyone followed. Steve’s face dropped, biting his lower lip and looking at the floor. Bucky stood up, eyes almost bulging out of his head. I looked around stunned at everyones faces as they all made a collective sigh.

“W-what’s...what’s going on guys.” Wasn’t so much of a question, but more of a ‘tell me now or I’ll crush you guys with just a thought’. My powers were growing, everyone knew this. With one scream, a whole city could go deaf. With no swipe of my hand, I can send more than 10 men flying 100 feet. Most of the time they wouldn’t dare bother me in fear of my emotions becoming heightened and possibly destroying something. But something tells me right now might be the first time that happens.

“I said, what’s going on.” My hands glowed purple, the color of my powers. Wanda immediately rushed in front of me and looked me in the eyes, rubbing her hands over mine. When she found out I also harnessed powers from an infinity stone, Tony made it a point to have her help me maintain my magic. Her touch softened the glow, instantly calming down my heart rate. She repeated the same phrase to me; ‘don’t let it take control of you, take control of it’. The purple glow went away, as she guided me towards the group.

“Thanos is coming, Y/N.” Tony spoke up.

“And we’re trying to figure out how to stop him once and for all but...there was an idea brought up.” Bruce chimed in, and I followed his gaze right to Bucky. His head laying low. My mind went to the darkest of places. Bucky had never looked so ashamed. All I wanted to do was hug him and rub up and down his back, he always liked that. The last time I did that for him was a few nights ago when he had yet another nightmare and I found him downstairs watching TV even though I knew he was exhausted. He was too afraid to fall asleep. I remember that night, thinking about how badly I wanted to tell him how I felt. He had been my rock since coming into the compound, even if nobody else saw it. Our friendship consisted of late night snacks and conversations, training together making each other stronger, and always communicating and tell each other the truth no matter what. But oh, how I wanted that friendship to mean more to him as it does to me. But I would panic, thinking I wasn’t ever going to be good enough for one of the best people I’d ever met. He deserved a woman who was just as great as he was. 

“Tell her.” Natasha spoke, anger laced in her voice.

“Bucky...” I whispered. 

“My greatest wish in life is to take back every bad thing I did in this world. Every person I had killed, hurt, ruined their life.” He looks at Tony with deep regret. “And I can’t ever do that physically, but maybe in another way, I can.” He was rubbing his hands together avoiding my gaze.

“Okay? Bucky that’s great that you’ve figured out how you want to do that-” 

“You didn’t let him finish.” Sam said with a monotone voice.

“We need to be ready whenever Thanos decides to come. And the only way for me to get my wish is to...be the one that’s sacrificed during the battle.” My heart stopped and the ringing in my ears began to pick up. Wanda could see my hands glowing much brighter and more rapidly this time. I could feel her hands come up to the sides of my arms but within a flash my whole body shook the entire room like an earthquake.

“What!!” I walked over to him and slammed down on the table. “Are you out of your god damn mind Barnes!”

He tried to reach out but I raised my hand, stopped his movement and moving his arm to stay at his side, unable to move it.

“No, no, no you’re not doing this. You guys please tell him he is NOT sacrificing himself! You have no idea how much power those stones are! Just look at me! I have the same powers as a stone yet I can’t control shit Bucky! It’s out of control you’ll be dead before you can even use one stone to fight off Thanos!”

“I’ve been working with Tony and Shuri on a way to help me harness the power. They’ve been working on a suit for me that is stronger than Tony’s. Y/N you have to understand that this is my way of righting my wrongs, if I die then I die a hero who saved the whole world, not someone who use to kill hundreds of people with no remorse.” I turned towards Tony, his eyes becoming scared as he held his breath.

“You...” I throw my hands up and thrashed Tony into the wall, shattering it. He couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear at what I could do to him. Wanda yelled out to stop, but I couldn’t hear anything over my own boiling anger. “You knew about this. You knew he wanted to die and didn’t try to stop him!”

“I-I was just doing what I thought was the only option.” I slammed him again into the wall.

“There’s other options Tony!” I began to cry out, tears instantly springing from my eyes so quick it took me a second to realize I was even crying. With each puff of my chest my powers weakened as I wasn’t paying as much attention anymore, my brain becoming overstimulated with dark thoughts.

Bucky came up behind me and brought his arms around mine, his cheek pressed up against the back of my head.

“You’re not doing this Buck, we’ll find another way.” I said in between cries. I looked around seeing everyone else become emotional at my breakdown. Natasha was like a mother figure to me, this was the first time I was seeing her tear up. Wanda was my protector, but she didn’t know how to protect me from my own feelings. And everyone who surrounded me, who watched me grow from a 20 something year old uncontrollable witch to a grounded and a fantastic Avenger, wore heavy hearts and hooded eyes. I turned around quickly wiping my eyes of any tears and stood tall. My breathing coming back to normal. “It’s okay we’ll-we’ll find another way. There’s gotta be another way right?” 

“Y/N...” He said sadly, clutching my hair. I pushed him off and walked away giving some distance between us, actually, between the whole crew. I stood on one side of the room while the rest remained where they were.

“Don’t do that. Don’t try to make me okay with this. Alright, you did some shit in your past Bucky, so what we all don’t have the best track records as angels. And I’m sure you don’t feel like you deserve to live with all of the trauma you’ve endured but guess what? You do! You know how you get the fix things? You become a better person, a fighter and protector of the world! People change Bucky and I’ve seen it first hand in you! You deserve to live just as much as anyone else!” Everyone remained silent, so I assumed they agreed with me. “And if you tell me one more time about sacrificing yourself because that’ll right your wrongs in this world, so help me God, I will kill you myself right now!” And without thinking, my hand shot out a purple beam of light, latching onto a glass vase and chucking it around the room, creating a whole in the wall and the glass shattering everywhere.

He walked up to me peacefully with his hands held in the air.

“Y/N, please. I’m going to be alright, you don’t have to worry this much. You should be more concerned about protecting yourself. I definitely wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I didn’t do this and something worse happens to you.”

I laughed in sadness.

“What about me? What about me when you die!” I saw multiple people begin to shed the same tears I was. We had all grown fond of Bucky when he joined us. He really proved and showed deep down, behind the trauma HYDRA had left him, he was a great man. That’s why I fell so deeply in love with him. “That’s the worst thing that could ever happen to me Bucky! I will die inside if you don’t exist in this world!”

“Y/N-” more tears sprang from his eyes. His voice cracked and got lower. It’s like he couldn’t find the words to describe the pain in his heart at the thought of leaving you behind. Without having told you that he loved you too. 

“No I get it! You’ll be okay, you’ll be fine with it but what about me? Please, don’t do it for yourself, do it for me please!” I hunched over, the grief and pain overtaking my body. I felt too weak to even stand and continue yelling at him. “Please Bucky, please do this for me! Don’t leave me please don’t do this, I can’t take it please! You have to do this for me, because if you don’t I will never be able to forgive you!”

He stepped closer at a slower pace.

“For dying? For saving the world?”

“No for making me love you!” I began to cry out harder, the ring in my voice shaking the room once again, making everyone’s hands fly up to their ears as I got louder and louder. Natasha at this point was full on bawling, along with most people in the room. I think it was safe to say everyone knew of my affection towards the man at the center of attention, and maybe that’s why everyone had left me alone today. Afraid of this exact situation. The one person, the one thing in this world that can bring me to tears at my feet.

Bucky’s eyes filled with adoration as he ran up to me and held me on the floor in between his legs. I clutched at his arm crying into his shoulder. He looked back at Tony, who only gave him a nod. They had agreed together that one of them was bound to be the sacrifice when it came to defeating Thanos. Bucky of course still wanted it to be him, he felt it was the most right option. But when he looked back at Tony, clutching the love of his life in his arms, Tony took that as a final answer. Tony was okay with the decision he had come to long ago. He was ready to die for the good of everyone else, but nobody knew that yet. Bucky wasn’t giving up the fight, but now it only became that much harder to leave her behind. It was easier not knowing her feelings, but it had come to the light. Bucky wanted a life like Tony, the kids, the wife, everything. But at what cost? He was still going to fight to the death if he had to, but the decision to be the one to end it all was fading away.

“It’s okay Y/N, I promise we’ll talk more about it and find another way if we have to.”

“We have to Bucky, we have to.” My cries didn’t stop, but my voice lowered. My eyes caught everyone else’s, almost embarrassed at my sudden outburst of devoted love to Bucky, but everyone knew, they just never heard it from me. “Just hold onto me please.” I pleaded.

“I’m here Doll, I promise I’ll stay right here.”

[bittermuire]

A (long) analysis of Azriel,

+ a bit of discussion about Gwynriel vs. Elriel at the end.

Lately I’ve seen much discussion surrounding Azriel, and there seems to be a lot of hazy gray area. We know he has a terrible past, carries a lot of trauma, is both mentally and physically scarred, and has disturbingly possessive habits. But why? That’s the question.

I think most of Azriel’s character can be filtered into three sections: his anger, his possessiveness, and his self-loathing. Altogether I believe these form his crippling sense of emotional immaturity, which ultimately shines through most every action he makes in the books.

So yes, I firmly believe Az is a child in the body of a 500 year old Fae. But is he treated as such? No. No, he is not. In fact, he’s treated as the exact opposite, and that can’t be doing wonders for his mental health (which is already in shambles. Off to a cheery start.)

Let’s take a look at his past. He was both mentally and physically abused for the majority of his childhood. Then he was thrown into an unforgiving culture that both mentally and physically abused him as well. Then he was essentially bullied by Cassian and Rhysand for quite a while... until they randomly decided to like him, which is a choice he didn’t seem to play a hand in. And then he became a professional torturer. All the while falling madly in love and becoming obsessed with a female who can’t love him back. Not to mention he’s been ostracized his entire life.

(One big thing though, that I’m going to reference frequently, is Azriel’s constant chase of “happiness.�� Kind of like my friends with ADHD. We squeeze all the serotonin we can get out of one thing and then fall into a listless, depressed haze until we find another. I honestly think Azriel does the same thing with people--he latches onto them and lets his mood swings rely on how much attention they do or do not pay him, and whether it is positive or negative.)

So I’m going to go through his relationships with pivotal characters and try to explain what I think is really going on with Azriel.

Regarding Mor:

He was obsessed with her for most of his life. He was incredibly possessive of her and fell instantly in love upon seeing her. Do I think it was love? No. But does Azriel think it was love? Yes, and that is so important. It shows how desperate he was for human connection.

This “love” spiraled into centuries-long obsession that we’ve all seen play out throughout the series. But why is it obsession, and not love? Well, I’m going to go ahead and say that Azriel doesn’t know how to love. He’s never been shown genuine love and so he doesn’t know how to show it to others in the way he intends. He’s basically a baby.

But right after he falls head over heels, Mor sleeps with Cassian, and then Cassian plays the role of the buffer between the two of them all the way up until the events of ACOSF. This is where I think Azriel’s anger comes into play. He can’t get to Mor. His best friend, his brother, is blocking him from her. He can’t touch her, love her, feel her, and he’s so desperate to. But he literally has no way to communicate it because he doesn’t know how, and so he responds in the one way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. And intense protectiveness that eventually begins to translate as possessiveness.

Again, he lets his happiness rely on Mor because he can’t make himself happy, and so his lack of emotional maturity ends up revealing him as desperate and unable to communicate his feelings of inadequacy and frustration. I’m not trying to justify his behavior, not at all. But I think this could be a decent explanation.

Regarding Cassian and Rhysand:

I mean... I kind of hate the way these two have treated Azriel. They all have their fair share of trauma, but Cassian and Rhys also bullied him and ostracized him, and then basically said, “Oh, we like you now.” Which completely leaves Azriel in the dark as to where he stands with them, and strips him of awareness regarding how his friendships with them will operate.

And then he becomes the head of espionage for the Night Court, which involves lots and lots of torture. What kind of message does that send? You’ve seen dirty things, Az, so you don’t mind doing the rest of the dirty things for us, right? That’s the only real message I can get from this. Which then plants the message in Azriel’s head of: Not only do I do dirty things, I myself am a dirty, disgusting thing. Thus, furthering his already deep-seated sense of self-loathing.

Plus, the IC generally operates with a pack-like mindset. One person’s method of healing is everyone’s method of healing. It worked for one person, so it worked for everyone. It’s a very naive mindset, and very toxic as well, so it’s not surprising that literally everyone in the IC is colossally messed up despite preaching themselves as having overcome their demons.

So Azriel never really gets to understand himself and mature as a person. He’s stuck pretending to be perfectly fine underneath Rhysand’s oh-so-benevolent and compassionate hand. Rhysand and Cassian recognize Az as being a little... odd, by seeming to think things like “he’s the quiet one” and “he’s the serious, scary one.” But do they attempt to understand him? No. They leave him to his own devices and let him figure it out himself.

That’s the issue. He’s not ever going to figure it out himself, so long as he’s surrounded by the people who’ve been unwittingly suffocating him for most of his life.

Regarding Elain:

Azriel’s infatuation with Elain, in my opinion, comes as a direct result of his detachment from Mor. Just like one hyperfixation fades quickly from an all-consuming thing to a passing thought, Azriel has shifted from one obsession to the next, in order to keep his spirits on a high.

But I think his feelings for Elain reveal a lot of what Mor did not. Why does he view Elain as so holy compared to him? Why is he so hesitant to touch her? Why does he put her on such a pedestal? That’s his self-loathing coming through again. He hates himself so much that he has to place her above him.

He wants to touch her and love her, just as he did with Mor, but again he is unable. It's a repeating pattern that he can’t get himself out of.

Let’s also look at the way Elain and Azriel’s friendship/relationship began. He had to take care of her, and treat her with utmost respect. She looked at his scars or his siphons, both monstrous looking things, and called them beautiful. Let’s remember that he’s basically a child who’s rarely known genuine love. The minute he gets a glimpse of it, he’s going to grab it by the neck and crush it to his chest. Plus, the fact that she’s the last sister left unattached and he’s the last brother left unattached is probably even more convincing for him that he and Elain are meant for each other. When he’s denied this love that’s come nearly close enough to grab, he responds in the only way he’s able: anger. And jealousy. Just like he did with Mor.

But moving on, that glimpse of potential love comes from Elain. That’s why he’s able to let go of Mor; a relationship with Elain suddenly becomes possible. He’s terrified of ruining this potential love and is incredibly drawn to her all the same. Best of all? She wants him too.

BUT. Azriel knows how fragile Elain is, so he walks on glass around her, coddling her, putting her first like he’s put everyone else first since being a part of the IC. I think he wants to save her from becoming like him. He essentially plays the role of her white knight, entirely losing his sense of self-preservation (not that he ever had one), and thus loses any chance of letting Elain help him mature in return.

Regarding Gwyn:

Now, Gwyn is a different story.

We know Azriel likes her. Maybe not in a consciously romantic way, but he likes her. She makes him smile and laugh, and he finds her amusing. He doesn’t have to walk on eggshells around her.

The big thing, I think, is that he doesn’t have to take care of her. At least, I think that’s what makes him so comfortable around her. With Gwyn, he can relax, and he doesn’t have to watch every move he makes. She treats him like a regular person and he treats her similarly.

Now, is it a bad thing that he doesn’t put her on a saint-like pedestal like he does Elain? No. Definitely not. I think this ordinary friendship signals a much healthier relationship than his festering obsession with Elain. Gwyn simply being his friend and not someone that he feels he has to be perfect for is a good foundation for Azriel growing as a person.

Gwynriel vs. Elriel (the necklace):

Honestly, I’m scared for whatever SJM decides to do, because Azriel has a shitload of trauma to move past and years worth of emotional growth needed before he can be a steady partner in a relationship. Both Gwyn and Elain’s character arcs are definitely not finished and so I think that no matter which way his narrative goes, it’s going to be disappointing in some aspect or another, unfortunately. I don’t think that either one of the females’ arcs really fit well with Azriel’s.

But I’m going to take a closer look at the necklace, because I think it’s a telling narrative point.

For Azriel, the necklace for Elain and Gwyn herself, are both “thing[s] of secret, lovely beauty” to him.

By describing the necklace for Elain as such (instead of Elain herself), Azriel unconsciously reveals his more idealistic view of Elain rather than his love for Elain herself. I kind of get the sense of Azriel giving offerings to a goddess, or something like that. He seems to be more preoccupied with appeasing Elain than actually loving her.

Now, this probably comes from, again, his self-loathing and his emotional immaturity. I’m just repeating myself at this point. He doesn’t know how to love himself and he doesn’t know how to love anyone else.

But then he describes Gwyn as such. Gwyn, the person. In my opinion, this demonstrates a potentially much healthier relationship than what he has with Elain. Azriel, instead of wanting to be perfect for Gwyn and wanting to appease her, is simply made happy by the thought of her. It is Gwyn whom he is taken with, not the idea of Gwyn loving him. And so that takes off so much pressure for him, and introduces the hope that he might be able to mature as a person in a friendship or romantic relationship with Gwyn.

Closing thoughts:

Azriel is a blundering, hormonal child desperate for love with no idea of how to get it, in a 500 year old Fae’s body. He’s also surrounded by people who refuse to address his clear issues... his future’s pretty dim, and I think he realizes it. Which is why whoever SJM chooses to be his romantic interest is going to be very important.

In short, I’m scared for what’s to come. But fingers crossed that his incredibly complex character is done justice.

[sylvies-chen]

“The taller person absentmindedly playing with the shorter persons hair while they’re standing in line”

Please use this prompt for Sylvie and Matt.

Their height (& size 👀) difference is so good but never talked about 🗣

You're honestly so right anon, their height and size difference isn't talked about enough!! I think it's mainly because I've never seen Matt/Jesse as a super tall guy, but I could seriously talk about his arms for DAYS. (Also, @everythingaddictxx requested this prompt too-- hope you like it!)

++++

The first time it happens, they're at Molly's.

Matt's arm is drooped lazily around Sylvie's shoulders, both of them a little tipsy as they sit at the bar and happily chat with Herrmann. His hand is hanging loose at first but then gently grips onto a strand of her hair. Her hair is ruffled at her shoulders and needed brushing away from her face anyway, so she lets him rub the single lock of hair between his thumb and his index finger. It's only for a moment, and he pushes it behind her shoulder after, but it happens. Sylvie's heart flutters. He's electrifyingly close to her and it's one of the rare occasions where she feels extremely small next to him. He's practically towering over her, and she feels the distinct urge to shrink-- not self-consciously or into herself, but into his massive arms. It's an embrace that’s tempting beyond measure, like a memory foam pillow that lures you in with the promise of utter bliss.

And god, his hand is still playing with her hair while he looks down at her, eyeing Sylvie with something sweet and wild in his eye. It makes her completely tune out Herrmann until... Crap, she thinks Herrmann just asked her something. What the hell did he just say?

The second time it happens is sort of the same. They're in his quarters because they've both developed the habit of doing paperwork in his office so that they can still spend time together. They had a pretty rough call in the morning though and Sylvie notices the serious furrowed brow that comes with the Captain Casey look that spreads across his face while he's filling it out. When she looks up from her own report, she sees nothing written on his. All he's doing is tapping his pen against the paper, the repetitive clicking quiet but noticeable. She stops it by covering his hand with hers, her fingers soothingly stroking the edge of his pinky. Matt looks up immediately and smiles. The smile he gives her is weak but his Captain Casey look-- the one where it looks like he has the world on his shoulders-- is gone. It's more meaningful than anyone will ever know. She returns the smile, exhaling and soaking in the moment. It's one of those wordless communications that highlight just how lucky she is to have a connection like this with someone like him. With her Matt.

He retracts his hand from out of her hand, caressing Sylvie's cheek for a moment before tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. his fingers stray further down the strand of hair though, doing the same thing he had at Molly's just the other week. His thumb and his index finger pinches at her locks, even daring to twirl it around his finger for a moment this time. It makes his smile even wider, and she finally sees the stress of the morning calls leave his body. She takes a silent pride in that.

The third time it happens though, they're in line waiting to get Matt's prescription migraine medication. The doctor had suggested that he ups his dosage just to be safe and she can't help but be a little worried. There's not a risk of anything being wrong with him, they cleared that up months ago before they even started dating, but the whole experience of going with him to the doctor is one she'd rather forget and the pills make that hard. Even though this medication helps him, it's a rough callback to what he almost lost.

She decides to go with him though, because if she was there for everything last time-- the appointments, the MRI, the results-- then she's going to be there for him now. Even if it's just picking up meds at a pharmacy.

It's busy at the pharmacy today, she notices. They're standing in line waiting for the line to move up, and Matt's fidgeting with his hands against his legs. He's just as nervous as she is, if not more. It worries her. Matt acts as a rock for everyone around him all the time, he so rarely gets to rely on someone the way others rely on him. Soon, after latching onto that thought for a moment, something fiercely protective of him roars in her chest. It's an urge to just... support him. It's as simple as that.

"It's just a prescription," she nods like it's a mantra, convincing herself of the same thing. "You're totally fine."

"I know. I just don't really like thinking about it," he sighs, shaking his head. "It's like this reminder that no matter what happens, running into burning buildings and into car wrecks, I can still be so... human."

He lets out a nervous laugh, blinking his thoughts away. "Sorry, I know that's silly," he adds dismissively.

"No, not at all," she assures him without missing a beat. She gives him a fierce and determined look of comfort, and then grabs his hand to lace their fingers together. When she does, her hand moves his over her head until his arm is behind her and his hand droops over her far shoulder. "I don't like thinking about it either, but you're strong no matter how mortal you are. Don't think of it like the thing that almost destroyed you, think of it for what it is: the thing that you survived."

He smiles at her, squeezes her hand before soundly sealing his lips against hers. "Thank you," he mumbles to her when he pulls back. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Sylvie Brett."

She shrugs humbly and giggles. Before she can reply, the people in front of them at the pharmacy move up the line and leaves open space for them to move forward.

As they start to stroll forward slowly, inching closer to the pharmacist's desk, Sylvie feels Matt's hand leave her hand's embrace and over to her hair. As per his usual habit, he pinches at the short, wavy ends of her hair and plays with it in between his thumb and his index finger. Normally, at about this point, Sylvie would ask what this habit of his is. Only she doesn't need to, because she's got the distinct feeling that Matt Casey just likes playing with her hair when he's a little nervous. The first time at Molly's was just to be affectionate but when Sylvie thinks about it, he only does it whenever he's fidgety and anxious.

She decides she'll take this over him tapping his pen any day, so she snuggles further into his side to facilitate access to her hair-- and, admittedly, because she wants to be closer with him. She looks up to him, her cheek resting against his thick and sturdy bicep, and sees his whole demeanor relax again.

Sylvie marvels at Matt's fingers twirling her hair, with a curious twinkle in her eye for the next ten minutes until they get to the pharmacist's desk, pick up his medication without flaw, and everything feels right in the world again.

[dalekofchaos]

Joyce Price is a terrible mother

Hot take. Joyce was a terrible mother and she did not deserve Max’s worship or the fandom’s adoration and she is as much fault as David for how Chloe turned out. 

Joyce does not understand her own daughter’s grief nor hear Chloe as her daughter or a person dealing with the loss of their father. 

Her first instinct was to bring a new man in their lives. Not be there for her daughter emotionally or mentally. Even something as small as going to Blackwell’s Guidance Counselor could’ve been enough. Joyce couldn’t even do the bare minimum. Instead she brought in someone who doesn’t understand, respect or care for what her daughter is going through.

Joyce might love Chloe, but she doesn’t know or understand what Chloe needed. I get that she has it rough and all but she just doesn’t see or hear Chloe. Even when I get Chloe to try and do her best in BTS.

I honestly blame Joyce for how Chloe turned out. Joyce shut down, met and fell in love with the absolute worst man in the world and chose her own interests over the well being of her own daughter. Joyce in BTS keeps forcing David on Chloe. Just give the girl some space and show her some love. That’s the most important thing she needs. She needs her mother to be a mom!

Joyce guilt tripping Chloe about how expensive Blackwell tuition is. First of all that is wildly inappropriate for any parent to discuss financial issues with their kid, they’re a child that’s an adult responsibility and it doesn’t help Chloe. It just makes her feel worse. Second Chloe also constantly complains about Blackwell and how much she hates it there, so the obvious answer is pull Chloe out of the expensive school and transfer for her to free affordable public school.

When Chloe gets expelled Joyce does nothing to get her into a new school. What the fuck?! What kind of mother let’s their teenage daughter become a high school dropout? That’s insane! Joyce should’ve immediately called all the local public schools and look for a start date so Chloe could go back immediately. Like okay as sweet as the love confession in the play was why did Joyce let Chloe leave the house? She even congratulates her when she’s banned from the school premises! That does nothing to help her, Joyce step in and be an actual fucking adult!

Why did Joyce never get Chloe a proper grief counselor? That’s the first thing any kid should get when they go through a sudden and immediate loss, a grief counselor would’ve done wonders for Chloe's mental health. If she couldn’t afford one the school counselor is included in school. Also why didn’t Joyce try and help fill Chloe's time? Besides getting her into a new school for a fresh start why didn’t she get Chloe involved in school clubs like art or science? Or the community center? Or a part time job? Chloe would be surrounded by her peers able to form new connections and a support network so the burden of being Chloe's sole provider wouldn’t fall all on Joyce. She did none of that is it any wonder she latched onto Rachel as hard as she did for comfort and support?

Chloe straight up told Joyce that David is a source of anxiety and discomfort for her. She made her problems clear and Joyce ignored them. Forcing David to move in like that’ll fix things and he’s part of the family absolutely made things worse especially in regards to their relationship.

David Madsen is an abusive piece of shit and Joyce is an abuser for condoning his behavior. David constantly belittles and talks down to Chloe and treats her like a problem, and over time Joyce began to see it that way too. It’s become pretty damn obvious that David gaslighted Joyce into seeing Chloe the way he sees her, a problem. David hits Chloe? Joyce doesn’t see it as a big deal. David installs cameras around the house and stalks and harasses high school students? Joyce doesn’t see this as a problem until Max says it’s a problem. 

Let’s take a closer look at the man Joyce believes Joyce needs to “help” her daughter.

David is awful to Chloe even in BTS when he and Joyce are just dating. He is constantly belittling her and telling her what a problem she is. He has zero sensitivity to what she’s been going through and isn’t even trying to understand or be compassionate about it the way you would expect someone who is trying to get their significant others teenaged kid to like them. He says fucked up shit like “your vacation from having a father figure is over“ like WHAT THE FUCK??? Like yeah having a dead dad is a fucking blast. Also he is already showing that he has no respect for Chloe’s boundaries. if you don’t accept his fist bump he straight up grabs her arm and makes her which is so fucking gross. And in episode 3 if you choose not to give into the search, he violates Chloe’s privacy and searches her room. 

Before anyone brings up David’s dead friend. I don’t care. Having your friends die and having PTSD is not an excuse to beat up kids and violate their safety and privacy. BTS did everything in it’s power to force us to sympathize with David and make Chloe look like an unreasonable jerk for not giving this loathsome piece of fucking shit a chance.

Prior to the events of LIS, David used his power as security chief to try and remove Rachel from Blackwell because he saw her as a "bad influence" on Chloe. Yes David, because that's gonna help your step-daughter. Taking away the only good thing that's ever happened to your step-daughter since her father died.

Then in LIS David literally hits Chloe and then blames her for “making him” do it. That is text book abuser 101. Also, the way Chloe holds her face after he hits her just shows us that this is not the first time this has happened. He is physically abusive and emotionally manipulative and lets not forget that if he was actually doing the fucking job that he was payed to do instead of illegally taking pictures of underage girls and recording his family without permission than Kate wouldn’t have been able to try to kill herself. He was supposed to keep the roof locked so students couldn’t get there but he was too busy victim blaming, taking pictures of, and emotionally abusing a sexual assault victim to do that.

The game tries so hard to make me feel bad for him but no way. Fuck that guy for using his position of authority to abuse high school girls.

The game wants me to feel bad for him getting kicked out of his house? He wouldn’t have if he didn’t record his family without their permission. Fuck that guy. 

You might think saving Max redeems him. No. Doing one good deed does not make up for 3 years of physically and emotionally abusing Chloe and stalking and harassing high school girls.

Then in LIS 2, the child abuser and the man who is partly responsible for Kate's attempted suicide/suicide gets a second attempt at life, while the girl he stalked and helped push her on the roof, dies. I don't even understand why Warren died, while David gets to live. Why are the kids who were innocent die, but an actual child abuser gets to live and have a second attempt at life?

David was 90% of the reason why Chloe turned out the way she did. Joyce was the 10% the reason why Chloe Price ended up so fucked up. Chloe needed her mom, Chloe even says this. But Joyce does not understand. Joyce couldn’t deal with her daughter’s grief, so she chose the first person who came along and in a sense replaced William, when that was not what Chloe needed. She needed a mom and Joyce failed her. David abused Chloe and Joyce condoned it.  Condoning an abusive man who makes your child feel unsafe and threatened in her own home is condoning abuse. Joyce Price is an abusive and terrible mother. 

Max should have been given the option to call out Joyce’s terrible parenting and not constantly worship her “you rule Joyce” no Max, Joyce is fucking terrible.

If Chloe and Joyce went to family counseling or Blackwell’s Guidance Counselor. Just maybe they could’ve learned to cope and move on. If Chloe, Joyce and David all went to counseling sooner, then just maybe they could’ve had a chance to start fresh. But they didn’t. Joyce wanted to play pretend and act like everything was fine. She let a grown ass man beat her daughter, and violate her privacy and safety and wants to act like everything’s fine? Put your fucking foot down and be a mother and protect your fucking daughter.  All Chloe needed was you to be her mother, but you couldn't do the bare minimum.

This sums up Joyce

It’s no wonder Chloe bears so much resentment her mother failed her in every conceivable way and offered no real help, its also a wonder it took Chloe literal death to get Joyce to finally cut ties with David. Too little too late.

If Chloe was given proper support and avenues to process her grief and given hobbies and activities to keep her occupied she probably never would’ve fallen further into drugs and get into petty crime. It was all rebellion to deal with her lack of support at home. Joyce is not an inherently bad person but she absolutely fucked Chloe over long before her unfortunate demise at Nathan’s hand.

Honestly fuck Joyce Price. Stop trying to defend David’s actions by making it seem like Chloe deserves to be (literally) pushed around and beaten because she doesn’t respect a man who has no respect for her. Chloe is your daughter, the last bit of your husband that you have left and you care more for an abusive, rude-ass man more than your own flesh and blood. Chloe has no reason to respect a misogynistic, abusive asshole; in fact, no one has any reason to. Joyce may be acting in her own defense to placate David, but Chloe isn’t the one who invited an abuser into her home. In the best case, Joyce is an enabler. In the worst (given her gaslighting and emotional manipulation) she’s an active participant.

Joyce was a terrible mother and this needs to be talked more about in the fandom. Joyce is a terrible fucking mother.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

WIP Wednesday

Title: Extraordinary

Pairings: HotchReid (more to come)

Summary: League of Extraordinary Gentleman/Vampire AU;

Within the FBI there is a specialized team full of an elite selection of people. Unique individuals with very particular skill sets. And their job is to take the unusual cases: the ones that need to not only be solved, but are undetermined if the unsub is human, or something else entirely.

In a world filled with Vampires, non-human creatures, and subspecies unknown, there is only enough information to have them vaguely regulated. Rules that are so easily, and violently broken, all while hidden in plain sight among the unsuspecting public. Unrivaled for eons.

That’s where the BAU comes in.

Official Posting Date: October 2021

Links: (Masterpost) (Snippet 01) (Snippet 02) (Snippet 03) (Snippet 04)

(TW/CW: dead body/crime scene, blood and bite wounds talked about in detail, hypnosis/compelling someone to do something against their will, overall discussion of murder (basically what we see in every episode of the show))

(the story so far/what you need to know for this clip at least: Absolutely nothing you don’t already know, this is legit from the first chapter. Hotch is a Vampire (although the LEOs don’t really know that), Rossi is a priest, Morgan is so empathetically telepathic he can touch the auras in the air, and Reid is Reid. I know I’ve been giving you the juicy HotchReid stuff but here have some case stuff too, to see what you’re in for with the plot and everything. This is FIRST DRAFT so it’s terribly unpolished, first part is generalized POV (hence the more professional titles) and the second is within the team dynamics so they get more familiar. idk my first drafts are messy and indecisive, enjoy anyway. 💕)

–

They approach the body and Rainer shoos away his pestering, hovering officers and --- winces once again at the sight of the bloodied woman. “This is the third body in two days; a jogger found her about 6 am. Coroner says she thinks she’s been dead for about 6 hours; killed in the middle of the night, just like the others.” 

“Closer to five hours, I think,” Dr. Reid says, crouching down to look closer. All long legs and his gun looking too big on his belt next to his FBI badge. “Could still be within the Witching Hour, though.”

“Do you have accurate time of death estimates for the other two bodies?” Agent Morgan adds on, already picking up the train of thought Dr. Reid has started on. The detective pulls out an old-school flip notebook book and looks through it before answering.

“3:15am the first night, 9:30pm last night and now this.”

“Well that rules out hex, sacrifice, and spell gone wrong,” he concludes, as the other agents surround the body to inspect it from all angles. “So what are we thinking?”

“It’s a frenzied bite,” Agent Hotchner points out, looking from where he stands and not having to get as close as Dr. Reid to inspect it accurately. His eyesight is better than any microscope. “Shows multiple entries, it couldn’t get a good enough hold to rip her throat. Or she struggled, so it wasn’t strong enough to keep her pinned down.”

“The boys think it’s a Vamp,” Detective Rainer points out. “Maybe a baby one, still learning the ropes?”

“Vampire changes are regulated and no sire would allow whoever they turned to do this,” Agent Hotchner says, a colder flint to his voice that matches the way his dark stare cuts up to the detective. “No one has been turned in the United States in the past twelve years.”

“It’s not a Vampire bite,” Dr. Reid agrees, putting on latex gloves to further inspect the body and test the bite radius. “And it’s not a werewolf bite, either.”

“...Werewolf?” the detective says with a winded sound, eyes wide and looking to the three agents who didn’t even blink at the word. “There’s -- there’s such thing as werewolves?” 

“Detective, I think you should let my team and I work, we will come to you with our findings and then help you track down your killer.” Agent Hotchner doesn’t leave room for argument, his dark brown eyes looking pitch black in the early morning light, and Detective Rainer… suddenly feels the overwhelming urge to walk away. Like he can’t breathe if he doesn’t comply; he fights it, tries to fight it, and feels his will crumble beneath him like a sand bank giving way under his feet. He turns, even that small gesture lessening the pressure crushing his chest, and takes a step away from the group, air swept into his lungs like a riptide. He makes a hasty retreat after that, winded as if he just ran up a flight of stairs and the sweet taste of oxygen being his only reprieve. He doesn’t know what happened, and wouldn’t upon further inspection until much, much later.

-

“That wasn’t very nice, Hotch,” Rossi points out with a look of glib reprimand towards their team leader. “I thought compelling feeble minded beat cops was for those who have no skills to avoid it.”

“My patience was running thin, and we need to move faster on this case before our unsub kills again. He’s escalating.” That much is obvious, by the timeline alone, but Father Rossi still gives him a side-ways glance that says he finds far too much amusement in the undead’s antics. “Reid, are you sure it’s not a werewolf bite? It would explain the lack of control and precision.”

“I’m sure,” Reid says with finality, and no one makes a mention on why. He had done more research than any human possibly could in the past few months on werewolf transformation and the after effects of attacks. With what happened to one of their former agents mere months ago, no one doubted his newly learned expertise. “It’s also not a shifter, or a ghoul. We can rule out ghost and poltergeist as well, no residue or temperature shifts.” 

“Demon possession?” Morgan asks, looking to Rossi just as he does his customary Sign of the Cross at the mere mention. Can’t help the gesture, after his own past experiences. Giving anything the power of a name, even arbitrary, can be a dangerous thing. 

“We can’t rule it out,” he admits. “The teeth marks are human, someone possessed would still have a hard time biting that deep and doing that much damage. Cannibalism is only reserved for the amusements of level three demons, however they aren’t usually powerful enough to reach the mortal plane or take possession of someone’s body. They would need help.” 

“You really think someone would weaponize a demon like that?” 

“We’ve seen people do worse things, as has history, but I’d like to hope it wouldn’t happen in my lifetime.” 

“We need more information,” Hotch concludes, arms crossed and watching as Reid stands up and removes the blood stained gloves. “Morgan,” his gaze cuts to the tall man in his deep blue suit. “Can you walk the scene, tell us what you see?”

“Not with this many people around,” Morgan shakes his head, eyes glancing to every person within a twenty foot radius. “Too many readings, the aura field here looks like an oil spill. The only thing I can latch onto is…” his gaze is back on the ground, hovering over the dead woman, who would have no aura to speak of at all and therefore a blank canvas. He replaces Reid’s space, crouching down to touch the air over the bite wound. Fingers spread wide, less than a foot from her but not touching, palm suddenly curving as if over an invisible shoulder, the place where someone had once been not so long ago. It could have been the coroner, or the crime scene photographer, but with it being so close to the body -- chances were it was the unsub.

“They were crouched down, half on the ground, no… human thoughts that I can hear,” he says, closing his eyes and letting his hand glide through the air a little more, following the curve of someone’s spine and up their neck, resting where the head would be. “They have a fever burning them up, hot as a furnace--” he keeps his hand there too long, suddenly jerks it back as if it had physically burned him, then stands up again. Shaking off the aura reading still sticking to his fingers and the forefront of his mind. “Sound like anything you’ve heard of, pretty boy?” 

Reid shakes his head, sharing a glance with Father Rossi. “We might have to go through some of your demonology books.” The older man grins wide.

“You just want to get your hands on them, at this rate you’ll have them memorized by next week.” 

“Dave --” Hotch says slow, a reprimand of his own.

“Fine, fine, I’ll have Garcia send us some scans. If the Vatican knew I was putting a book like that in his hands they’d strip me of all my titles.”

“Didn’t they already do that?” Morgan teases with a grin.

“Ex-communicated. I got to keep the dog collar, the honorifics, bless the holy water, you know -- the party tricks.” 

–

((if you want to be apart of the taglist just hit me up via comment, reblog tag, DMs or asks 💕))

[liyanaodair]

𝓕𝓲𝓷𝓷𝓲𝓬𝓴 𝓞𝓭𝓪𝓲𝓻 𝓘𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓮 ➳ 𝓐𝓯𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓖𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓼 ｡☆✼★━━━━━━★✼☆｡

WARNING: a LOT of fluff

➽──────────────────────────────────────❥

I'm lying in a Capitol hospital bed, when he stands in the doorway. His lips are dry, the white of his eyes covered with red cracks, the skin under his eyes almost black. His face is pale and tired. His hair unruly and slightly greasy.

He wears a white t-shirt, and some grey joggers, signifying that he hadn't bothered to change after waking in the morning.

I stare at him with empty eyes. Frowning. His name sounds strange in my mouth.

After days of calling for him, even on the brink of death. He never came. Now, he seems fictional. A figment of my imagination "Finnick," she said, testing it out. I recognize the name from somewhere, though I can't quite put my finger on it. "(Y/n)," he sobbs. Now I realise, he is from before the games, before the madness. That was why I'm so hazy. Everything from before the games cloudy in my brain. "(Y,n), I thought I had lost you," he cried over and over. Finnick intrigues me, so I push further and further into her thoughts, trying harder to remember.

Suddenly, he throws his arms desperately around my tiny waist. I scowl. Being touched in a way other than violent now foreign to me. I can't trust anyone. There used to be someone, but I've forgotten.

"Mr. Odair, I think you should leave now. Ms. (Y/s/n) is not quite all....there." said one of the peacekeepers surrounding them.

I protest, signaling that she I'm content with Finnick being here, and the peacekeeper doesn't say anything else. Then I return to pushing through the memories in search of Finnick Odair. All the memories are foggy, and it's difficult to say exactly who he was, but there is something that I recognize about him. "Your eyes..." I whisper. Hearing this, Finnick lifts his head, meeting my gaze. Tears were brimming over his eyes, the ones that I remember. They are wide, beautiful, and they are the perfect sea green color. There's something about them....I can't quite distinguish what it is, but it reminds me of happiness. Suddenly, memories of walking on the beach, swimming, and happiness flood my mind. Sunshine. Finnick reminds me of sunshine. I decide I can trust this, so I give in. She let myself mold into Finnick's warm, muscled chest. I wrap my arms around his torso and whisper, "I'm home, Finnick."

"(Y/n)." He barely whispers carefully. It's as if he can't believe what he's seeing. He can't believe that I'm in front of him, alive.

"Fin." I reply, with a small smile. Looking up at him.

"(Y/n). My (Y/n). You're here. You're here (Y/n). (Y/n) you did it." He speaks, his lips brushing aganist my neck as he does.

"No, we did it, Fin. If it wasn't for you, I'd be being sent home in a box right now."

"I love you, Finnick. Like, a lot" I finally reply. He looks at me with a look I can't quite recognize.

"I love you so fucking much, (Y/n). (Y/n) I know how you felt. I'm horrible. I'm a horrible person. I shut you out when you needed me and I needed you the most. I left you to hurt one your own, and I... I don't know how you've forgiven me.... I shouldn't-"

I cut off his rambling with a kiss to his jawline, and it works. He pauses and looks at me.

Shit, (Y/n), what was that for? I ask myself.

"Shit, I'm sorry... I-" This time I'm cut off by a kiss, but to my lips.

Finnick presses his lips onto mine. His lips are dry and taste of sugar and salt. Latching onto mine perfectly, like a key in a lock.

The kiss is soft and gentle, neither of us wanting to pull away. Emptying our emotions. Communicating in a way we can't with anyone else. Knowing exactly what the other is thinking without needing words.

We pull away to breath, and it seems like our kiss was too short, as he leans his forehead onto mine.

"God, you do not know how long I've been wanting to do that." I say to him, smirking.

Without a warning, he meets my lips again, but this time give it a quick peck, as he does to my forehead, my nose, my chin, my temples, and my jawline. He mutters sweet nothings in-between each peck, like "I love you" or "you're so beautiful" or "I'll never leave you again".

I groan with pleasure as he places a tender kiss on my neck, before placing another on my forehead and pulling me into his arms.

"Well, if the (Y/f/n)  is so brave, why didn't she do it ages ago" He finally replies, as my head lies on his chest and his hand rests on my waist, pulling me closer to him.

"(Y/n) was afraid, Finnick Odair could have any woman fall in love with him if he wanted to. Why would I suppose that, that woman could be me?" I say quietly.

"(Y/n) had no reason to be. (Y/n) is one in a million. And Finnick Odair would have fallen for her from the moment they met, if they weren't toddlers at the time." He laughs, making me laugh.

"I like it when you laugh"

"Then I guess I'll have to do it more often."

ꜰɪɴɴɪᴄᴋ'ꜱ ᴘᴏᴠ...

That girl, the one I knew before the games started, the cheeky and innocent girl is now gone. She was shattered, disappearing when the blood first appeared on her hands. Watching her fall over the edge, over a rocky cliff she could never return from. Falling into the darkness of insanity. And I couldn't do a thing. The arena had changed her and she is no longer (Y/n). She was damaged and something different. She has been broken into thousands of pieces. Broken. Shattered. Broken. But she survived and once again I feel her in my arms. Our feelings are the same now, both on equal levels. She's different but still, she feels the same love for me. The love I now feel for her. "Finnick." Hearing her whisper my name whilst she's in my arms, our reunion upon her return from the arena, has made me feel real joy for the first time in my life. However, as happy as I am to have her back, I can't escape the fact that she is now fragile. Crazy. Broken. Even if she tries to act like her old self. And I would have to hide my love for her, to protect her from what no one protected me from. The games don't end with the arena. Even as a victor, you are still a piece on a chess board. I can't openly admit my love for her. But I would still do my best in those stolen moments we continue to share. The best to heal. To mend the pieces of her heart and mind. To fix what was broken. Broken.

➽──────────────────────────────────────❥

[qwertyfingers]

we know that bobby only watched ds9 and dean watched the tos movies for sure which implies he's seen tos as well (plus he calls jack spock). so what do you think everyone's favorite trek is? sam is without a doubt a tng fan first and foremost. i think out of all tos movies cas prefers the wrath of khan because he Feels Things when kirk and spock do the ta'al through the glass. charlie has definitely seen some trek (we've seen her llap), do you think she's into tos first and foremost? anyway let's talk about star trek nights in the bunker.

OKAY SO I HAVE. MANY MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS. SORRY THIS IS SO LONG.

like. like of COURSE bobby only likes ds9 of course he does i could have told you this without the show becuase like. bobby is That Bitch. i think rufus will have watched TOS at least because leonard nimoy worked hard on linking jewish faith and practices into the vulcan lore and i think that would mean something to him. bobby will catch rufus smiling at him sometimes while they’re watching ds9 and ask him what all gruffly and rufus will smirk at him and say something about sisko with jake and bobby with dean and bobby will just cough and take a swig of whiskey and rufus will raise his eyebrows but let it slide. rufus definitely makes a comment once about dean&cas being like jake&nog that totally flies over dean’s head but bobby is all knowing eyebrow raise about.

i think cas and jack would really like discovery. while it has some issues with inconsistency, pacing, being a little dark, it also does better than the other TV treks at utilising the nature of film as a medium to instill a sense of wonder, at space and the world, and that’s something they’d really appreciate. i have my own issues with disco, but an obol for charon is as close to the central core of trek that disco ever gets. cas and jack also like that one in particular because they like listening to all the different languages being spoken. they all love michael (everyone loves michael). cas’ faves are stamets and reno because they’re mean and gay, jack’s fave is tilly because she’s excitable and bright and he latches onto that. dean likes reno because she’s got spunk. sam’s fave is airiam and he will never forgive them for killing her off. sam, cas and dean all feel an uncomfortable kinship with both ash and culber - they’ve both been the one with monster teeming under the surface, controleld by something not themself, but they’ve also all spent that time in hell/purgatory, separated from everyone they love.

thinking about episodes that would really get to them all, darmok is. THE ONE. i have a whole unfinished essay about darmok as the platonic ideal of star trek; the perfect distillation of everything trek is SUPPOSED to be about. it doens’t always get there but by god it tries! that speech michael gives in the disco s2 finale - “There's a whole galaxy of people out there who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you and reach for them.” - that’s what darmok is about!!! it’s all about a situation where real communication seems impossible, where everything we know about talking and learning has broken down. and picard says, okay, i will find another way. i can’t relate to you, you can’t relate to me, but by god i’m going to try. we all meet people we have trouble communicating with in our lives, and often, those people will not care about changing their own ways to accommodate us. for people with autism, adhd, psychosis, the list goes on, this is a very common occurrence. it’s exhausting and frustrating and alienating. darmok is all about crossing that barrier. about reaching for someone through a world of difficulty and learning how to talk. learning how to share something with someone who seems out of our reach. it’s beautiful, it’s heartwrenching, it means more to me than i can easily put into words! 

anyway i think the bunker fam would experience a lot of emotions watching it together. there’s defintiely a lot of hugging eachother, sam cries a lot and won’t look at anyone until after the episode ends. jack just asks a lot of questions and talks about his progress learning sign language with cas. dean snakes his hand into cas’ halfway through and doesn’t let go. doesn’t show the emotion on his face, but he clutches harder at the emotional beats. cas runs his fingers through jack’s hair and thinks a lot, and decides not to say anything unless dean talks first. its just a Lot for everyone. 

dean def makes them marathon all the TOS and TNG movies. it’s an experience everyone needs at least once. i think you’re right about cas and TWOK with the ta’al through the glass, but also ‘this simple feeling’ and the hand hold would make him feel crazy. bones being the one that spock entrusts with his katra DEF makes dean feel some type of way because as much as destiel is kirkspock-coded, dean IS bones, and seeing spock trust bones so completely despite how at odds they were when they first knew eachother would dig deep into dean’s psyche and make him more than a little bit nutso. the movies are way too long for jack so he mostly sits and plays animal crossing while they watch and looks at the screen when everyone else gasps or when something exciting is happening that holds his attention for a while. sam’s fave is nemesis precisely because it’s terrible and he loves how camp it is.

dean has definitely seen all of trek. i refuse to believe someone who watches as much tv and films as dean wouldn’t sit and watch the whole shebang. i think he’s probably seen TOS and the TOS movies more than the others because its easier than sitting through 7 seasons, but i think rather than that being his favourite he’d just have really strong opinions about the best episodes of each one? like if you asked him what his favourite is he’d say you can’t answer that because they’re all so different from eachother

VOY - bride of chaotica, non seqitur, macrocosm for the favourite episodes. seven, janeway and tuvok would be his favourite characters. he think toms a bit of a knob but also feels a kinship with him for the similar brand of bab dad-ism but he wouldn’t be able to put that into words. he’s also a fierce defender of threshold being a good episode (he’s right for that)

DS9 - our man bashir it’s our man bashir. he doesn’t dislike ds9 but its very plot heavy and he didn’t care for it when he was younger. rewatching it after living through multiple supernatural wars he’d probably appreciate it more. i know for a fact he cries every time there’s an episode about sisko being a good dad. jadzia and garak are his faves

TNG - he LOVES q. he also absolutely will not be caught dead referencing how much loves q after cas comes into his life because sam will do the little brotherly knowing eyebrow raise at him and he will die of embarrassment. he regularly references ‘there are four lights’ because he’s a fucking nerd. he has made cas watch elementary my dear data and fistful of datas a half dozen times each at LEAST. cas KNEW how dean was going to be about the cowboy hat he’s defintiely got into full cowboy getup at home just for watching movies and in cas’ head star trek is fully to blame.

TOS - oh there are so many good TOS eps to choose from. obv he loves most of the series becuase TOS has MANY banger eps, his favourites are probably like. mirror mirror, amok time (baby dean defintiely had some kind of crisis watching it for the first time; i know the rituals are intricate). i know deep in my bones that dean watched the conscience of the king (introduction of the tarsus iv massacre) once and then spent his entire teenage years writing fic about that in his head, whether he posted it or not. dean related too much to those experiences of shared hunger. city on the edge of forever is one of everyone’s faves for a reason (and i’m STILL mad we never got a closer take on that episode in spn it could have been so fun). 

ENT - he definitely thinks enterprise is stupid and he’s not wrong but he has also definitely watched it and been very repressed about the whole thing. mans was like oh i feel a kinship with malcolm reed the obviously repressed queer man. i will never examine this feeling ever again thank you <3 he also makes fun of archer for being obsessed with, of all sports, water polo. shran is his favourite character because he’s a little shit and makes him laugh, and t’pol, because t’pol is a badass and he’d appreciate that. i can’t remember the title of a single episode off the top of my head though lol.

i can see what you’re saying about sam being a TNG stan. i’m conflicted though, I feel like TNG’s generally the favourite of 1) obnoxious nerds who think knowing trivia facts makes them smart, 2) men desperately trying to seem masculine and 3) people who’ve watched it three times and have extremely complex thoughts on the personhood and rights of robots. i could see sam fitting into the third group, but people who are in it for the robot feelings are a coin flip between voyager and tng being the fave, and i just have a feeling that voyager would be his favourite. i know kid sam is getting gender envy watching voyager in shitty motels while dad and dean are out, trying to find the words for it. his first semester at stanford he talks a friend into giving him the janeway haircut and rides that high for months. sam’s favourite characters are seven and EMH. 

sam and dean have definitely had dozens of long drawn out debates about philosophical topics in star trek. do the holograms deserve rights and if so which ones. are the romulans and vulcans still meaningfully the same people. was spock right for trying to foment reunification by going undercover on romulus. can the borg be redeemed. etc etc.

i haven’t seen any of picard at all so i can’t comment. i also think sam and dean probably read a lot of the trek books? they’re pretty common to find in secondhand bookstores and cheap, would have been even cheaper back in the day. sam probably doesn’t care for them much, dean has a few solid faves though. i’ve only read the disco books so i can’t comment anything specifically (besides the fact that i think dean read dead endless and cried like a baby), but some of the TOS and DS9 books are gay as hell and i know dean was eyes emoji-ing that shit. 

[samiii-p]

miss temptation (I don’t think you know) 1/?

aka The Maryan Roommate AU no one asked for 🙃 ao3

“You need a home address by next week or I’m writing you up.”

Fuck

Scratching an 'X' over another available apartment listing in the newspaper, Ryan grunts, blacking it out in her frustration. This one was her last true option within her price range and it was about the size of a walk-in closet with a communal bathroom to boot.

And no, just no. God no.

At least the last one had a view. It was a brick wall of the neighboring apartment but one nonetheless.

“You know for someone who needed this job, you sure don’t look the part.”

Sucking her teeth, Ryan glances up from her troubles, spots Luke in his custom three piece suit, grumbles and glances back at the paper where the only options left cost an arm and a leg to stay. Gotham wasn’t cheap by any stretch of the imagination, but selling her organs on a monthly basis just to get by didn’t seem all that appealing either.

“What do you want, Luke?”

“Can’t a guy just stop by?”

“Sure.” Ryan says, flipping the newspaper to the next page, maybe she could find something outside of town. The commute would be hell, but at least she’d have an address and her parole officer would finally get off her back. “I take it that’s not what you’re here for though.”

She hears him harrumph and nothing else. He does it a second later, again … and again.

“Okay, how can I help you?” She asks, sliding her current issues down the counter. Another 18 months in jail won’t hurt, let alone leaving the city in shambles when Batwoman disappears again .

Luke tilts his chin, hard line forming between his brows, a look Ryan has grown accustomed to over the past few weeks. Even though he’s apologized and promised to give her a chance until Kate’s return, there's still a tiny bit of friction lying beneath the surface no matter how much they both try to ignore it.

Reaching into his breast pocket he unearths a photo and slides it across the bar into Ryan’s line of vision. A picture of a black mask, outlined like a skeleton, stares up at her with cold hard eyes. In the corner a coiled snake is drawn with Luke’s handwriting underneath.

Snakebite - fear toxin/mushrooms

“Um, who or what am I looking at?”

He thumps the photo twice. “I was hoping you could tell me. You said you run in similar circles-”

“- ran.”

“As Victor Zsasz, I was hoping you could tell me a little about our friend here.”

“Sorry to tell you this but, no.” She pushes off the bar with a huff, nodding at the photo. “Whoever this person is, is new in town. At least to me.”

“Yeah, well his snakebite is hitting the streets like a plague and no one knows its source. There’s only this photo as a possible supplier but there’s no name, no facial recognition, no origin or leaks, no nothing.”

“So what do we do?”

“You suit up.”

Heat signature enabled, Ryan takes a look around the abandoned building noting two low level street hands Luke identifies as TJ Pillar: 1 to 3 strike for armed robbery and Curtis Armstrong: out on parole for possession.

“Come on, dude.”

She totally gets how uneasy it is to get back on your feet after spending a little over a year incarcerated but at least try to do better.

“What?” Luke asks through the coms, Ryan ignores him, scouting more of the building. It’s been over an hour and nothing. They wouldn’t be here if no one was coming but it’s growing closer to midnight and she has to be back at work at nine.

“Can’t I just bring them in? It’s late.”

“I mean you could, but it’ll be a waste of time. The guys on the street don’t know anything except to wait for the drop here.”

“And we couldn’t call in Gotham PD or the Crows for surveillance because..?”

“Hey, you wanted the job, this is what it entails.”

Behind the mask, Ryan’s eyes roll, mocking this is what the job entails meh meh, like she's a child grounded for the night, which, all things considered…

“Besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do.”

“Okay! Okay!” Over the coms, Ryan hears hushed voices arguing, a muffled ‘no’ then the sound of chairs being switched, Luke’s voice replaced by Mary’s, “heeey, girl. How ya’ doing?”

She smirks, attitude vanishing the moment the heiress speaks. Call it a general preference to all things sans-Luke based but she’d one hundred present rather talk to Mary until the butt crack of dawn instead of Mr. Kate would do it like this and Kate would do it like that. For starters Mary’s a lot nicer. Calmer. Funnier, I mean the girl’s one liners are top tier, bone tickling funny.

And well, she was a hell of a lot prettier too.

“Oh, you know, just pulling an all-nighter right before my day shift.”

A hiss sounds dramatically over the intercoms, the image of Mary’s twisted face pops up and Ryan can almost see the apple of her cheeks bunching and her eyes closing in that cute ass scrunchy face she makes when she’s thinking hard or embarrassed clear as day.

“Don’t worry about it, you can always come in later.”

“You enable her by making exceptions.”

“Luke!”

“What!?”

More muffled noises, a bang and yelp later Mary comes back on. “What I was getting at is that if you want to come in a little bit late, it’s totally fine or we can even change your schedule to mid-day, as your boss and fellow bat accomplice, I would totally understand.”

The corner of Ryan lips quirks up, “you don’t have to do that.”

“I do. We don’t know for sure how long you’ll be out tonight. Coming in afterwards is going to be draining-”

“It’ll be draining for all of us.” Luke yells.

“Shh!”

Unfortunately, Luke has a point. It's not fair on the team if she’s the only one taking the easy way out when they all have lives and responsibilities outside of the cave to adhere to, and a mid-day shift would never work anyway. Mid-day is Officer Steven’s favorite time of day to intrude on Ryan’s life.

“No that’s okay,” Ryan says, “Luke’s right. I have to put on my big girl panties and suck it up like everyone else, besides, I’m going to be too busy selling body parts for an overpriced cardboard box in the foreseeable future or it's a one way ticket back to Black Gate-”

“Wait, what-?”

“Oh, hold up.” An engine alerts Ryan to an incoming vehicle speeding into the warehouse disrupting their conversation. “We got action.”

Censors pick up on a lone body inside, facial recognition scanners kick on and work to identify the driver’s profile as well as the car’s make, model design, vehicle number and license plate number are all shot over to home base for further analysis. She twitches them off once complete just in time to see a window roll down and a hand throw two duffle bags out the window before speeding off.

“Did we get anything?”

A beat passes before Mary’s back on, “Not yet. Gotham PD and the Crows database has no facial identification, Luke’s expanding the search but the car is unmarked, plates false, even the tires vin numbers have been scrubbed. Whoever this person is, really doesn’t want to be found.”

From Ryan’s personal experience, news like that is never good. Someone that deep undercover either has a checkbook large enough to make themselves disappear or an iron grip so ruthless the utter mention of their name is probable cause for permanent removal. This was going to be harder than any of them expected.

“Keep me posted.”

Kicking off the beam she leaps down sticking another perfect grand entrance; hoping the acclaimed symbol printed on her chest will be enough to scare off the bad guys for once.

She is really tired after all.

Unfortunately, Twiddle Dee and Twiddle Dumb both reach for guns, shooting before she can warn them to stand down. And there goes her ‘early’ night. Figures.

“Ya’ll know I’m fucking bullet proof, right?”

Another bullet ricochets off the suit as she takes a step forward. Idiots. Surprisingly they keep at it until the clip clinks, empty, and Ryan comes face to face with Curtis who tries throwing a punch she easily ducks, coming back up to head butt him so hard his knees crumple. His coworker steps up and he’s a bit more of a challenge throwing blow for blow with her until she ducks up under him and comes back with a roundhouse kick to his Adams apple. He clutches his windpipe, now down on one knee she delivers the final blow to the bridge of his nose.

She picks up the bags and hightails it out of there, latching onto a high beam for an easy escape, and heads towards G.C.P.D where she drops the contraband with a note attached of where they can find the assailants tied up and ready for arrest.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’re homeless!?”

Ryan wonders if disrupting her day as a civilian was going to become normal protocol for Luke and Mary going forward and on a recurring basis.

“I wouldn’t say homeless.”

“How else would you classify living out of your van down by the docks?”

“Surviving on wheels – ow!” Ryan giggles, rubbing her shoulder and doesn’t know whether to cower or soothe the frustrating scowl rapidly spreading across her friend’s face. “How’d you find out?”

“I had Luke track you after you left last night.”

“Wow, talk about invasion of privacy.”

“And for good reason, why didn’t you say anything?”

Ryan flips an empty glass, dries it out before placing it on the rack and considers how to move the conversation forward, possibly far, far away from this topic all together. The best she comes up with is, “it’s handled.”

Handled ends up being a 200 square feet one room apartment Mary demands to see. The bedroom, kitchen and living room are all one in the same but at least she has her own bathroom. The walls are paper thin, she’s pretty certain the constant dripping sound is coming from the kitchen, one she can easily fix after a YouTube tutorial or two, and a hotter than hell furnace the landlord warns her not to touch when the temperature is anywhere over 60 F unless she enjoys suffocating.

She watches Mary take in the room, the petite brunette moving in a slow swirl on her heels, lip turned down and Ryan just knows it’s not good when they make eye contact.

“Nu-uh.”

“What do you mean nu-uh?” Confused, Ryan watches Mary storm past her and out the door. “Mary! Mary, what does that mean? Mary!?”

Mary breaks her housing contract. When Ryan tries to object she quickly learns that all 5’2 of Mary Hamilton-Kane is nothing to play against and a powerhouse forced to be reckoned with.

… It kind of gets Ryan hot under the collar watching Mary tell her landlord exactly what’s about to happen, and cutting a check like it's nothing in the process.

Assertive has always kinda been her type.

“You’ll be staying here.”

Mary says, showing Ryan around her penthouse in the upper echelon of Gotham City. The apartment is just shy the size of a department store, the lounge being big enough to take up most of the square footage, built in with four bedrooms, one now officially hers, one for guests and another used for office space and three huge bathrooms big enough to house a football team.

“Jesus,” the name slips under her breath as she takes it all in. This place is – is. It’s too much. “I can’t afford this.”

The carpet under her feet probably cost more money than she'll ever see in her lifetime.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m not asking you to pay anything.” Ryan quickly gets shut down as Mary carries on, “until you can save enough money to get back on your feet. It’s the least I can do. Being this city’s vigilante is hard work. The last thing you need to worry about is where you’re going to lay your head at night.”

It makes sense, but still. “I’m not comfortable asking you - I won’t use you.”

“You’re not.” The med student emphasizes. Mary takes the box out of her hands and places it on a dresser. “My home is yours now, bestie. Stay as long as you want to.” And before Ryan can prepare herself, Mary’s arms are snug around her waist and her cover girl smile is beaming up at her.

This is going to be terrible.

It’s worse.

Far worse than Ryan could have ever predicted. Not only is Mary super considerate of her new roommate, but she makes her resources Ryan’s own. She’s never slept so good, ate so well or drank water so delicious for that matter. Until recently she thought water was just water but Mary’s fridge is full of this alkaline stuff straight from the mountains, and Ryan swears she can never look back.

“You want pickles?”

Ryan visibly gulps, sitting on the couch, eyes focused on anything other than Mary prancing around the kitchen in her underwear. Mary’s always been super comfortable in her skin but especially at home when she’s surrounded by her things in her place of peace and why shouldn’t she be, this is her home. Ryan wants her to go about as she normally would, actually prefers if Mary pretended Ryan wasn't there altogether. The last thing she wants is to intrude or take up space but she can only take so much. It’s been nearly a month of coming home to Mary asking how her day was, waking up to Mary smiling at her over homemade breakfast or passing out on the couch cuddled together after another failed movie night. There’s only so much she can take.

What they’re doing is borderline domestic. And Ryan’s too gay for this.

“…pickles?”

“Hmm – what?”

“I asked if you want pickles on your sandwich?”

"Uh, sure."

Handing her a plate, Mary plops down on the couch leaving no space between the two and licks the pad of her thumb, humming pleasantly at the taste.

Ryan bites the inside of her cheek. “So, what are we watching?”

Hopefully something gory, and bloody staring a cis-het white male. Anything to take Ryan’s mind off of Mary Hamilton.

Mary chooses Its Okay Not to be Okay on Netflix and by the end of episode 2 both girls are huddled together, simping hard for all the three leading actors. Mary is obsessed with Kim Soo-Hyun's entire face and Ryan’s pretty sure if Seo Ye-Ji stomped on her in six inch heels and dragged her through the mud, she’d thank her.

At least they can agree Oh Jung-se is a freaking king and is killing his role as Moon Sang Tae.

It's nearly midnight before they start to turn in, cleaning up the little mess they made, Ryan shuts off the lights and walks Mary to her room; the first door to the right.

“Night.”

It kind of feels like a date, which is absurd. She knows. But can you blame her when pillow soft lips press against her cheek and Mary breathes, “sleep tight, Ryan” in her ear. Its stupid. She’s being stupid, and seeing things that arent there. Or maybe she needs to get laid. Whatever she needs to do, Mary can’t be a part of it.

After weeks of failed interrogations the team finally manages to catch a break. A source looking to get out and start over leaks the warehouse location where a scheduled supply of ingredients are due to be shipped in at any day now. Niko of course makes Batwoman promise to protect him at all cost and that means working with the Crows.

“Where’s the shipment being dropped?” Sophie asks.

“Unimportant.”

The lieutenant cocks her head to the side, unsurprised at how this conversation is going. The Bat has never worked well with authority in this town, no matter who dons the emblem.

“The only thing I need is for you to make sure Niko is somewhere safe, undetected.”

“Is he at least willing to stand trial in the event you manage to catch this guy?”

“I think that all depends on if your team can keep him alive. Crow.”

The alley is dark, damp and the chill fogs Sophie’s breath as she sighs. “You're going to get yourself killed. I know you have something against my badge and everything it stands for, but it can do some good if you let it. Now, tell me where the shipment is and I can have my team there as back up in seconds. We can get this drug and these thugs off the street.”

That word makes Ryan's jaw tingle. Thug. Of course a Crow wouldn't understand that sometimes people do bad things to make ends meet, but it doesn't make them bad people. To a Crow they’re all the same and need to be locked away never to see the light of day again. Including her.

“Focus on our informant. If I need you for anything else I know how to find you.” And she’s gone, vanished in a cloud of fog.

“Nice job pissing off potential allies.” Ryan switches her coms off.

The warehouse is guarded heavily by six men up top, double the number at the bottom not including the others unloading trucks full of supplies. Photo analysis identifies them and sends the information to Gotham P.D. before she strikes.

“Hope you’re ready for this. If we’re lucky this can all be over tonight.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Taking it as his cue, Luke hits the lights covering the warehouse in complete darkness. Motion sensors switch on and Batwoman moves into action. The training her team insists she go through pans out as she’s able to take out four guys twice her size in fast compact moves. One guy goes over the railing after she cracks him in the nuts with the steel toe of her boot. His strangled whimper is heard all the way down, but hey, no one ever said this was going to be a fair fight.

The team at the bottom catches on and gun fire immediately follows, running across the bridge Ryan spreads her arms and flies through the air, her red and black cape bellows behind her as she sticks another perfect superhero landing. All at once it seems like twenty people are coming at her from all different angles but as always she's quick on her feet tying a handful of them up by their ankles and running through the rest with a non lethal taser, just enough to subdue until she can contain everyone before she starts asking questions.

“We ain’t telling you shit!”

Another guy spits on her shoe, the red of his blood splattering against her boot and she rolls her eyes. There’s no need to be nasty.

“Look, I’m trying to help you guys out here.” Spotting a pair of boobs in the corner, she course corrects, “and girls - theys? Whatever! I’m trying to help you all out here. This thing,” she holds up a box of snakebite, “is killing the community and while it may bring you all brief satisfaction, financially, what’s it going to do for your futures when you get caught, to your families?”

“Who knew the new edition of the Bat came with such a bleeding heart?”

“Well, she does. So if anyone here is willing to tell me anything that’ll point me in the right direction of your boss, I promise I can protect you, get you somewhere safe.”

From the little the authorities have been able to dig up about this gang, anyone willing to betray their leader either winds up dead or living their last days in a vegetative state. That’s why it’s so important to have Niko, no matter the length it takes to protect him, it was for the sake of Gotham.

“I said-!”

“I heard you the first time,” Ryan says, cutting him off, “And I don’t know what you’re used to but I’m only going to tell you how this is played once. I ask the questions and you give me the answers, if you don’t, have fun rotting in jail or better yet … I can let the little I do know out onto the streets.” She bends down right in front of the man and lifts his rabbit mask, exposing his face. In seconds she knows his name. “I’m sure your boss would love to know who’s ratting him out, huh, Robert Michael Humprey?”

The terror in his eyes says it all.

[starlightsearches]

Hey! Could you write about a heated argument between Hux and a reader? And make it really angsty - but with a good ending?? :3

Secret Admirer

Absolutely! I hope you like it 😊

Requests are closed for now ✨ ( I think I have 4 or 5 more requests that I still need to finish? Once those are done, requests will be open again 👀)

Armitage Hux x Reader

Warnings: Language, and some angst 😏

The flowers are already at your workstation when you arrive with the general, too early for anyone else to be awake, let alone at work. Someone must have left them the night before. Hux seems just as surprised as you do, so you can cross him off the mental suspect list, but he watches you closely to see how you’ll react. Reluctance wells up in you as you move to your station, and a part of you wonders if you can simply ignore the gift; and by extension make Hux ignore it too.

Your relationship with him is new, and fragile. In fact, relationship might be too strong a word. Was there even a word to describe the connection you had developed? Occasionally making out in his office and eating meals together at odd times when everyone else was sleeping didn’t exactly scream commitment. And you weren’t really willing to have any conversation about what you meant to him, either. Why ruin a good thing?

“Flowers?” he asks, peering over your shoulder at the arrangement, and you nod noncommittally, moving them to the side to begin your work for the day.

“Who are they from?” He’s still behind you, leaning in close, and he smells so damn good that for a moment you freeze. It’s addicting, strangely so, and brings back too many memories: the edge of his desk cutting into your hips as he pressed against you, the feeling of his hands running over every part of you, so urgent it seemed like he might die if he stopped, the gentle thrum of his pulse as you pressed passionate kisses into his neck. That same smell overpowering your senses.

“I don’t know,” you clear your throat and your mind, shaking off the scent of cigarettes and leather, trying to focus on your work.

“There’s a note,” he says it casually, but his eyes are razor sharp as you reach for the small piece of flimsi tucked between the blossoms. Your eyes scan over the words written, searching for a name. After a minute, you fold the paper closed again, slapping it down on your desk.

“Well?” he’s irritated, and not in the fun way—where he pins your wrists behind your back and kisses you hard in whatever storage closet is closest.

“There isn’t a name,” you say, hoping pointlessly that he might still drop it if you’re uncooperative enough. Little chance of that.

“What does it say?” he asks again, and you give up, handing him the note. It’s not very long, but he stares at the paper for minutes, reading the words over and over again, and with each repetition his brow furrows more. The only three words that matter anyways are tacked on at the end. Your secret admirer.

“It’s not a big deal,” you say preemptively, hoping to curb whatever anger he might be cultivating, “they’re just flowers.” How does one even get flowers onto a First Order ship? Just thinking about the kind of planning that would take—the credits that it would take—makes your head hurt. If you had known that this was how your morning would start off, you would have planned to be here earlier. You could have thrown the stupid flowers away before Hux ever saw them, and banished the whole incident from your mind. Then again, if you hadn’t seen him looking so surprised, you might have foolishly assumed they were from him.

“Who do you think it is?” he asks, throwing the note back on your desk. He’s trying to look uninterested, but you can tell that it bothers him by the way he adjusts his gloves, in the rigidity of his posture. He’s all tensed up, mentally tabulating every person you’ve ever talked to, evaluating the threat. 

“I don’t know,” you say, inching the flowers ever closer to the edge of your desk, trying to distance yourself from the conflict as much as possible, “and I don’t really care. If they wanted me to know, they would have put their name on the note.” 

“Maybe a security droid caught them in the act,” he says, reaching for his data pad, “I’ll check the feed-” you cut him off, stopping his hand with your own.

“Don’t do that,” you say. There’s something edgy about the contact in its complete lack of intimacy or passion, and you let go immediately, like you’d been shocked. “If the person who sent me these wants me to know who they are, they’ll tell me.”

“I don’t understand why you don’t care.” The cracks are appearing in his apathetic demeanor and he’s dripping with irritation, not at the so-called secret admirer, but at you, for some reason. Like this is your fault.

“I don’t understand why you do,” your voice sounds too angry, even to your own ears, and you wish you could take the words back, but they’re already gone. General Hux stops for a moment, and you think that there might be genuine hurt on his face. You had tried so hard to avoid any conversation like this and now it seems it’s happening anyways, only much, much worse.

“It seems I shouldn’t,” he says, and any trace of emotion is gone, replaced with indifference again. He walks away without so much of a backward glance, and you wilt in your seat, staring down the arrangement with loathing, just barely resisting the urge to pick it up and throw it against the nearest wall.

The rest of your day is somehow worse than the already-terrible start. You try to stay focused, but your eyes keep wandering to the flowers, rekindling your rage, which dissipates every time the general passes by and is replaced with a swimming guilt. By the time your shift ends, you’ve planned at least fifty ways you could get rid of the flowers, each more violent than the next. You take them with you to your chambers—ready to rip apart each blossom one by one and shove them in a waste receptacle—but by the time you arrive, you’ve lost all of the anger that had been consuming you. There was no point in destroying the flowers; you weren’t angry at them, or at your secret admirer. You were angry at yourself. For hurting Hux, for letting him think that you didn’t care about him when in reality you cared too much. 

You’d have to apologize, and sooner rather than later. Your stomach rolls with nerves, but you set the flowers down anyways, forcing yourself back out of your quarters and in the direction of Hux’s office. There’s no guarantee that he’ll be there—it is rather late—but you’re determined to find him. If he’s not in his office, you’ll have to check the bridge. And his quarters. Fuck, at this point, you’d check the trash compactor if it meant getting rid of the regret threatening to swallow you from the inside out.

Lucky for you, he’s in the first place you check, looking over some new stormtrooper helmet designs with Captain Phasma. He doesn’t look up at you when you enter, finishing some comment about the placement of the filters, and your nerves reach a fever pitch. Maybe this was a bad idea.

“Did you need something?” he asks, and you don’t realize that he’s speaking to you, his eyes still latched onto the design in front of him.

“I’m terribly sorry to interrupt, General, but I was hoping to speak with you,” you trail off, waiting, but neither of them respond, and you’re forced to continue, “… alone?” There’s a moment of silent communication between the captain and Hux, and you’re wondering if you should leave, maybe quit your job and move to a different ship. Stars, this is embarrassing. A lifetime later, it seems, the captain stands, stalking past you to the exit, but the cold black gaps in her helmet stay trained on you. It’s impossible to know what the captain is feeling, but you can be pretty sure that she knows about you, and what you did, and that she doesn’t approve. Shit.

The door slides closed and you’re left alone, fidgeting and avoiding eye contact. To make matters worse, the general seems wholly unaffected by your presence, if not a little annoyed. 

“Was there something that you needed?” he asks again, and you force yourself to move, taking the seat across from him.

“I just wanted to say that I’m sorry,” you begin, wringing your hands so hard it’s like you’re trying to remove the skin, “about this morning. I shouldn’t have gotten angry with you, and I shouldn’t have said the things that I did.” You wait without breathing, watching him for any kind of reaction, but the tightness in your chest doesn’t give. It doesn’t matter how many times you’ve told yourself that you just wanted to apologize, you know that’s not true. You want him to forgive you, and you’re not prepared for the alternative.

“What am I to you?” he asks after an eternity, and you let out an unsteady breath, trying your hardest not to get your hopes up. What kind of a response is that? 

“You’re my commanding officer?” you say, even though you’re fairly certain that’s not the answer he’s looking for. You’re not about to give him everything right now, though, if he’s not willing to return it. Making the apology was already difficult enough.

“No,” he says, standing, leaning over the desk on both his hands. Stars, he looks good from that angle, distractingly good, and you practically have to peel your eyes away from his jawline, the way it flexes in frustration as he repeats the question, “what am I to you? What is this … thing that we’ve been doing? What are we?” Here it is, finally. Your chance to make things right. Earlier this morning, you would have preferred to give Commander Ren a hug from behind if it meant avoiding this conversation with the general, but now it’s your only hope.

“I don’t know, really,” you begin, biting your lip, “but I don’t want it to stop. And I’d really like it to be more. If that’s what you want, of course.” You spit the words out haltingly, waiting for his response. He stares at you for a moment, expression blank, eyes fathomless, and your heart drops out of your chest, the sting of rejection bringing tears to your eyes, threatening to spill over. Great. Crying on your way out of his office would be the perfect end to the galaxy’s shittiest day.

“I feel the same,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear, and you leap from your seat before you can stop yourself, pulling him in for a kiss, feeling your heartbeat explode out of your chest. He smiles against your mouth, and you do too, hardly able to believe it. He feels the same. He wants you.

He breaks the kiss to move around the desk, pulling you into his arms. It’s the first embrace of its kind—free of lustful hands and bruised lips—but it’s definitely your favorite. This is what you always wanted, to be held like this. Everything else had been a consolation prize, and now—lucky you—you get both.

“Do you know why I didn’t care who sent the flowers?” you ask, your words muffled against the front of his uniform and he chuckles at the sensation, relaxing his grip only slightly so that you can look up at his face.

“Why?” He’s still trying to shelter his emotions, but he’s unsuccessful, the smile he has refusing to leave. You’ll never get enough of his joy. You’ll never create enough of it, but this is a good start. 

“Because I already knew it wasn’t you. And you’re the only one I want.”

[blackevermore]

x Secrets of The Lake: The Company of Misery and Pain

{ Chapter 12 }

Summary: Vladimir Masters’ family tree has always been tainted by secrets swept under the rug. From generation to generation there have been countless reasons the Masters’ family had seemed to keep private from the public. Even to this day, Vladimir was no exception. But what was one to do when a restless spirit from the settlement years finally breaks free from restraints and demands you answer for your ancestor’s crimes? Vladimir doesn’t know. However, Clockworks does.

Notes: We just having fun, rewriting some of the canon, new adventure new characters. I will apologize now for any grammar, spelling, weird sentence structuring in advance. My brain writes faster than my fingers and even when I go back through to reread it I still miss things. Sorry about that!

Word Count: 3992

P.s: This chapter was...something to say the least. Maybe a bit out of place but I promise I'll make up for it.

He didn’t know how long he stared into his computer screen, watching the cursor blink impatiently for the rest of the email. There were only three lines worth reading and the first two were introductions of having a good day and hoping to be found in good health. After that, he couldn’t remember his mind fading away until he heard the sound of his office phone ringing. Blinking a few times and determining the email could wait till later. He closed the laptop and turned towards the phone to check the small caller ID screen. It was another business call that the secretary pushed through and Vlad didn’t really feel up to answering it. He pressed the wait button then switched the lines to call to the secretary desk.

“Yes, Sir?” The chipper voice answered and Vlad winced, she was always too happy for his liking.

“Hold all my calls.” Vlad loosen his bowtie from around his neck and shrugged off his suit jacket.

“Of course, Sir.” Vlad hung up the call and leaned back in his chair taking a deep breath and letting it out. Ever since he left the house he could feel a small throbbing pain in his core. He did his best to ignore it, waving it off as nothing more than a phantom pain from a few days ago. But as he tried to go about his day he found himself wincing and clinching his chest every so often. The amount of ‘are you okay’ and ‘do you need a moment’ were getting rather annoying, and thus an hour ago Vlad locked himself inside his office. A slow hand made its way up to his chest once more and Vlad held it there. Tayonna must have really tied herself to him during their first meeting for pain like this to continue. As another faint throb did its course, Vlad felt himself being somewhat paranoid and worried. For who or for what he didn’t know, but the emotions were there and he didn’t know what to do with them. And then, like a snap of a finger, the emotions and the pain in his core were all gone, leaving him breathing heavy.

He sat up and rubbed his temple trying to figure out what was happening. He couldn’t continue like this until the end of the day. Making up his mind he grabbed his jacket and headed towards the door.

“Sir?” the secretary jumped as Vlad stormed past her.

“I’m ending my day early, any messages or papers that I need to review I will do so tomorrow. Good day Mrs Andrews.” Vlad didn’t care that he was yelling halfway across the office space as he headed towards the elevator. When he hit the button for the elevator he quickly grew anxious as he watched the floors ding one by one. Cursing the world he turned on his heels and walked over to the stairwell. When the door closed behind him and he peeked over the railing to make sure he was actually alone, he turned ghost and zoomed down to the last floor. Turning human again he quickly walked out the emergency exit towards the parking lot. It was when Vlad finally made it to his car and into the driver's seat that he realized he didn’t want to go home. Naturally, he would be on autopilot after work to get in and drive home. But right now, in the newfound free time he has given himself, he didn’t want to go there. Empty or not. Starting the car Vlad chose not to make any real decisions and drove any which way he felt like turning the wheel.

For three hours Vlad mindlessly drove around Amity enjoying the scenery. Even in places he visited constantly he found new hidden beauties. Has the town always been this lovely? Vlad couldn’t recall nor really remember how often he was able to go out and actually look. Of course, Vlad made sure to do his mayoral duties while in office which consisted of many community projects. But he never truly got to see the outcomes of them, this was amazing, more so than he imagined. He made a mental note that he would have to put time aside for himself to go out in nature. By boy scout honour Vlad swore it that he and nature would once again connect in dear time. As Vlad continued to drive around somewhere on the lower east side of the town a call came through his car’s display. 

“Masters speaking,” Vlad answered.

“I called your office and Almeria said you ended your day early?” Kate sounded a bit breathless on the other end, she was most likely walking somewhere. Vlad huffed quietly.

“Today doesn’t seem like my day either.” He grumbled.

“Water pipes still busted?”

“Hmm...yes and it cost so much to get them repaired.” Vlad had nearly forgotten the lie he had told everyone. Between the morning meetings, the concerned employees, and the pain in his core, Vlad didn't really hold that lie up as important to remember since no one had asked.

“You’re rich, you should be fine. I called to tell you I finished meeting with one of the historians at the Virginia State Library.” Kate pulled away from the phone to give a quick ‘pardon me’ then continued. “There weren’t any recorded documents of any members of your family settling nor doing business in central Virginia during the 17th century. As you know the records the state library has ranges across the whole state. However, there is another library that I’ve contacted that has another set of records that covers small businesses and land that also date back as far. I’ve already set up an appointment to meet with them tomorrow.” Kate pulled away from the phone once more to order a small coffee and a cookie and Vlad felt his sweet tooth spring to life.

“Well good news to you, Miss Way, I have a name that will narrow your search. Vladan Masters, or at the time Masters would have been spelt M, the A and the E would have been mashed together, G I S T E R. Look closer to the end of the 1600s as that’s when he would have been of age or so.” Vlad felt a weird shiver crawl up his back as he spoke the name. Almost like hands latching onto his shoulders and shaking him a bit. He quickly rolled his shoulders and tried to shake it off but it still lingered.

“Right, thank you, Sir, I’ll let you know what I find.” Vlad hung up the call and before he could actually figure out where he was during his little drive. He was parking his car right outside his home. Vlad didn’t want to go in, but he couldn’t sit in the car the rest of the day. ‘You seriously can’t allow some ghost to kick you out of your own house’ Vlad thought to himself taking another look out the side of the passenger window up towards his mansion. 

“Of course not,” Vlad scoffed and got out of the car and headed up the stone steps to his front door. Looking around for any nosy neighbors to make sure the coast was clear. Vlad ghosted through the door and hung up his jacket on the coat hanger. He couldn’t feel any form of energy on the main floor, the house felt almost as cold as it did a few years ago. Vlad hated to remember how empty and alone he was during his darker years of self isolation. He could remember how sad he actually was when the only person waiting for him was Maddie the cat. But when she passed the home grew cold till Dani was brought back and welcomed Vlad’s offer. Vlad teleported into the kitchen in a poof and looked around, nothing, he poofed to one of the living rooms and still no one, he did this all over the first floor until he confirmed the ghost wasn’t around. He floated upstairs and towards the guest room and looked inside and that’s when a feeling of calm settled through his body. Tayonna sat on the bed looking out the windows down towards the garden.

“Evening Miss Tayonna,” Vlad cleared his throat and walked inside but stayed close to the door. The ghost turned around from the window and Vlad could have stumbled over himself at the sight of her. The sun was high in the sky and hung over her like a halo and made her seem to glow. Specks of the sun peeked through her curls warming her skin into a soft brown with red undertones, and her eyes seemed to glow a soft green. She has always taken my breath away. She still wore her stoic expression of wariness and yet it made her seem untouchable. Vlad didn’t know he was holding his breath until his lungs began to scream for air. He tried to not make it obvious as he exhaled and nodded towards her.

“Masters.” Tayonna nodded back towards the man then turned back towards the garden. Vlad felt his heart sting in pain at how cold his name came from her lips. Had he wished for her to call him the wrong name again? Or maybe just not as bitter? He was used to others calling him Masters in an aggressive manner but with this ghost, Vlad knew he didn’t like it.

“I would like to talk to you about this problem you are facing and see if I will be able to aid you.” Vlad didn’t move from his spot, he knew moving closer wouldn’t be a smart move, and the last thing he needed was a blast to the face. One less fight was best for the both of them. 

“Help me? How can you help me when you-...when he isn’t here to be held accountable for his crimes.” Tayonna’s words were bitter and came as more of an attack on Vlad even when she corrected herself. She pulled her knees closer to herself and tucked her head into the space between her body.

“Well for starters you could begin with telling me where you’re from and how you became a part of my family.” Vlad tested the water by taking a few steps closer towards her but quickly stopped when he saw her jerk up and narrow her eyes at him. He held up his hands and raised his eyebrows to show he meant no harm and Tayonna seemed to let her guard down. “May I?” Vlad pointed to the edge of the bed and Tayonna pulled her feet in so there was more space between them. Vlad took that as a yes and sat down comfortably on the edge. He crossed his legs and waited for the other to respond to him. He hoped it would be soon because his tolerance was low and he wouldn’t be doing this all night if he didn’t have to.

“I was brought from the coast, stolen from my people and bought by yours.” Vlad wanted to correct her, his family hadn’t done it, but he knew she meant more so the colour of his skin. “Luther picked me like a friend and his parents were against it.” Vlad wanted to cheer for the fact he had been right. “But he begged them and eventually I was brought to their home. I was ordered to stay by Luther’s side and aid him.” Vlad was surprised by how much he was getting from her. He was sure all day yesterday it would have been hard to get her to talk. But he supposed it was better than having to build up trust over the course of days then finally getting somewhere.

“Do you remember where the family lived?” Vlad turned more towards the girl in hopes he could read her expression. He could tell it pained her to talk about it. Before Vlad could register what he was doing he stuck out a hand and took hers, flipping it over so her palm faces upward and used his thumb to rub circles in the middle. Tayonna gasped softly and she looked between him and what he was doing before yanking her hand back towards her. “I-I’m sorry, I have no idea why I did that.” Vlad held his head and quickly turned away from her. At that moment he had a strong thought that he knew how to calm her down. He knew exactly how to use his thumb to draw small circles and how it would make her feel a bit better. When he touched her, he even felt calmer, relaxed and dare say remorseful.

“No, I don’t,” Tayonna answered and turned back towards the window. Vlad nodded and shot to his feet to leave. He didn’t turn back as he strolled towards his bedroom and slammed the door behind him. Vlad quickly kicked off his shoes and fell into his armchair. His mind was now a scattered mess as he scolded himself for doing something inappropriate, if he kept feeling this pulling feeling towards her he was going to get nowhere. Every time he got too close, Vlad’s mind would draw a blank and he would feel and think things that weren’t true. He felt dangerous emotions he would consider private and untouched that would muddy and mix. Vlad grumbled a fruit and snapped his fingers. A ghost maid was quick to manifest beside him and he told her to bring him a drink. Within seconds the maid was back with a tray of not only a full glass but also the whole bottle. Vlad smirked and silently thanked her for being so generous. 

He slowly took sips as he thought of something else to distract him. Work, no, the drive home, not enough, how annoyed he was, that was never a good one. Then finally he found it, though he had told himself he had moved on slightly he still couldn't help himself to think of Madeline. The way her beautiful blue eyes shined as bright as the moon, or the way her now short fiery hair framed her much more mature face. The way she laughed, the way she carried herself with so much power and confidence, the way she could be so serious and yet so caring. Surely it had to be from having children that made her softer but underneath she was hellfire and Vlad could only dream of having her. Dream of what it would have been if he had had the chance to truly woo her.

I have to say sorry, she has to understand. There it was, the little voice in his head that he couldn’t make vanish. Understand what? Vlad shook his head and took another sip of his drink trying to get back to his little fantasy. ‘Maybe two drinks would be better than one’ Vlad thought to himself and finished off the rest before pouring more. I was scared, we both were scared. ‘Scared of what?’ Vlad didn’t want to acknowledge the voice, he didn’t care, he wanted nothing more than to forget about it. He tried to down his second glass but the burn in the back of his throat made it a bit impossible. Vlad was never a heavy drinker unless time called for it, but he always had to drink slowly even then. ‘What were you scared of?’ Vlad grumbled and tried his best to ward off the voice and his lingering questions. She has to know why I did it. Vlad quickly figured out the voice in his head spoke of something else. But of what was still a mystery.

“Shut up,” Vlad grumbled but that only made the voice get louder and louder. It had started as a whisper yards away, but now it was as loud as someone speaking right into his ear. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!” Vlad covered his ears as the voice started to ramble on and on about forgiveness and how sorry it was. Then like an ice shower, the voice in his head changed and sounded just like him. I love her. Vlad felt something standing behind him and jumped from his seat and turned around to shoot off an ectoblast. He manically looked around and soon landed on the red mist floating down towards the ground and slipping out of the door.

“Get away from me!” Vlad's ears rang in slight pain as Tayonna’s voice rose to a dangerous scream. He stumbled over his feet to get out of his room, the red mist was slowly making its way towards the guest room and Vlad heard Tayonna scream again. I had to protect her. Vlad knew these weren’t his thoughts but he felt the pull of energy flowing through him to aid Tayonna. He turned into Plasmius and shot through the walls until he arrived in the room. Vlad gasped as the room was filled to the ceiling in the red mist swirling around like angry thunder clouds. Tayonna was no longer on the bed but the floor on her knees holding herself. Vlad flew down and tried to touch her but a force threw him back against the wall. 

Vlad groaned and got back onto his feet, in front of him the mist pulled together like a thick wall between him and Tayonna. Tayonna was beginning to cry and Vlad felt his body act on its own as he tried to shoot down the wall with an ectoray. But like jelly, the mist gobbled up his shots and swallowed them. As he continued his attacks the mist twisted inwards forming into a face. Vlad’s face but in a way he was unfamiliar with, pure anger and laced linings of betrayal. The mist then began to shrink into a silhouette of Vlad and slowly stocked its way towards him. Vlad gritted his teeth and clenched his fists as he activated his electric powers. He could only faintly remember Tayonna doing this so it had to work. As the mist got closer Vlad shot at it, stunning it a few times but never stopping it fully. The closer it got the angrier Vlad was and a bit worried about what was going to happen. Tayonna was still too choked up on the ground to do anything, not that she could with the collar on. 

“Blasted!” Vlad yelled cursing himself for putting that thing on her. She would have been so helpful right now. “You’re nothing but memories of the past! You’ve done nothing but make her restless and cause trouble for everyone.” Vlad didn’t know why he spoke to the mist as if could hear. But somehow he knew it understood him by the way it would stop a few times. He watched as the mist’s face would halt then twist back into anger, his anger, his rage, Vlad felt it. “Memories can be destroyed, forgotten, and even replaced! You are nothing!” Vlad yelled out once more but that seemed to only make it worse. Within a few quick like static steps, the mist took hold of Vlad by the neck in a vice grip. 

Vlad’s eyes widened as the red mist started to turn human, starting from the fingertips the mist vanished and a tan hand gripped tighter. Like water being sucked out of a stream the mist finally reached the face and Vlad’s heart stopped beating and his core ran cold. He was staring a variant of himself right in the eyes, like an angry lion who had finally had enough of its prey. The doppelganger was every bit of Vlad had he never been shot by Jack’s prototype. Tan skin that saw the softer days of being outside, vibrant cold blue eyes, and dark raven hair that fell a bit beyond the shoulders. But this Vlad seemed so out of place by the clothes he wore. Like a puzzle solving itself Vlad knew now. This was Vladan. This was the person Tayonna was looking for. 

“Then we must help her forgive.” Vlad felt the chills run down his back as he heard his own voice but with a thick German accent. As he tried to pull away and attack once more his doppelganger pulled him closer and squeezed his neck. Vlad gasps and he wishes he hadn’t as he felt the mist starting to fill his body. Vladan began to fade away but the grip on Vlad’s neck stayed as all the mist was sucked into his body like smoke. It burned the back of his throat as the fire in his body became sporadic. He felt a clench on both his heart and his core as mist filled his lungs and seeped into his bloodstream. Every muscle in his body began to clench causing him to fall to the floor only being able to catch himself with his hands. Vlad’s vision began to blur in pure red and he was blind to everything around him. Vlad felt himself fighting and losing control over his body as the pain shot up and down, finally nesting into his chest. He couldn’t scream, the only sound to leave his body were broken breathless grunts and pants. His airways were beginning to collapse.

“Let go of him,” Vlad could faintly hear Tayonna’s voice getting close to him. “Get away from him or I’ll take all of us down.” Tayonna crawled towards Vlad and shakenly placed her hand on his back. She said something in a language Vlad couldn’t understand before a wave of pressure shot Vlad down completely to the ground. The hold on his body released as Vlad heard himself scream above him. The mist lifted halfway out of Vlad’s body with a painful scream then dove back in. Tayonna said the same words over and Vlad felt the weight of the world push him down again. He didn’t feel any pain anymore from his chest but whatever Tayonna was doing did start to hurt. Vlad tried to push himself up to stop Tayonna but she pushed him back down with the same line of words. 

“Tayonna wait,” Vlad said breathlessly and weakly as he once again tried to get out of her hold. “Tayonna stop.”

“Get out of him!” Vlad had somehow managed to roll away before Tayonna could mumble her words again and send him slamming into the floor. Vlad felt his powers cave and he turned human. His hair had managed to fall out of its ponytail and pool in front of his face. Vlad didn’t have the strength to push it out of his way as he felt Tayonna move closer to him. He felt her hand inch closer and he quickly spun around to grab her wrist and pull her down. He rolled them on the floor so he was now on top of her with a tight grip on both of her wrists. He panted hard, he felt so tired but yet he had to keep her down. Inside his body he could still feel the mist travelling through him and then settled into the middle of his core. With a deep gasp, Vlad felt the mist absorbed itself into him. Still breathless and near the brink of passing out, Vlad let go of one of her wrists and brought his hand to her cheek.

“Meine Geliebte,” Vlad knew it wasn’t he who whispered it but he felt the power behind it as he finally felt his body give out and roll off of Tayonna. Tayonna was frozen to the ground as she replayed the words over and over in her ears. Through the same colour eyes, Tayonna saw the man she had once loved. A single tear rolled down her cheek as her eyes stayed wide and her body became numb.

[chuuyas-favorite-kinnie]

To the person who asked for this: your asks have mysteriously disappeared from my inbox so whoever asked this please IM me so I can tag you in these!

Warnings: Sex, cursing, BDSM, mentions of suicide, slight angst, (false worship...?), breeding xoxo

Word Count: 1,329

Type: Dazai x Female S/O

S/O Name: Akira

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

It was around two a.m. when Akira had finally arrived back home. She hadn’t had any time to communicate with Dazai while she was undercover, so he was anxiously waiting for her arrival. It didn’t help that he had been fed some uncomfortable information about her job that he hadn’t heard directly from her. 

A few days ago, someone from the Port Mafia had informed him that Akira was to be undercover with one Tachihara Michizō. Dazai had never minded Tachihara, but he drew the line at having to fake being married to his girlfriend, especially when he wasn’t informed of the situation. He had at least expected Akira to tell him.

Jealousy came easy for Dazai, he hated it when another man even looked at Akira in any way other than a friend. She was the only person that he was completely attracted to, would do anything for. He almost worshiped her. 

When she finally came inside, damp from the rain outside, Dazai shot up from his chair, his face a mix of worry and hurt. As Akira slipped off her shoes and out of her jacket, Dazai spoke. 

“Where the hell have you been?” She looked up at him, running a hand through her hair. A small laugh left her lips as she began to walk towards him.

“I’ve been on a mission~ You knew about all of it, baby.” Akira reached a hand out to grab his but Dazai moved away. Her smile faded and she looked at him with slight confusion, waiting for him to speak. He scoffed, shaking his head slightly.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be with another man. You didn’t tell me you were going undercover as his wife. I had to hear it from someone else. You should have fucking told me.” Dazai looked hurt, but his eyes were also filled with pure jealousy. She had seen this look before, long before they were dating. Akira swallowed and took a small step backwards. 

“I’m-I’m sorry, Dazai... I didn’t think it mattered that much. We didn’t even have to do anything... Just act like a couple for a while.” Dazai turned away from her, looking at the ground. Akira stood there, messing with her fingers, thoughts of crying passing through her head and showing on her face. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, Dazai walked up to her, lifting her chin so she was looking at him. His eyes were still full of that fire, the desire to prove to her he was all she needed. 

They stared at each other for the longest time, as if having a conversation in their minds that only the two of them understood. She swallowed, slightly worried that he was still angry with her. Akira's question was answered when he leaned down, just millimeters away from her lips, his eyes focused on hers. 

"You are mine, Akira. And it really pisses me off that not everyone knows that. Let's go." He grabs her hand, tugging her towards their bedroom, motioning for her to go to the bed. Akira obliged, slightly surprised that he was interested in having sex with her right now. She sat there, legs pressed together while Dazai crouched to the ground, slipping a box out from under the bed and putting it on top of it. 

"W-what's in there…?" Akira questioned him but Dazai ignored her. He left the box there before crawling over to her, slowly trailing his eyes down her body. His eyes met hers when he spoke again. 

"If you ever question our relationship, or at any point anyone else does, you had better remember this night." His eyes were now full of lust and jealousy, with not even a hint of mercy. Akira nodded, a dark red blush spreading across her face. Dazai slowly dragged his fingers across her tights-covered skin, slipping them under her skirt to take them off of her, smiling when he noticed she wasn't wearing panties. 

"Ah, what a good girl~ It's like you came prepared." Akira's breath picked up as she felt her arousal growing and Dazai saw it too. He let his hands wander to her thighs, pulling her closer to the edge of the bed and spreading her legs. Dazai looked up at her then leaned forward pressing his lips to her soaking folds. She let out a small moan, curling her fingers into his hair as he slipped his tongue inside of her, lapping up all her precious and sinful juices, giving a small groan into her. He continued to eat her out for another few minutes, stopping only when he was sure that she was just on edge. When he pulled away from her, she whined, looking down at him. 

"Time for the very fun part, my dear~" He gave her a seemingly innocent smile before taking off his shirt then his pants and boxers, doing the same to her. Once they were fully nude, Dazai opened the box, pulling out a silk blindfold and slipping it over her eyes. She swallowed, shivering as his fingers grazed her skin. 

After he was sure she couldn't see, he leaned her back on the bed, caressing her sides as he pulled her towards him then slowly slipped himself inside of her. The familiar feeling of his thickness inside of her made her arch her back into his bandaged form, a small moan leaving her lips. A satisfied smirk appeared on Dazai's lips and he considered teasing her for a while but he knew that that wasn't the goal of all this. 

"My dear, it hurt me that you went with him like that. I believe when you say nothing happened, however I feel the need to… prove to everyone that you are mine." Dazai pushed his fingers into her hair, tugging roughly at it and tilting her head back as he latched his lips onto her neck, moving his other hand down her sides and to her legs, inviting her to wrap her legs around his waist. Akira obliged, already beginning to pant from her arousal, the wetness at her core acting as a natural lube as he began to thrust in and out of her. It was a rough thrusting, and the marks that he refused to cease leaving on her neck were sure to stay for days. Once he was satisfied with the markings, he let go of her hair and looked down at her whining and moaning form. 

"You've always been what I've always wanted from the beginning, Akira. You're gorgeous, you have a body that puts every other woman in the world to shame. You are a goddess, but more importantly, you are my goddess. No one but me gets the luxury of touching you, of loving you, of worshipping you. Never forget that." With the final sentence, he gave a rough thrust into her, making her cum, sending violents shivers up her spine as loud moans filled the air and Dazai dug his nails into her hips which were certain to leave small red markings. Her incessant squeezing around him made him groan, then, pressing his body against hers, he bit down roughly into her shoulder as he came inside her. When Akira felt his hot, sticky spurts spraying inside of her she pushed at his shoulders, her hips squirming from side to side as she whined. 

"D-Dazai! You're not-not wearing a c-condom… I-I'll get pregnant…!" Dazai sucked on his bite mark, taking in all the blood from the wound then purring in her ear through scattered pants. 

"I hope you do~ It'll show everyone for the next nineteen years that you are mine. You will always be mine…" He kissed down her jaw, softly slipping the blindfold off her eyes then putting a hand to her face, smiling softly down at her. 

"I love you." He said. Akira smiled as a tear ran down her face. 

"I love you too, Dazai."

[florenceandthemachine]

we all know that i will cling to my “jackson’s parents are trash” headcanon until my last dying breath, but every once in awhile i like to imagine things being a little bit happier. so. talk to me about stiles giving jackson the first healthy relationship he’s ever had and inspiring him to work on things with his parents. stiles sitting through awkward family dinners and pushing the three of them to say what they need to say. stiles telling jackson how proud he is of him with soft kisses.

ugh UGH hell yes 911 send somebody bc this post killed me. it killed me because it would be all Jackson and his personal growth. it would be Jackson who decides to work on his relationship with his parents, it would be Jackson who learns what love is from Stiles, it would be Jackson who is left with more good days than bad and that confuses the fuck out of him, because it would be Jackson that realizes one day that his baseline isn’t angry anymore. and he tries to thank Stiles for that and instead Stiles just flicks his forehead and shakes his head because “oh no, you can’t give me credit for that. it was all you, baby.” because it WOULD BE ALL JACKSON.

Well, it would be Jackson and his supernatural senses. 

it does start with Stiles though, and that Jackson is 100% sure of. it starts with Jackson picking up the phone, maybe six months into them dating and seven into being a werewolf (they moved fast, so what?) to a hysterical Stiles on the other line, begging and pleading for Jackson to come pick him up from his house, he’s locked himself in his room and Jackson doesn’t even wait before breaking a land speed record in his Porsche, leaving tire marks on the lawn and almost knocking over Ms. Fitzpatricks mailbox when he takes a turn (way) too fast. 

He gets to Stiles house just in time to see Stiles make the drop from the lattice outside his window to the ground, and throws his door open as Stiles dives into his car, literally burning rubber as he backs out of the driveway and floors it onto the road. Once Stiles is calmed down enough to talk, Jackson pulls over—some fifty miles away from either of their houses—and pulls Stiles into his arms.

It would have been something small that escalated into something big—like, Stiles would have just told the Sheriff about the supernatural and the Sheriff would have been pissed, and he would have been yelling and Stiles would have been yelling back, and then someone would have said something about Claudia and the yelling would have immediately upgraded to screaming, voices ripped raw as things are thrown at walls (never at one another, but things should not be thrown in general). It breaks Jackson’s heart, it reminds him of the fights he had with his parents, and he would be terrified for Stiles from the moment they crashed at Jackson’s place to the moment he asked Jackson to drop him off.

But Jackson is a good boyfriend so he would oblige. He’d drive Stiles home and step out of the car when he realized the Sheriff was still home. He’d be a second too late to say something when the Sheriff throws the front door open, and his claws would slice through the metal of the hood of his car when Stiles took off—but it would be toward his dad, not away from him, and Jackson would be blindsided when they both collided in a hug, apologizing to one another, crying, and thanks to his supernatural senses he could hear every word and smell every tear. 

He had thought that kind of fight would be it for Stiles and his dad, those kind of fights were it for Jackson and his parents, but they were both just... hugging and apologizing. It blew his mind. Moreso, it made him think.

He’d lay his thoughts bare for Stiles, as he always did, one evening as they were watching a movie on Jackson’s too-big TV in his too-big bed in his too-big house. He’d ask Stiles how they did that—how they just apologized. He had tried a few times with his parents, but the moment the fight was over, they acted like it had never happened, so he had just started to get angry about that, too. How did they just talk, and forgive one another, so easily?

Stiles would give him a totally bizarre look, and when he spoke, it would be slow and guarded (as though he couldn’t tell if Jackson was honestly confused or if he was about to make fun of Stiles for being close with his dad) but he would go on to talk about how important communication was to the pair of them, and how they hit their breaking point after his mom died, and how they knew they were the only family they had left so they had to make it work, even when they didn’t want to.

Jackson would just stay silent as Stiles spoke, tugging the other male closer to his chest. He didn’t think he had any family left. But maybe it would be worth a shot. 

He is Jackson, though. He’s not Stiles. So he doesn’t try to worm his way into it, he doesn’t go for the coy tricks, he just comes outright with it and walks into the kitchen the next morning when his parents are making breakfast. 

“I want you both to meet my boyfriend. Properly. So I invited him to dinner on Friday night. He would probably demand pizza, but I’ll get him to compromise to pasta. Don’t...” and he would let out a long sigh as both of his parents stare at him, slack jawed in shock. “Don’t forget about it, okay? It’s important to me.”

And he would turn out of the kitchen and pretend he didn’t notice the dropped spatula or the twin looks of shock. 

Dinner would go as well as anyone would expect, meaning it’s awkward and stilted and there’s only a few jokes that actually makes anyone laugh. They have pasta and spumoni for dessert and Jackson kisses Stiles goodnight before he drives home (Jackson would be meeting him later, once his parents were both out, but that was not a part of the night he wanted to broadcast). When Stiles leaves, Jackson turns to them both, and it’s like three baby deer staring into the headlights of an oncoming train. 

“Well, he... he seems nice.” His mother would speak first, and it’s the kind of sentence in the kind of tone that would usually make Jackson bristle. He would be a half second away from snarling at them, telling them that it didn’t matter what they thought, to can their niceties and their fucking lies and—

and only then would he realize that her heartbeat didn’t stutter once. 

She genuinely thought he was nice. 

Somehow, that was the biggest shock of the evening.

“He is nice. He’s... way too nice. He’s great.” Jackson probably looks as shocked as they do as he speaks, and his father seems to take the momentum and run with it. 

“He seems like he really makes you happy. It’s a good thing, Jackson. It’s good to see you happy like that, I’m... glad.” and it’s another sentence that Jackson would have put money on being a lie, but just like his mother, his father wouldn’t have a heartbeat out of place. So Jackson would nod, and wish them a good night, and practically book it to his room to call Stiles before the shock wore off and he passed out. 

By the time he falls asleep, he can barely register his mom crying upstairs. He’s made her cry before, of course, but this is the first time that she seems happy about it. 

Nothing is perfect, though, and nothing good lasts forever. They would seem to be locked in a dance of two steps forward and one step back. They would have a few great nights and then a meltdown fight, and then his parents would ignore it and it would get even worse and it would feel like they were right back to square one. 

Now, though, he had Stiles in his corner, silently nudging him to “communicate, Jacks. God, do you know how hot communication is?” and no amount of growling could get Stiles to change his mind, so the day after their next blowup, Jackson would sit down in the kitchen and demand that they talk about it. And once they recovered and said “Jackson, we don’t have anything to talk about”, he would take a deep, calming breath like Stiles had taught him, and—

and he wouldn’t smell anything. There was no malice in the air, no anger in their emotions, nothing but some confusion between them and burning bacon. They both honestly, legitimately that the fact they had all been screaming at one another last night was magically forgotten because... what, they had gone to bed and woken up the next day?

Jackson would literally leave in a state of shock, and he’d approach Stiles immediately and “Stiles I was all fucking wrong about them oh god” and Stiles would be like “what, they’re actually great people? not likely” and Jackson would be like “what? no, they’re just a totally different kind of asshole. still not in a good way.” and Stiles would be like “Jackson there is literally no such thing as a person who is an asshole but in a good way” and Jackson would be like “uh, yeah there is, that’s you” and Stiles would laugh and punch him and then kiss him. ANYWAY.

It would be as much of a shock to his parents, honestly, that Jackson had Feelings that Didn’t Go Away and it would probably take Stiles sitting in on a dinner a month to moderate conversations in a healthy way. Which, of course, would be really weird for his parents at first (”Jackson, sweetheart, Stiles is nice but he’s a child, not a therapist” “mother if you don’t talk to him about these things in person I'll only give him my side later on”), but they would both latch on to Stiles like a lifeline the moment they realized that he was fluent in Jackson speak. 

(the first few explanations that Stiles gave they actually laughed at, like they thought it was a joke. but the minute they turned to Jackson, who was bright red and stone faced and unable to meet any of their eyes, they both sobered up so fast it gave Stiles whiplash. it was a little dramatic, but if it got through to them, Stiles was okay with it.)

that time that Jackson stole his dads truck? was to go practice lacrosse after dark on the school field, where he knew his Porsche would get stuck, because he thought if he got good enough to be captain again his parents would come to a game. that time that Jackson dumped Lydia out of the blue and demanded that they change the locks on the house? because he didn’t think he could trust the one person he had given his heart to at the time, but he couldn’t risk breaking that last tie between them, just in case. the time that Jackson had come back from the winter dance after dawn, with blood spatters all over his tuxedo? 

“Jesus, his best friend had almost died. Have some compassion, you assholes.”

Stiles looked as shocked as they were, but before he could apologize, Jackson was laughing.

It would be another few months before they were finally comfortable around one another. Not great, not by a long shot, but comfortable enough that Jackson’s parents knew they actually needed to take the first step in talking with their son, and Jackson would usually actually give them a complete answer.

it wasn’t perfect, and it might never be, but it was progress. and Jackson was happy enough with that. 

one night over dinner—Stiles and Jackson’s one year anniversary—his mom has a question. “okay, so wait, what did we do wrong when you started to shred your sheets?” she asks, and Jackson and Stiles look baffled, before waiting for her to elaborate. “you know, like a year ago, maybe a little more—right before you two started dating—I used to do the laundry and find Jackson’s sheets completely torn up. Well, no, not torn, because they were cut perfectly smooth. It was like you were hacking away at your bedspread with a pair of kitchen shears.”

Stiles chokes on his coke, putting two and two together, trying not to laugh at the mental image of brand new baby werewolf Jackson accidentally clawing at his sheets. Jackson just groans, his face bright red, head on the table.

[darker-soft-starker]

I just thought of cult leader!tony and his willing to a fault follower!peter send help

GIRRLLLLLLLL I hope you don’t mind that I publish this ask cause D A M N I need this one like breathing.

Ok, so, let’s say Peter and Aunt May have moved to a new, small town after Uncle Bens death. They’re both looking for a fresh start, both still deeply grieving, getting used to an entirely new way of life after moving away from a big city.

May throws herself into her new job, tries to be an active member of society, wants to impress the locals and really acclimate into this new town. Wants to move on and up, so she finds herself clubs to meet at, neighbours to befriend, places to be. It’s a new life, she reiterates. 

Peter starts at the local community college but struggles with making new friends. He misses his old ones a lot. It’s hard to keep in contact with Ned and MJ though, they’re busy with college and their social lives on top of being on the other side of the country.

He finds himself increasingly isolated. Being witness to Ben’s death has led to anxiety attacks, prone to melancholy, Peter finds himself agitated at the smallest thing. He’s tries to focus on study but it’s not enough. 

May notices that Peter is becoming more withdrawn, quieter than before, if that were even possible, sees the way his hands tremble sometimes, how he stares out into nothingness for long periods of time. She worries, even as she is starting to feel more like herself again after the trauma. So she suggests he join a local group, find a therapist maybe. She’s heard great things about some guy who runs meditation workshops from his estate two hours up north. 

Peter, although wary, takes her up on the latter, books himself in for an initial consultation. He meets with the guy - guru? - call me Tony - who is warm, charismatic and effortlessly charming. His eyes are soft and he doesn’t speak to Peter like he’s broken or stupid, he smiles a lot and says to Peter, we can work this out, I’m going to help you.

He runs a spiritual retreat, some people come and go, others stay there long-term. Everyone seems to work hard. If you follow the rules, you’ll get rewards. No phones, no internet, first and foremost. The first step to healing is detaching from the outside world that wants to commodify you, to brainwash you. Second, report any misbehaviour from others but most importantly: treat each other with love and respect.

It’s a family business, Tony says. Everyone here is part of the family.

Peter starts going to weekend retreats. On his first one, he’s nervous, but he gets along okay with everyone, mostly keeping to himself between workshops and meals. Being without his smartphone is like having a missing limb, but, like getting into the meditations, is something he gets used to.

He can see what Tony means, though, by family. He see how the man is surrounded by people who treat him with love and respect because he does the same for them, always reaching for a hug, providing for those who put in the effort and giving out praise when deserved. When Tony’s not in a session he’s always surrounded, always seems to be far away - but never far away enough to not catch Peter’s eye and give him a wink and warm smile, a half hug or a hand shake. 

After a few weekends Peter is starting to feel a little better, feels more separated from his old life as he latches onto the new philosophies he’s been studying. The grief no longer swallows him whole and he doesn’t think about all the bygones that used to ache.

He starts to look forward to his new one-on-ones with Tony who repeats his class mantra. You are loved. You are capable. You are an integral part of a network who support you. You are needed. Peter finds it easier to believe what the man is saying, feels the vice around his heart starting to ease off. Similarly he finds himself becoming closer to Tony and it makes him feel included, worthy, for the first time in a long time.

He somehow must have proven some kind of worthiness because he starts to get invited to lunches, dinners, drinks with some of Tony’s inner circle and Tony himself at his personal compound, surrounded by good food and laughter. The others marvel at how far Peter has come and Peter can only catch Tony’s fond gaze and think, it’s because of him, this perfect person, this good man and his heart swells so much that his ribs feel like they’re going to crack with the strain.

Peter keeps studying, stays longer at the retreats each time, helps out where he can. 

They get close enough that one night after dinner it’s just Peter and Tony, curled up on the couch and Peter, overcome with such affection for the man, presses a courageous kiss to the mans bearded cheek. Tony looks at him, eyes soft with the firelight glow, and presses his palm to Peters cheek, leans in to catch Peters lip in a sweet kiss.

It’s different after that, better. His stays become longer, and the longer he is gone, the worse he feels. He begins to understand the outside world less and less, feels disconnected from May, from the texts his friends send when he gets his phone back. It’s like this is all a dream and the retreat is the real world.

Eventually Peter moves in to the compound at the retreat completely. He misses May but he’s allowed one phone call a week with her on the communal retreat phone. It’s enough. She worries about him, about him being so cut off from the world. But when she hears how happy she doesn’t say more, just makes him promise to see her every now and then.

Two months after moving into the compound, two policemen show up at the estate gates, asking after some woman. It’s a name that Peter vaguely recognises as one of the first people he’d met at the retreat but hadn’t seen in a while - he figured she was done with the program and had left. Apparently she’d gone missing.

Peter feels bad that he hadn’t known - there is only one TV in the compound and it’s used for their weekly movie nights. No one needs to see the endless cycle of death, rape and destruction, Tony and the other senior members had said, it was that kind of narrative kept everyone down the rabbit hole, from true healing, and Peter believed it. After all this time he didn’t miss his phone or his laptop, not when he had a whole community and other ways to fill his time, not when he had Tony in his life. Anyway, the police didn’t have a warrant and didn’t get further than the closed gates.

That night when Tony slips out of bed Peter sees him get angry for the first time ever. From the slight opening of the bedroom door he sees Tony getting up in Rogers face with a snarl, whispering furiously about not being careful and making mistakes. But Tony comes back to bed not long after, cuddling up to Peter from behind and burying his nose at the nape of his neck, body wrought with tension. Tony whispers to him, tells him don’t worry, i’m always going to keep you safe, I’ll look after our people. 

He turns around in Tony’s arms and smooths his hands down the mans bare back. Peter has never felt more secure and cared for in his whole life and he wants Tony to feel the same.

The next time that he speaks to May she mentions that a policeman came around to the house, asking what she knew of Tony and about Peter and if there was any connection to the missing woman. Peter plays dumb, says he has no idea who she is, which isn’t too far a stretch from the truth. May seems to buy it. It’s the last he hears of it for a while.

When he tells Tony about it later the man smiles and kisses him fiercely, tells Peter he loves him and that he’s family - and Peter honestly feels like it, helping in the gardens everyday, teaching some of the kids of the families that stay here, helping out with chores. He’s never felt more part of a community in his whole life, not back in Queens, not like before. He’s never felt more desired than when Tony reaches for him, sits with him at breakfast in front of everybody, only takes him to bed. Like a normal family, not everyone gets along perfectly and there are arguments, scuffles, personality clashes, but for the most part it works. Everyone looks up to and defers to Tony in the end. 

A month after his conversation with May, Peter finds a shallow grave in the outer fields. He’d been digging up soil to start planting some trees for the coming seasons as a surprise to Tony. Frozen, Peter had instantly recognized the cheap, beaded bracelet on the decomposing body, mind flashing back to his first weekend here. 

He looks over some ways away to the chapel where he knows Tony is reading aloud to a group, knows the sermon off by heart. You are loved. You are capable. You are an integral part of a network who support you. You are needed. 

Gingerly, Peter places the soil back above the corpse, looking around to make sure no one has noticed him. On his way back to the compound he thinks about asking Tony to build a concrete outdoor space instead.

When he tells Tony precisely where they should build it, the mans eyes crinkle around the sides and says, good idea Pete, this is why you’re my best boy.

Yeah, Peter thinks, he’s home.