#don’t get me wrong he’s still very reluctant and closed off

[scootkiddo]

He couldn’t help himself. In spite of trying to remain walled off and apathetic, in spite of casting blame on Ellie for Tess’ death because he had to project the anger somewhere. Joel. Couldn’t. Help himself. He offered Ellie his jacket to keep her warm. He gave her the remaining morsels of his food. He just couldn’t resist. It’s that fatherly drive. It’s that urge to protect and provide. It’s that parental instinct that shifts into gear above all else because that is what he still is at his core. That is what makes up his being. A protector. A guardian. A caretaker. No matter how long he may try to beat sympathy into submission, no matter what guise of silence and deadpan demeanors he may attempt to exhibit, Joel is still holding on to his parental role with a white-knuckled grip. Maybe he thought that role was shattered 20 years ago, much like his watch which marked the death of both his daughter and parenthood, but he’s slowly putting back together the pieces. Maybe he’s not even conscious of it, but Joel is causing the watch to tick again. Unbroken

[poppurini]

him as a private tutor

leona, jade, malleus, lilia & gn reader

magicless au, platonic, for fun

˖ leona kingscholar

“Just Leona. Let me see your textbook.” no introductions or anything, just straight to the point. probably doesn’t ask for your name since he already knew. yes he didn’t prepare anything beforehand, no flipping through your syllabus before the actual tutoring because this man just skims through your textbook under twenty minutes and started teaching. yes he’s good at it. unfair, really. sometimes he’ll get a generational shock at the current syllabus though. “The hell are kids learning these days.” “Do you even need these in real life.”

he may seem like an indolent man (and he is) but it’s honestly so impressive of him to be able to understand your syllabus the moment he reads through them and being able to teach you about it.

strictness is 4/10 he doesn’t really care if you didn’t do the homework he assigned bc he’s not gonna be the one failing those exams that determines 70% of your future. yes those were his exact words. he might nag you a little but after that nothing’s on him. clocks off right on time.

˖ jade leech

this mf whips out a whole stack of 9cm tall worth of exercises for you because he thinks it’s funny. eerily friendly. might unintentionally make you feel a little dumb when he does that little inhale and tilts his head slightly, looking genuinely confused as to how you could get this question wrong. wears glasses (i know what jade leech stans are) occasionally. yes those attractive thin framed ones. only when you’re halfway selling off your soul to deal with the mountain of exercises he’s telling you “Oh, you needn’t get all of them completed today.” with that very innocent smile.

strictness is 7/10 he’s scary when he’s strict. might let you off the hook once or twice with incomplete homework (only with valid reasons tho) but afterwards that service smile drops and questions why you’re so reluctant on doing homework. it’s just a 2k word essay. also clocks off right on time even if he’s about to finish teaching a topic he’s not going to provide free labour.

˖ malleus draconia

this man is INSANE literally not one day does he wear a casual outfit to your sessions it’s always professional wear with him. yeaah i’m back with my dress pants dress shirt along with vest plus neat tie malleus only this time he doesn’t have his collar unbuttoned and sleeves rolled up sob sob gotta look clean. intimidating asl but that’s just bc he’s bad at connecting with the younger generations (or anyone, really) however it’s very sweet of him to still try and crack some academic related jokes with a straight face (it’s up to u whether they’re funny or not) hoping you’ll laugh. look he really wants u to open up to him so that u can absorb knowledge better instead of being constantly on edge around him ok

strictness is 9/10 oohlala much like jade he’d close an eye if it’s not a frequent occasion but he demands respect and you constantly putting off the works he assigned to help you clearly shows you don’t think of him as anything. he is patient and nice but only when you deserve it. also he’d delay a maximum of twenty minutes of your time after class ends just to finish talking about the topic.

˖ lilia vanrouge

DEADASS the most fun tutor ever. he’s all malleus ever want to be. bought drinks or snacks on his way and decided to buy you some too (just take it even if the flavours are weird). this man makes you comfortable around him instantly and teaches better than most of your teachers in school. definitely checks out your stationary while you’re suffering in doing matrixes. you can hear him mumbling to himself sometimes “Broo we didn’t even have these back then.” and it’s a squared glue stick. “Can you link me where you got this.” also THE most patient tutor and he won’t even let you feel bad for making him explain the same thing for the nth time. his job is to teach! not scold.

strictness being a 2/10 he’ll still advise you to do your homework but not in a scolding manner. he’ll really gently talk you into doing them for your own good unless you’re outright being disrespectful then the rate changes :p will ask if you want him to continue when the clock strikes end of session. if you don’t, okay! he’ll get back to it next lesson.

[anonymoushouseplantfan]

By Camila Tominey,

“Just as I have always admired the seamless way the Duchess of Sussex’s truth has sometimes clashed with fact, so too do I have a grudging respect for Omid Scobie.

"Lest we forget, this is a man who spent a decade raking over celebrities’ private lives for US Weekly, only to brazenly tweet in 2021: “Privacy means freedom from *unauthorised* intrusion. It is the right to choose what you share with others and what you don’t. That’s it!

"At the time, such outbursts left journalists like me in disbelief. Wasn’t this the guy whose entire career was built on analysing snatched paparazzi images of the rich and famous? Imagine our incredulity when Scobie launched into repeated attacks on the very royal press pack he followed around like a puppy. I saw with my own eyes how he tried to muscle in on the rota system in a bid to gain access to the very members of the Royal family he now seeks to trash in his second book, Endgame, which hit bookshelves on Tuesday.

"You have to admire the brass neck of the bloke, you really do. I remember one incident on a royal tour when he was literally begging me to tell him the sources of my various royal scoops. And to think he’s now so reluctant to discuss his own! Who on Earth could they be, I wonder?

"Perhaps the most amusing thing about Endgame is how much this fearless journalist gets wrong in his tireless pursuit of Meghan’s truth. “Palace aides were racking their brains to remember the ‘five’ private secretaries who have come and gone from the Duchess of Cambridge’s office (there have been three). And contrary to the claim ‘you’d be unlikely to read about it in any British newspaper’, The Telegraph reported on exactly that staffing issue last week.

"Hey, but why let facts get in the way of a good story? In one passage, I am described as The Telegraph’s Royal Editor – which I’m not and never have been. Referring to a piece I had written about the now infamous dog bowl incident, in which I suggested that it showed how much love William has for his little brother that he felt the need to physically wrestle him to the ground, Scobie comments that I sound like the “excuses of domestic abusers everywhere.”

"Domestic abuse? Is that what we are calling sibling rivalry these days? We are now being asked to believe that it was a “translation error” that the names of two “alleged” royal racists had been left in the now-pulled Dutch copies of Endgame – even though they were completely absent from the English version. And we’re supposed to accept this narrative even after Scobie had bragged on US television that he knew the names of both alleged racists?

"You know, I really thought I’d seen it all when Meghan told Oprah, with a straight face, that the Archbishop of Canterbury had married them three days before their official wedding ceremony; that she’d had her passport confiscated only to jet off on multiple holidays; that Kate had made her cry and not the other way round.

"I thought I’d heard it all when “sources” close to these two multi-millionaires (who were still receiving a £700,000 allowance from the King after Megxit) revealed the couple were so “desperate” they had no choice but to sign deals with Netflix et al – even though we know they were speaking to streaming companies as early as 2018, a whole two years before they stepped down as “working” members of the Royal family.

"I thought I’d heard it all when Scobie, of all people, claimed to be both a champion of privacy and an accountable press, only to publish not one, but two completely unauthorised intrusions into the lives of the Royal family so lacking in balance as to be laughable. We must believe all victims of bullying, insists Scobie (who was comforted by Meghan when he copped the kind of flak we all get, day in and day out on social media), except when they’re accusing the Sussexes of it. You really couldn’t make it up."

Thanks!

[thebellearchives]

𝐀𝐃𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐎

~ solomon ; obey me [nightbringer]

✧˚ · . S Y N O P S I S : Besides magic, you’ve also been learning piano from Solomon. On your day off, you both relax and enjoy each other’s company playing some music together.

‧₊˚ c o n t e n t s : gn!reader, stablished relationship, fluff, no nightbringer spoilers!

‧₊˚ a / n : kept a close eye on the poll and it was intense!!! quick disclaimer: i know very basic piano but i think i didn’t really write anything that can be interpreted as wrong??? anyways, this is just a short drabble but still, enjoy that sol fluff you guys voted for ✨

Your fingers carefully grazed the piano’s keys and a sweet tune filled the spacious music room. It was hard to play the melody with you right hand and the accompaniment with the left one, so you soon found yourself squinting and chewing on your lower lip to try and keep everything in tempo. When you managed to play the first section correctly, Solomon’s soft giggle startled you out of your focus, his arms slithered around your torso.

“Relax, when you’re tense the sounds are choppy and almost robotic” you took a deep breath, letting your back rest against his chest “let the music guide you, let it flow.”

“If I try again and it sounds better, will you join me?” your hands rested on his thighs at each side of yours, he placed a soft kiss on your temple.

“Sure, if it doesn’t distract you…”

“It won’t!” eagerly, you leaned closer to the piano again, Solomon’s little laugh reaching your ears before the instrument’s sound did.

This time, you followed your lover’s advice. Fingertips glided gracefully from note to note, your breathing matching the rhythm, you closed your eyes. Three notes marked the end of the first section again, you felt Solomon leaning over and around you.

“Go on” his whisper in your ear sent goosebumps through your body, but you continued playing just as he instructed.

Suddenly Solomon’s experienced hands added depth and feeling to your melancholic piece. Left hand adding lower harmonies, right hand complimenting with playful but subtle arpeggios. Soon every empty hall and room in Cocytus Hall was brought to life by bittersweet alluring music. Solomon’s breathing and the smell of his cedarwood cologne soothed you into carrying the song naturally, the brushing of his soft hair above your eyebrow, the luscious warmth of his body around yours, the elegant ease in which his nimble fingers chased after your playing. The song came to an end as effortlessly as it had started, your eyelids opening in a slow motion.

“You did great, guess you’re just meant to be my perfect apprentice no matter what I teach you” the sorcerer chuckled, one of his arms going back to hug you and his other hand caressing your cheek with the back of his index.

“What can I say, I have a fantastic teacher” an affectionate smile appeared on your lips.

“Apologies for the interruption” a voice made both of you turn to the side. Lucifer, Satan, Asmo and Levi were there, the eldest in front of them “something happened at the House of Lamentation and we were wondering if we could…” Lucifer seemed reluctant to finish his sentence, but Asmo nudged him with his elbow “…get some assistance from our attendant.”

Both you and Solomon sighed, you stood up. Wasn’t this supposed to be your day off?

“Of course, happy to help!”

Your boyfriend quickly caught your hand, you turned around curiously.

“Come back home soon, darling” his request came with a faint smile and sad silver eyes, but you smiled sweetly back to him.

“Don’t worry, I always come back to you”

[mamamittens]

Oh, Sweet Child of Mine (pt. 7)

Platonic Yandere Whitebeard & Reader-Insert

Main|First|Previous

Featuring: Thatch nearly not being yandere before sliding right into it. And Reader showing that they've got both layers and a fair bit of madness. I kept the implied backstory vague as shit, so feel free to project or assume things, I'm kind of curious what you guys will come up with, ngl.

Warnings: platonic yandere behavior and manipulation. If yandere content or anything of that vein makes you uncomfortable, please do block "oh sweet child of mine" as well as any relevant tags for "one piece yandere". Do not tolerate coercion or this manipulative behavior in real like.

Have fun and stay safe!

Word Count: 2,119

There was something to be said about how vast the ocean was. Sometimes, you’d just… look out at the waves and get lost in the ebb and flow of the tides. It was difficult and chaotic at times, sure, but never not beautiful. On the Grand Line, the weather was notably more erratic than anywhere else. You considered yourself lucky that there had only been a small storm while you’d been on board the Moby Dick so far. And due to the vast size of the vessel, even large storms were unlikely to dump you onto the floor.

It had been almost two months since you’d been taken by Marco. By now, the crew was relatively certain you wouldn’t try and make a run for it on your own so you were mostly allowed to run around at your leisure. Meal times were still strictly enforced, as was bed time funnily enough, but outside of that they seemed to want you to integrate at your own pace. You supposed that even your great reluctance was preferred to swinging an ax at Whitebeard’s head—what the actual fuck Ace?!

You sat on the railing, looking out at the ocean.

You felt… not quite homesick but something close. You missed doing drills with the other ensigns. Running gopher for your commanding officer. You even missed Williams, for all that he was an ass. He was somehow the most tolerable one of the many partners you’d had. You spun the fabric around your wrist, thinking about how hard you worked to better your skills as a marine.

It wasn’t all about fighting after all. Procedure and bureaucratic red tape was a massive part of the job. Unless you had a very high rank, you couldn’t just go wherever you wanted and do whatever. You had to transfer home bases, file paperwork, ensure arrangements for payment were made, and a whole host of other things. And though everyone expected to move around a fair bit, there was a sense of comradery in the marines. You all had to suffer the same dorky uniform and insufferable training.

Everyone was working towards the same thing. More or less. And there was an expectation that you would be doing your best to help others.

But here you were. On a pirate ship seemingly fighting as a one-man-army to not be officially recruited as one of them. To stay a marine. Even if you didn’t feel like one very much these days…

“You look like you’re having a lot of deep thoughts there.” You jerked, head swiveling around to find Twin-Blade clambering up the railing to sit next to you. He left a decent amount of space, thankfully. He settled down and looked at you, grimacing a little with a soft laugh. “Look… I know we got off on the wrong foot—hey! Hear me out now! I just… I just wanted to officially apologize for the tea. Most of the time, new recruits are so wound up they don’t sleep the first night and it’s a rough start for everyone. Considering what I’d heard, I thought you’d need a good nights sleep more than most. I should have asked you though. So… I’m sorry.”

You stared at Twin-Blade for a long moment.

“…Bit more than just a night of sleep.” You commented dryly, causing Twin-Blade to wince.

“Y-Yeah… the tea really shouldn’t have worked that much though. You probably did need the extra hours but that doesn’t make it right.” Twin-Blade apologized again. You gave a soft smile before looking back out at the sea.

“Thanks, Twin-Blade.” You sighed, resolving to not tease him so much from now on.

“Is it me?” You paused, looking back at him as he spoke, his eyes serious. “Have you not joined because of me?”

“No. It’s not because of you. Or at least not all because of you.” You explained stretching until your back popped satisfyingly. “I’m still a marine you know. You can’t be a marine and a pirate. Kinda conflicting job titles there.” You gave him a side glance.

“Why do you still want to be a marine? We’re not exactly like other pirate crews out there. We’re a bit rough around the edges, sure, but we don’t do the whole ‘pillaging’ thing. And we have a lot of power and status. What are you losing by joining?” He asked like he couldn’t imagine a world where his crew wasn’t the best option.

Part of this you excused as all of them being just a little bit batshit crazy. And weird. That too.

“I didn’t ask to be here. I didn’t ask to be rescued or recruited. What other reason do I need?” You pushed back and he pouted.

“But we’d love to have you here with us. We have such a big family that anything you wanted to learn or do would be feasible. You’d never be alone. C’mon, isn’t there anything tempting with us?” He pleaded, unable to wrap his head around your persistent but quiet refusal.

You supposed that for most people, the reasons to not join would be few. Most pirates don’t have a lot of options. Unless you’re clever or strong or lucky it’s a tough way to make a living. Ruthless and cruel at times without even the thin veneer of bureaucracy to hide behind.

A fat raindrop fell onto your nose, breaking you from your thoughts.

You sighed wistfully.

“…I think you forget what it’s like to be small. If you ever knew to begin with.” You watched the sky darken to a soft gray as rain began to fall, your eyes fixed on the dwindling blue horizon. “Nothing to hold onto but a choice—shit as it is—to do something. To one day not be so small after all. All I’ve got are my choices, Twin-Blade. There’s nothing left to go back to. And I know I’m not the only one. Maybe as a marine I could keep someone else from having to make a shit choice too. That’s not something anyone on this ship can give me, though. Might not even be something I can give myself. But what else can I do but try?” You lifted up your legs and turned around, hopping off the railing.

Leaving Twin-Blade behind.

--*--

Thatch thought about your words for several minutes as the rain poured, showing no signs of stopping or getting worse.

He… actually did know what it was like to be small. He didn’t like to think about it often—if at all. But he remembered. It made him desperate. Cling to every bright spot in his life like it would leave him if he looked away. The idea that you felt small even now made his chest ache.

He wanted you here because Marco wanted you here and because Oyaji accepted your presence. That was all he needed really. Hell, Oyaji’s word was all he needed for Ace, and Ace was a feral little bastard man trying to commit murder daily.

Joining Oyaji’s side made him grow in a lot of ways from that small boy he used to be.

Thatch grinned, resolutely setting his shoulders as he hopped off the railing and headed back inside.

You didn’t feel like you had any real choices in your life. Any connections or anchors aside from your ‘shit choice’. So Thatch would just have to show you how free life is on board the Moby Dick.

Thatch slammed open Marco’s office door.

“We need to throw a party!” Marco gave him a dry look as he picked his pen back up to finish paperwork. “We need to show them how to live a little!”

Marco perked up the moment you were mentioned, naturally.

“Did someone say ‘party’?” Ace ducked his head under Thatch’s arm with a wide grin.

“Yes!”

“No, yoi.” Marco grumbled, cutting out the fun Thatch and Ace were starting to have. “You’ve got a mission the day after tomorrow and you can’t go with a hangover.”

Thatch frowned.

“I have a mission?” This was the first he’d heard of it.

“A small supply run for medical. Oyaji’s meds are almost out. The island we stopped at didn’t have any. I’d go but someone needs to bully him into taking what’s left.” Thatch grimaced but didn’t protest any further. “We can throw a party when you get back.”

Thatch grinned, brightening up instantly.

“Yes!”

--*--

You made goofy kissy noises at Stefan as you played with his ears. The dog amicably withstanding your teasing as he laid over your lap on the main deck. Whitebeard watched on with an amused stare as you ignored his existence. The Yonko pirate would, occasionally, try and talk to you or draw you into a conversation, but you’d been dodging him fairly well so far.

“…My child—”

“Sea king starboard!” Your head whipped up as you gently shoved Stefan off your lap. Instantly, looking towards the area that had been called out.

Whitebeard glared at the sea, his weapon at the ready.

“Go below deck—” Your eyes widened as the sea king raised it’s head over the railing. It resembled an eel in form with large black eyes. Baby blue scales with vivid pink frills running down it’s spine.

“Baby! Look at you~!” You cried out, darting to the railing to hold out your hand. “What are you doing all the way out here~?” You cooed, rubbing your hand on the shocked creature’s chin. The scales were hard as a rock but undeniably warm and softer than an adult’s scales.

You heard several very startled calls of your name but ignored them.

The sea king opened it’s mouth just barely, a low buzzing sound emitting from it as it lowered it’s head to look at you. You were smiling so wide it almost hurt, admiring it’s beautiful scales.

“D-Do you know them?!”

You laughed loudly.

“Ahah~! Not at all, but who wouldn’t want to know a precious baby like you~?” you rubbed your nail under the ridge of it’s jaw, the buzzing sound intensifying as you laughed, absolutely delighted. “You’re so pretty, baby! Look at this cute baby blue! And the pink ruffles! Ah! You look fancy~!” you praised it gleefully.

The buzzing warbled in shared delight.

“Aren’t you just the sweetest thing~? But where is your pod, baby? It’s not safe to swim alone like this!” You cried out, standing on the railing to cradle the massive sea king’s chin. The sound it made vibrated your bones, a deep rumbling call.

“Not safe for who?!”

“Holy shit is that more?!”

You leaned your head back to see several more sea kings just barely poking their head out of the water. You waved excitedly with one arm.

“Hiiii~! Are you cuties going to come up too?”

“Please don’t!”

“Oyaji, stop them!”

You pouted, glaring over your shoulder.

“You’re being rude!” The pirate gaped at you.

“I-I’m being rude?! Those are sea kings!”

“Duh? And I want to pet them and give them love, damnit! Stop! Being! Rude!” You enunciated firmly, ignoring Whitebeard as he laughed. You turned to the shy sea kings, “Ignore them! I’d love to see you~!”

The sea king in your arms buzzed again, withdrawing to sink into the water until it was eye level with you. Pretty black eyes blinking slowly as the pink frills fluttered, lights like an aurora going down it’s spine. You gasped in delight as it opened it’s maw wide. Rows and rows of needle like teeth on full display. It was big enough to probably eat Whitebeard whole, but the only thing you could think of was how impressive the baby sea king was.

“Mmmaaooo~! Mmmmmaaaaooo~!” You stared in awe as it closed it’s mouth and brushed it’s nose against your front, buzzing long and low one last time for good measure before sinking beneath the waves for good.

“Mao? What a cute name, ahah~!” You laughed, spinning on your heel with a skip in your step. “Mao’s so cute~! I can’t wait to see him again!”

Whitebeard fell back into his seat with a laugh.

“Gurarararara! I’m glad you had fun, my child! We don’t run into sea king’s often, but I’m sure you’ll see plenty more soon enough.”

“Ack! O-Oyaji! No!”

You huffed.

“Don’t get it twisted, Whitebeard! I’m still not joining just because that’s the closest I’ve ever gotten to a sea king!”

Whitebeard just laughed again as his children despaired the prospect of encountering more sea kings willingly.

You didn’t get the drama. Sea kings were just darling, in your eyes. More darling than any of the pirates on this ship at least!

[barbieb0y]

where hope lies in a snowless land.

day 5 wowza!!

for day 5 of scrunkly week, i... actually planned to go with all the prompts except what once was will never be again but... i got carried away and somehow that became the only prompt i wrote about ???????? dude i swear theres just smth that possesses my fingers when im writing

ngl i projected more than usual here somehow but this is like. hurt/comfort. paper cut has a shitty family and joe comforts him basically. their relationship is more ambiguous too. anyway

“Man, if I wanted to live in a place where there’s no snow during winter, I might as well go back to my hometown.”

Paper Cut quips as he looks up at the sky and reminisces the days he spent at a land oceans away from his current home, one corner of his lips tucked in disappointingly. Unfortunately for the two of them, San Francisco is not known for its snowfall activity. On the contrary, when it does occur, it’s written into the history books.

“Too bad you’re stuck with me, huh?”

Joe’s comment is accompanied by a kick of a rock, then it sinking into the murky city waters, like an extremely discounted version of throwing a coin into a fountain for a wish. Hands in his pockets despite wearing gloves.

“God, Joe, don’t even. I’d choose to be stuck with you over my family any time, any day.”

Paper Cut notices Joe’s very subtle flinching. He must’ve tried to hide it from him. Paper Cut sighs regretfully as he looks at his feet; as he’s sitting on the backrest of the bench, his feet rest on the seat itself.

“...Sorry.”

It’s all he can really say, even though he doesn’t owe it to anyone. And Joe makes this clear in his response.

“It’s okay. Your family members are assholes anyway.”

He’s not factually wrong but it doesn’t make Paper Cut any less guilty. The latter exhales through his nostrils as the former moves to sit on the bench beside Paper Cut.

“Yeah but I’m going against your whole belief, aren’t I?”

Always love your family. That’s number two of Joe’s many street survival rules. Paper Cut admires Joe for his strong beliefs but that rule of his has always made him reluctant to talk about family around him. In a way, Paper Cut considers Joe lucky to even hold that kind of belief, despite everything that happened with him and his sister.

“Maybe less ‘going against’ and more ‘challenging’.”

This comment makes Paper Cut turn towards Joe. Luckily, he doesn’t have to wait long for an explanation.

“Your situation made me think about things.”

Joe simply stares at the water. It is as tainted as any body of water that lies in the middle of an equally tainted city. Yet Paper Cut is not as tainted, despite being part of such a murky family. He dwells on this for a little longer.

“Family… you always have to love your family, yeah. But your family already hates you for something you can’t control. That’s not fair to you.”

Paper Cut struggles to find the words to argue back. Joe leans back in his seat.

“So, uh, it’s understandable if you can’t love them back. If anything, I think it’s good for you that you don’t force yourself to love them.”

Paper Cut appreciates Joe for reconsidering one of his core principles because of him, he truly does, but–

“...That’s the thing, though.”

“Huh?”

Paper Cut begins to move and promptly jumps off the bench entirely. He stands still, gaze lost to the cityscape.

“I don’t force myself to love them… because I already do. I still do, kinda. And it hurts to miss the people that can’t even love you back like you do with them.”

Paper Cut is hunched over now with his hands clasped close to his chest, choking on unshed tears. Joe instantly gets up at this display but Paper Cut simply shakes his head to stop him from laying a hand on him.

“I… I can’t erase our history together. It’s not like I was never happy when I was with them… They did make me happy at some point. But then they threw me out like I was garbage.”

Paper Cut finds himself kneeling on the ground. His heart is aching.

“...I just wished they did it sooner.”

He breaks. The pavement beneath him soaks up his tears emphatically, the only solace it can provide him. Joe has his right hand on his back as support.

“I’m an arcanist, they’re not. So why? Why did they keep me around for so long? Because I was useful? Yet they thought I was a disgusting arcanist anyway.”

Joe locks him in a side embrace now. He doesn’t push him away and simply keeps sobbing.

Eventually, they both sit down on the pavement, despite the presence of a bench right behind them. Paper Cut doesn’t have the strength for such a mundane action as sitting on a bench like a normal person. He was never normal anyway.

They stay like that for a few minutes. Paper Cut sniffs as he pulls his knees to his chest, resting his hands and head on them.

“...Sorry again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. We were just talking about the fucking nonexistent snow here, haha.”

Joe shakes his head at the self-deprecating laugh and brings Paper Cut in for a full hug this time. Paper Cut says nothing. He presses himself closer into Joe. He smells like love.

“It’s okay.” And that is all Joe has to say. Yet it is all Paper Cut needed to hear. Because it is okay. He’s here now with Joe, who has more than enough love to offer.

And - he definitely imagined it but - he can feel snow in his hair.

[starlitangels]

DTR

So, between the Dinner Date video and the sleep aid video, Vincent’s title changed from just “A Flirty Vampire” to “Your Flirty Vampire Boyfriend.” But we never got the conversation in-between resulting in such a change. The DTR (Define the Relationship) as it were. This is the Vincent and Lovely I was brainrotting for and posted about two days ago! Told ya it was still coming! 1.5k words (almost exactly!)

—

“Vincent?” I called the second I stepped through the door to the house. I kicked off my shoes in the pile of both of ours that intermingled next to the garage door.

Zip! “Hey lovely. How was class?” Vincent asked.

I smiled. “It was alright,” I replied.

His expression fell a little. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just have had a lot on my mind, that’s all,” I replied.

Vincent bit at his lower lip, like he was trying to decide how to respond to that.

“Vincent—can we talk?” I asked.

If he wasn’t already so pale, he would have lost all the color in his face. “O-of course. If that’s what you want. Sure. Do… do you wanna sit down?” He gestured toward the living room. I nodded. He led the way to the living room and perched on the very edge of one end of the sofa. I plopped down on the other end, turning to face him. He twisted to make sure he was facing me too. “What… what do you want to talk about?”

I swore under my breath. “I’ve been thinking about this all day but, now that the moment is here I’m kinda freaking out,” I said.

“Are you thinking about moving out?” Vincent looked heartbroken, but I already saw reluctant acceptance forming in his eyes.

“No!” I exclaimed. I swore again, quietly. “Look. I’ve been living here for a while. And I’ve really enjoyed it. You’ve been a great person to live with.” I sucked in a deep breath through clenched teeth. “I just think I’m ready to talk about…” I closed my eyes to fortify myself and opened them again. “Us.”

Vincent’s lips parted in surprise. “Okay,” he said softly.

“There… there’s no beating around the bush with the fact that I’ve found you attractive since the night we met,” I continued. That sparked a tiny smile on his face. “And our little cat-and-mouse game was fun. Teasing, flirting. I enjoyed it, before—” I didn’t finish that sentence. I didn’t have to. The way Vincent’s jaw clenched showed he understood. “Dancing around my non-belief in vampires, I wasn’t sure, back then, where we’d end up. I thought the vampire thing was mostly just messing around. I liked… God, this feels embarrassing to admit. I liked the way your little coy smirks made my heart flutter. That time I came home and you were just on my bed, the impulsive part of me would have run away with you right then if you asked.”

Vincent laughed quietly. “It wouldn’t have come to that,” he remarked. “I’m perfectly content to stay in Dahlia.”

“I know. But the fact remains that I would have. I wanted you that bad.” I took another deep breath. “And then… then Adam.” I swallowed hard. Vincent’s face turned sad. “And I had to reassess everything. I had magic I’d never known about, borne out of me by trauma that I’m still recovering from.” I licked my lips, realizing how dry my mouth was getting with all the talking. “But, in the wake of that, you… you stepped up in a different way. I know some of that was fuelled by guilt. I maintain that it wasn’t entirely your fault—if I wasn’t a dumbass and went back to the park after you told me not to, it could have been avoided. I know you don’t see it that way. And that’s fine.

“But you let me stay here. You opened your home to me when mine no longer felt safe. You’ve held me when I woke up from nightmares more times than I can bother to count. You’ve helped me take control of my life back and helped me find resources to heal.

“All while asking nothing in return. Expecting nothing. Just… giving me space.”

I closed my eyes.

“All of this to say, Vincent—I do have a point, surprisingly—I’ve really appreciated everything you’ve done for me. I’ve loved getting to know you the normal way. I’m grateful you’ve let me set the pace of this, pushing nothing on me. I can’t imagine a lot of other people would have done the same to the degree you’ve done if they were faced with the same circumstances.”

Vincent reached out as though to set a hand on my knee, but rested it on the couch cushion near my knee instead. Never touching without permission. “It’s been the least I can do,” he said.

“No, it’s not the least. It’s a lot. And I don’t want you to think it’s gone unnoticed.”

“Well, thank you,” he said, sounding awkward. “But I don’t think I deserve it.”

I put my hand on top of his. “Vincent,” I said. He immediately tensed under my hand. “We’ve started a good thing, this little life we’ve carved out with each other. I’ve loved it. Making dinner together, going out for dessert. The little things. I… I still really like you, Vincent. It should come as no surprise that I still find you incredibly attractive. You are. You’re handsome and you’re kind and gentle and sweet and I’ve never minded the flirting. I liked it before Adam, and I still do. I appreciate that you backed it up a little. I needed that. But now…” I swallowed and took a deep fortifying breath, steeling myself to make sure I was brave enough to say the words out loud.

“Now I think I’m ready to try being in a relationship with you, if that’s what you want.”

He blinked slowly at me. “Lovely…”

“I… I’d like to be your partner, Vincent. If that’s… something you’d be down for.”

His mouth hung agape. “Can… can I kiss you?” he whispered.

“Please,” I breathed.

He was beside me on the sofa in an instant, cradling my face gently in both his long, slender hands.

Delicate and tender, he brushed his lips against mine. Barely enough to qualify as a kiss. Careful not to go too far. Completely ignoring the shock of static electricity that snapped between us from my new powers.

Just that tiny speck of contact left us both a little breathless. He pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. His were wide and his lips were parted. In the half-light of the living room, that we hadn’t even bothered to flip the switch to see, his pupils were dilated wide, nearly swallowing the silver of his irises. But not the same black his eyes had become when he snapped in the park and drank my blood. That had been predatory and all-consuming. This was different.

I tried to calm the raging beat of my heart in my chest, staring back at him with a similar expression. Our breath mingled in the air between us, hot and heavy.

At the same moment, we lurched toward each other and crashed our lips together. His mouth was strong, but gentle. Never pushing against me too hard. I grabbed at his shoulders, pulling him as close to me as I could get him, not resisting when his hand found my thigh and hooked it up over him until I was straddling his lap.

Tongues got involved only seconds after.

But when Vincent’s hand started to tug up my shirt, I grabbed his wrist and pulled away. “Wait,” I whispered, panting. “I… I don’t think I’m ready for more than this, yet.”

He nodded, breathing hard, and withdrew his hand. “Okay,” he said. “Whatever you’re comfortable with. You’re still setting the pace, lovely.”

Swallowing, I nodded. “Thank you, Vincent.” I rested my forehead against his. He breathed deeply as our eyes closed. The hand he’d withdrawn from my shirt cupped the side of my face, and we just stayed there. Calming down our racing heartbeats.

“I’m, uh, I’m guessing this means I get to introduce myself as your boyfriend, now?” he asked. I peeked one eye open to see a playful grin on his face. Almost teasing and impish, but not quite.

“I’d like that, yeah,” I said. He breathed a laugh.

Through my peeked eye, I saw him open his wider. “When did the… did you turn the lights on?” He looked around.

I leaned up. The lights were all on. The overheads and the lamps on the end tables.

“No?” I said.

In that moment, they all shut off. My magic caught in the Core in my chest.

Vincent threw his head back against the backrest of the sofa and laughed. “You are amazing, lovely.” He brushed my cheek with his thumb. “I’m grateful for this chance you’re giving me. I don’t plan to ever take it for granted. Nor the feelings I have for you.”

“Me neither. I’m excited to give this—to give us—a shot.”

“I am too.” He smiled that charming, flirtatious smile of his. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Please do.”

He leaned up and met my lips, his fingers gentle but firm on either side of my face. I would never get over the feeling of his lips on mine.

—

Tag list: @zozo-01 @thegoldenlittlerose

[ejzah]

A/N: Deeks having to shoot his dad has been on my mind recently. So, here’s this not-quite-a-fic.

***

Let’s Leave it in the Past

They don’t talk about it.

In the immediate aftermath of the shooting, Roberta apologizes profusely. She cries as she tells him it’s all her fault, he shouldn’t have had to shoot his own father, she’s sorry she was a coward. Deeks doesn’t blame her. In fact, if he could, he’d do whatever necessary to stop his mom’s pain. That doesn’t seem within his abilities as an eleven year old, so he just assures he’s fine and glad his dad is gone.

Once Deeks’ dad is sentenced and in jail, the case finally closed, they settle into a tiny rented house. It isn’t much, but it is a chance to start over. So, they move in what furniture they can, fix up Deeks’ tiny room with discount wallpaper and the small collection of belongings that survived his dad’s violence.

Beneath it all, Deeks worries that there’s something truly wrong with him. The kids at school give him weird looks and he hears his teachers whispering about him. A few treat him like he’s dangerous, and seem to be waiting for him to mess up.

By the time he reaches high school, Deeks has developed his coping methods. He talks more than he should, charms when he can, and jokes when he can’t. He becomes a master at concealing his lingering guilt from shooting his father, and a protector of those who can’t defend themselves.

He fears himself sometimes when his rage takes over. Usually he’s stopping something terrible from happening, but he wonders if one day he’ll follow in his father’s footsteps.

He knows his mom worries. She worries about the trouble he’s gotten into with Ray. She worries that he won’t get accepted into a good college. She worries that the past will follow him for the rest of his life.

Even so they don’t talk. They make vague references to the past and mistakes, but they never address the abuse or the shooting directly.

Deeks studies law to fight against people like his dad, which only leaves him jaded. His mom worries all the more, becoming more erratic as he becomes a cop, then a detective, and blurs the line between justice and vengeance.

It isn’t until Deeks is talking to Roberta from behind metal bars, that they finally speak about it again. Ironically, he’s being charged for the murder of a man who did even more unspeakable things than Gordon Brandel ever dreamed of.

“I let you down, Marty,” she tells him. Because a prison filled with his colleagues and enemies is the perfect place for this conversation.

He tries to play it off, like he always has, and like his mom has always let him. This time though, she doesn’t play along.

“You want to have this conversation?” he asks, and she nods. Maybe it’s his exhaustion, or the bleak circumstances, but he doesn’t fight her.

It’s hardly the heart-to-heart he’s always wanted.

Maybe there is something wrong with him. Because the majority of Jo’s guilt is gone. He still hates remembering those moment, but he doesn’t hate himself. He certainly doesn’t regret it.

“The only person to blame for what happened to dad, is dad. And I can’t tell you how long it took me to realize that.”

Unfortunately, he doesn’t get the chance to really talk it out once and for all since Whiting picks the perfect moment to walk in.

He’s said his the important though, so he can only hope his mom takes it to heart.

Because, they don’t talk about it.

***

A/N: I know Deeks and Roberta do talk about his dad briefly in 14x05, but she is very reluctant. As she says “I don’t like to dwell on my past”.

[bellygunnr]

Saturated the Floorboards, past the Carpet

Bonnie stares at you, a little too alert to have just been sleeping, her hair pulled back into too sharp a bun. She’s in sleep clothes all the same, though you spy dried ink and paint on her finger tips that she tucks into her palms a moment later, teeth clicking as she shuffles in place. Her shoulders are drawn up tight, muscles in her jaw standing out in prolonged tension. You nearly ask her what’s wrong, then think better of it.

You know what’s wrong. You’re the problem-- and the murder, maybe, no matter if time has passed since then. Bonnie probably thinks about it still, if she hasn’t convinced herself it was a fever-addled dream. You wouldn’t blame her if she did, actually. You wonder if you should ask her why she didn’t just move away.

“It’s late, Michael,” Bonnie says. “What are you doing here?”

“Maybe it’s just early,” you try, smiling. “KITT and me are off the clock, thought we’d stop by…”

That’s not the whole of it, but you’re not lying. You haven’t been sent on a case in a week or so, but you’d taken your time hopping back across the country anyway, reluctant to come home to debriefs and business. Then KITT hadn’t seen Bonnie for anything recreational in awhile. Then you remembered you got a little stabbed at some bar in fucking Utah a couple days ago and, well.

“Just get in here.”

She retreats into her apartment. You duck inside, immediately casing the place, scoping out the changes from when you were last here. There’s a vase of flowers on the coffee table-- several more, actually, in just immediate sight-- and the last of the moving boxes are gone. The television plays quietly but you don’t recognize what’s playing.

“Lotta flowers. What’s the occasion?”

You trail after her into the kitchen. She rattles around her cupboards, sleeves sliding down her arms as she reaches for a tea kettle on the top shelf.

“Norman. Apparently, he’s a groundskeeper of sorts. Keeps bringing me clippings from the courtyard. Tea?”

Ah, Norman. You haven’t yet apologized for shaking him down.

“You know he has a crush on you?” You can’t help but mention it, sliding in to fill the empty space beside Bonnie. “And sure, I’ll take tea.”

“I do know that,” she chuckles. “But we’ve talked it out. It’s fine. Chamomile okay?”

“Absolutely,” you say very seriously, drawing out the third syllable.

“Good. It’s all I have.”

She moves around you, only meeting your eye when your elbows brush. She puts the kettle on before grabbing the mugs, then nudges you aside to get at a folding box nestled beside the microwave. From there, she produces two little teabags, gripping them by their brightly colored tags. This close, you can see the bags under her eyes, the slight shake to her posture.

You resist the urge to touch her.

“You doin’ alright, Bonnie?” You say softly, unable to stifle your concern.

The mugs clink against the counter top. The stovetop clicks away, merrily trying to boil the kettle. Bonnie drops her head, a momentary lapse in vigilance.

“I’m fine, Michael. Just-- a touch of insomnia. I’ll get over it.”

Your left thigh is a dull ache from the knife. Bonnie looks like she’s aching all over despite her clean, polished edges, too neat for the safety of her own home. You reach out slowly, bringing your open hand to rest atop her shoulder instead of clasping it, gentle, restraint eroded.

She startles, then relaxes, giving you a bemused look. Her muscles bunch tightly when she rolls her sleeves up high. The kitchen light brings her stained hands into sharp relief.

“Working on something?”

“Something like that. Unfortunately, I can’t really tell you anything. It’s classified,” she says, voice lilting like it’s a joke. “S’why I haven’t been at the estate for a bit. Not-- that you’d know that,” she adds, frowning. “Did you two just get back in town tonight?”

You rub at her shoulder idly while she talks. You have no idea what she does outside of FLAG, aside from her brief stint in San Francisco. Classified, though-- that’s interesting. That sounds above even Devon’s pay grade.

“Maybe,” you say, chancing a grin. “Straight out of Utah. Why? Worried about me?”

“Hardly,” she scoffs. “I hope you didn’t plan on crashing here--”

“I’d never be so presumptuous,” you mock, throwing your hands wide in a placating gesture and leaning back. Your weight rolls onto your bad foot, sending pain zinging down your leg. You bite back a hiss. “I was gonna fetch a hotel. I just-- we just-- wanted to see you.”

You can’t save face. Not with KITT’s feelings on the line, nor yours. You drop your hands, letting the early-late hour bog you down. Now that Bonnie’s mentioned it, the ten-some hours you’ve spent driving are starting to take their toll, drawing out the cramps that KITT’s seats inspire.

Bonnie’s expression softens, but the kettle shrieks. You arrange the mugs and tea bags for her to pour the hot water over, humming as heat leeches out of the ceramic into your finger tips. Her grip seems a little steadier than before.

Carefully, once the tea is poured and steeped, you both creep to the sofa where the television is flickering and the flower vase casts odd shadows. The cushions practically crumple underneath your weight. Your thigh twinges, a burst of pain radiating up and down your side.

“You’re bleeding, you know,” Bonnie says suddenly, face hidden behind her mug of tea.

You raise your eyebrows, delay your response by taking a long drink. It’s herbal and bitter and green-tasting. KITT would probably enjoy it, but less so if you gave him a day-old teabag to analyze. It’s not the thought that counts with him.

“I am?” You get out, glancing down.

The light in the apartment is low, but you can see what she’s talking about. A dark blot of red in the swell of your jeans. That explains the persistent ache and the strange tacky dampness that’s been following you for the past ten minutes. You hurry to your feet, suddenly embarrassed, worried that you’ll bleed all over her couch.

“Shoot! You got a first aid kit anywhere?”

Bonnie rolls her eyes. She’s already on her feet and moving, beckoning you along with a wave of her hand like you’re a particularly unruly dog. A part of you is surprised that she’s not more alarmed-- or worried-- but it is two in the morning. You can barely muster up the energy to be anything more than inconvenienced.

Her bathroom is as cramped as you remember it. A glorified closet with a bathtub inside it. You watch her rifle through the compartment behind the mirror from just outside, favoring your bad leg for the first time tonight. She doesn’t speak, mouth drawn into a focused line, only humming when she finds what she’s looking for. She tosses you a chunky plastic box stamped with a red cross that you catch with one hand.

“I’ll be out in the living room. Let me know if you need anything,” Bonnie says, voice clipped, at odds with her slightly pained smile.

It’s only after she pushes past you that you remember-- she can’t stand the sight of blood.

---

Approximately twenty minutes later, you’re wandering back out into her living room. She’s leaned onto the arm of the couch, a dense book nestled between her hands and legs, mugs steaming on the coffee table. You linger at the threshold between hallway and open space, suddenly so aware of the silence your heartbeat pounds in your throat. She licks her thumb to turn a page.

“I didn’t get anything on your couch, right?” You ask quietly.

Bonnie shakes her head without looking up. You return to the couch, settling just beside her. The mugs are full again, filled with a darker liquid. You won’t drink this batch.

“Want to try going to bed?”

You’re tired now that the novelty of being here is gone. Granted, the dreary reality of having a stab wound also saps what little energy you had left. But you know she’s just as exhausted-- she’d startled when you came near. You have a feeling she’d never been the jumpy sort before.

Bonnie closes her book with a solid fwip. Her fingers drag across the elaborate hardcover, nails catching on the raised embossing. The bags under her eyes seem to have deepened and grown more intense while you were gone. She shrugs half-heartedly.

You’re again possessed of the urge to touch her. To hold her. You rub your hands together to try and alleviate the feeling.

“I’ll keep watch, if you sleep,” you say, low and urging.

She looks at you sharply, listless fatigue suddenly calculating. The muscles in her jaw twitch with the grind of teeth. You drop your gaze demurely, frightened that you misread her countenance and she’s taken umbrage with it, despite her temper being usually KITT-oriented. But this isn’t the Foundation, or the trailer, or work, so you truthfully have no idea how to read her, or how she’ll behave.

Her eyes dim slowly from their alertness. She sinks down into her side of the couch, tension easing out of her bunched up shoulders, a table-side lamp casting long shadows across her face and chest. You watch her uncertainly, mouth thinning into a fine line. Her book is discarded to the floor. A slip of striped paper falls out of it.

“Do you keep watch for KITT, too?” She asks in amusement, head tilted back, eyes closed.

She hefts her legs up, drapes them over yours. You wring your hands, frozen with a long-buried recollection. Stevie used to come home and do exactly this-- lay in your lap and rest her eyes. You painstakingly lower your hands over Bonnie’s calves, lungs tight.

“Sometimes. Did you know he sleeps?”

KITT denies it, of course.

“It’s not sleeping, per se,” Bonnie starts, but you interrupt her.

“He dreams, Bonnie,” you say softly. “Did you know that?”

It’s not just dreams. It’s night terrors, violent enough to match your own. Fitfully, you start running the flat of your hands across her legs, cursing yourself for your loose tongue and weakened resolve. Her muscles flex beneath your hands until her foot is jabbing your stomach insistently. You push it away reflexively, staring at her.

She stares back. Her exhaustion has drawn to a fine point of grim apprehension and despair.

“We can talk about it in the morning, Michael,” she says. “Okay…?”

You nod slowly. Tension leeches out of her all at once. The couch creaks as she sinks into it, eyes now fixed on the ceiling, arms crossing loosely over her stomach. Absently, you continue running your hands over her pants, restless with anxiety and nerves.

You didn’t mean to tell her about KITT. You’re not sure what you’ll do when you find out what she thinks.

But she falls asleep first. The lights are still on, your painkillers haven’t kicked in yet. Exhaustion bears down on you just as heavily, so you sink deeper into the couch until your neck has a modicum of support. You’ll wake up with one hell of a crick, but it’s worth Bonnie dozing off so handily, either soothed by your presence or worn out by your antics. Either option works.

Eventually, you doze off, too, but not before whispering a quiet good night into the half-dark.

[tooloudamind]

Okay so I’m not the only Byler who is now in the clutches of Good Omens, and I’ve seen cases for Will as the Aziraphale and Mike as the Crowley equivalent in a hypothetical Good Omens Byler AU. But really, the possibility of the vice versa is what grabbed me by the throat and refused to let go. Will is the last person you’d expect to be turned a demon in a Good Omens AU, but he also has the biggest association (besides El) in canon with the Upside Down (The show honest-to-goodness started with him being dragged off to Hell the Upside Down.) And obviously, Will and Mike translated through this lens are not going to be expies of Crowley and Aziraphale— but we don’t quite get canon Will and Mike either. Since the Good Omens universe is not overtly queerphobic, I also had to draw on other ideas for why Will may have been considered different (but obviously, the gayness is still there lmao)

And so, have this: a Byler x Good Omens Angel!Mike/Demon!Will AU character study. Complete with footnotes.

Also, did I take one look at Mike’s full name being Michael and run away with the Archangel associations? Yes.

Dramatis Personae

WILL, reluctant Demon, known to his compatriots as Maldonado.

On his bitterest days, he can't help but think that perhaps he was made to Fall.

MIKE, short for Michael, an Angel who is just trying to do his best.

He was more shaken by Will’s Fall than he’d like to admit.

1.

If anybody (usually Mike [1], who for some reason never tires of the question despite the fact that the answer never changes) asks Will how he had ended up in Hell in the first place, Will usually just shrugs and gives a non-committal grunt. Anyone who didn’t know Will very well (which were most people other than Mike, really) would take that nonchalant exterior at face value, and assume Will hadn’t Fallen so much as Sauntered Vaguely Downwards. But Will had indeed thrashed and screamed quite an embarrassing amount, really, when he’d first been dragged to Hell— something that he doesn’t care for the other demons to remember.

For even after all these years as a demon, Will fears that there is still something all too soft about him, too corruptible— he keeps it deeply, safely hidden, but he knows there is a part of his being, the inmost core of him, that would turn to putty in the hands of the right person. He chooses to hang out with Michael, disgraced Archangel [2] that he is, and isn’t that enough proof for anyone who’s looking? He doesn’t quite know why he was ever thrown out of Heaven, but he’s learnt since then that supernatural entities such as himself— whether occult or ethereal— aren’t supposed to be quite so… attached. It’s funny, he thinks, how angels are supposed to be practically made of love— yet Will has always been enough of a bleeding-heart that it was too much even for the angels. It’s not like he fits in any better with the demons, for that. (Damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.)

It’s despite this, or perhaps because of it, that no matter how many humans may describe Will as “a bit of a soft touch”, Will has made sure that his fellow demons themselves don’t pay too much attention to him for any of the wrong reasons. He likes being stationed on Earth, the life that he has made here for himself being something he couldn’t have even dreamt of in those darkest first days as a demon [3]— and he’s not, at any cost, going to let anyone take that away from him. And Will may be a mere tool of Hell like any other demon, but he can’t afford to lose any more of himself than he already has. So, whenever Will goes about his Hellish business, observers (in the rare cases that there have been any) often note a young man who exudes a detached, but fierce competency— which, in Hell, is functionally equivalent to an aura of quiet danger. The other demons don’t quite understand his methods, but his work is respected enough by those who do matter. No one really looks close enough to see that constant roiling simmer of internal conflict that he keeps tightly wound, just under his skin, and so much the better for that. [4]

He is never again going to risk being accused of caring too much.

And so, over the years and centuries, the demon who calls himself William Maldonado has gotten very good at hiding.

2.

Mike would never admit this to anyone, not even to Will himself, but he still remembers the angel that Will used to be— specifically, the angel he had met before the Beginning, illuminating the various forms and shapes of things that were to populate the Earth, painting color into very existence. [5]

It hadn’t been supposed to be anything special, no more than a regular check-in. But Michael hardly ever visited upon the angels who did this sort of work, and he most certainly hadn’t expected to happen across an angel such as this— one that had thrown himself into his work with all the fervor of the very young, and was in fact so engrossed that he had failed to even notice Michael until, very awkwardly, Michael had to prod at the angel’s shoulder. And then, when the angel had turned to face Michael after startling just the tiniest bit, Michael suddenly found himself struck by the sheer dazzling grace that radiated off the angel in waves— the way he looked Michael up and down without restraint, one corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a guileless half-open smile. It was usual to feel the warmth of love in the presence of one’s brethren— but Michael felt it so intensely, and so strangely, in this angel’s presence that he didn’t quite know what to make of it.

You have done some fine work here, Michael had said. The detail does such justice to Upstairs’ conception of it all.

Whereupon the other angel had grinned with obvious pride, a brilliant red flooding into his cheeks— Michael hadn’t known it was possible for an angel to blush— and then started vigorously explaining all the little intricacies of the work he’d done, all the efforts he’d put in here and there. And as Michael listened, he couldn’t help but be entranced by how obviously devoted the angel was to his craft— the expressiveness of his voice like lilting music to Michael’s ears— but still, there was a growing uneasiness in Michael’s heart of hearts. The emotion that sparked in this angel’s eyes was unquestionably love for the miracle of Creation, as all angels are enjoined to partake in, but there was something so unchaste about it… Like he weren’t a mere tool of Creation, but almost as if— as if he were claiming this small part of the Creation as his own. The artist’s heart, realized Michael, that’s what beats within this angel. Which was problematic, considering human artists, or even humans hadn’t been created yet— and angels did not have human hearts, anyway.

It was quite unconscious on the angel’s part, Michael was sure— he must have been alone with his work for so long that perhaps he had forgotten some of his angelic ways. But Michael felt duty-bound, now, to give this angel at least a nudge in the right direction. So he told the angel about the Almighty’s Great Plan, and how the Earth was not meant to last forever— and watched as the angel’s face fell, disappointment writ plain as day on his countenance. And the Archangel Michael noticed how this angel wore his heart so on his sleeve, and he trembled. And he wondered, if perhaps he had made the wrong call… [6]

But for now, the young angel has stars in his eyes that have been dimmed only slightly by Michael’s information, and he is bright and shining in a way that none of the other angels can ever match, and for a moment Mike does not stop to check the blasphemy that rises, unbidden, in his thoughts.

——

1) Will calls Michael “Mike” in human company, and Mike has a secret soft spot for the nickname no matter how much he outwardly protests it.

2) Mike was indeed the Archangel Michael. He got demoted to Principality after the Great War because he was seen to sympathize with a Rebel angel (no points for guessing who that is)

3) Mike, in his human life, does run a regular D&D campaign as DM. Will is a constant presence, and given D&D’s reputation, likes to tease Mike that he is in fact spreading Satanic influence on Earth.

4) There is, of course, one exception to this. There is always one exception, and Will has very mixed feelings about Mike being the only living creature who can always see through him.

5) Will had a bowl cut during his time in Heaven. One of the few perks of him being a demon is that he gets to wear his hair cooler. Although, he probably still wears a lot of (dark-colored) plaid to offset the coolness factor.

6) In no universe can it be said that it wasn’t Mike’s fault for Will (F)alling.

[aajjks]

NWO!JK

the blood crystal is growing stronger. it’s fueling jungkook’s negative emotions just as mj suspected but it’s making him impulsive. she was there when jungkook called you a hypocrite, secretive, and called you out in front of everyone, including eunwoo. maybe the crystal has finally turned him against you but she isn’t too convinced that his devotion has completely dissipated since he’s beating young-jae to a bloody pulp for talking about you.

he looks insane right now and is secretly enjoying the pain he’s dishing out to young-jae. it was the same look he had when she faced him last night. mj has no doubt in her mind that jungkook is spider-man. if it weren’t for the police, he would’ve found out her identity. or worse, he would’ve killed her.

mj decides not to get too close to jungkook for the remainder of the day as it wouldn’t be the smartest thing to do at the moment. for now, she’ll watch jungkook ruin all his chances with you and enjoy the sight of him crushing any and all chances to finally have you.

security finally pulls jungkook off of young-jae and escorts him to the principal’s office while young-jae heads to the clinic to get his nose looked at. the dark thoughts don’t let up and only encourage jungkook to hurt you more. you’re the primary target, the source of his darkest thoughts and deepest desires. he wants to make you feel the way he’s felt every time you brushed him off for some guy who doesn’t even deserve you.

“we do not tolerate violence on school grounds. after today, you will be suspended from campus for 48-hours and will take your classes online. enjoy the rest of your day, mr. jeon and behave yourself” warns the principal who gives him a paper before sending him on his way.

it’s officially lunch period and you’re sitting with eunwoo chatting about how your classes went. he tells you that alina said yes to going out on a date with him which makes you really happy. you tell him that you passed your test that was very hard—the atmosphere is happy until eunwoo sees jungkook.

he’s sitting alone and judging from his red knuckles, he must’ve beat someone up today. “c’mon, let’s go check up on him” eunwoo says and although you’re a little reluctant because you’re still pissed off, he’s still your best friend. you both decide to sit across from jungkook who doesn’t pay any attention to either of you even going as far as to pretend neither of you are there.

“okay, what the actual fuck is your problem? you’ve been acting like a fucking child all day. we’re trying to make sure everything is alright with you and all you’re doing is ignoring us”

“y/n” eunwoo warns you but you don’t care. he’s been so disrespectful towards you and eunwoo when neither of you haven’t done anything wrong to him.

“don’t ‘y/n’ me. we fucking suck, remember? always whining about something—it’s not whining if we’re trying to make sure you’re okay! how am i the secretive one when you have a job you won’t even tell us about? which, i don’t even think it’s a job”

~🫧

He scoffs, clenching his fists.

“oh my God, I told you to fuck off didn’t I? You need to shut your mouth yn you talk too much.” Jungkook brings his face closer to you.

For some reason, he feels like his eyes are watering and they are irritated.

“I sell drugs. OK shut up now.” He glares at you, oh goodness, what is he doing? He wants to hurt you. He can’t stop thinking about it. Eunwoo watches him in confusion. “Dude- SHUT UP OR I’LL BREAK YOUR NOSE NEXT.”

Jungkook stands up, grabbing his bag, “you two better not bother me for the next two days. I’m fucking suspended.” He clenches his jaw.

Whenever he looks at you, he feels, anger, and possession. There’s something deeply wrong with him but he cannot understand what’s going on. Jungkook blinks, trying to calm his bubbling anger down, but it’s not working at all.

He opens his eyes once more. “It’s all because of you yn. You made me this way.” He spits before turning his back on you. But then you try to stop him by grabbing his shoulder,

And Jungkook sees red immediately. “WHAT THE FUCK YN I TOLD YOU TO FUCKING STAY AWAY!” He pushes you away with force, harshly. The people in the school cafeteria gasp and eunwoo immediately comes to your rescue.

“WHAT THE FUCK MAN!”

“OH JEONS GONE COMPLETELY PSYCHO!”

“Ugh what an asshole!”

He’s glaring at you until he sees tears and… even fear in your eyes.

“Y-Yn…” and that’s when the realization hits him.

And the crystal glows so brightly.

[ijwrff]

Prisoner-Part 6

I was planning to do this next part so much sooner than I did XD 

I also focused entirely on Anti in this one. I wanted to do at least one good part showing his soft side. Next part will involve both Anti and Dark together. I may have. Forgot a lot of what I wrote back when I started this, so I forgot I promised more Dark in this chapter until it was too late ^^;;;

So! 

Tags: @thattiredanimator1t0mblr​ @serenitydusk​ @viciouslyyearning​

Word Count: 1,143

After the incident with Marvin, Anti refused to leave his room. Making sure you stayed right there with him the whole time. Your heartbeat spiked during the altercation, but seeing Anti gulf down his food with bits and pieces over his face made you let out a laugh. He looked up, still chewing with food on his face.

“What?” He tried to say, but realized his mouth was full. He did realize it, but he also didn’t care. Anti wasn’t a demon to care what other people thought of him. Except…that didn’t seem to be the case with you. He tiptoed around you, but it also seemed like he wasn’t used to having to do that. It was odd…it made you question a lot.

You shook all those thoughts off, “Nothing. You just. Have food on your face.” It made you giggle a little bit when he rubbed a couple pieces off, but there was still a lot left. He didn’t even stop eating, instead just going right back to scarfing down all of his food. This time you waited until he was done eating.

“Here…” You picked up a napkin, and leaned forward to help him get the food off his face but he flinched back with a growl and mixture of fear and anger on his face. Although brief, that moment of fear would stick in your mind. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t…” You wanted to say you didn’t mean to startle him, but he cut you off.

He scoffed, and even you could tell he was hiding his true feelings behind his words, “I’m not a damn baby, I can wipe my own face.” He yanked the napkin out of your hand, effectively tearing it, and he removed all the food from his face. He still missed some spots, but you weren’t gonna try and help him again. Not for a bit anyways.

You were a little nervous now, not knowing if you pushed him too far already. It was an internal battle, with your thoughts going from “I hope I didn’t upset him…” to “He kidnapped me! Why should I be nice to him at all?” So on and so forth. But something in his eyes made you think that there was some good, buried somewhere deep within him.

Anti noticed your reluctance, and tried to recover from the situation. “You…like to game?” He led you over to the tv, and showed that there was a beanbag chair. But…just one. Did he not play with anyone else? That thought was solidified when he continued, “I only have one controller. But we can take turns or some shit.”

You stood, and looked at his games. Some of which you’d heard of and had been wanting to try for a long time. “Oh! This one!” A smile bloomed on your face, and his mouth opened slightly in response, but he closed it and looked away.

“Yeah yeah, you can play that one.” He wanted to be close to you…he wanted to so much. However his anxieties that he would never admit to having reared their angry heads. “Play games.” He picked you up with ease, and set you on his bean bag chair. “I’ll watch.”

“But…where are you gonna sit?” For some reason you thought he’d sit you on his lap. Take any excuse he could to feel you. Maybe…he was trying to be considerate? In his own way? “You can take the beanbag chair! I don’t mind, I can sit on the floor!” His glare stopped that train of thought.

“No.” He sat down next to you and placed the controller in your hands after he set up the game. He was…being very short with you all of a sudden. Noticing your confused expression he did his seemingly signature “TCH!” And it looked like he was fighting the urge to push you off the chair. “Just. Play the fucking game.”

You weren’t having it. You set the controller down, and looked him dead in the eyes. “What’s wrong?” He growled, but this time you didn’t let up. You simply looked at him with eyes full of determination, and didn’t say another word.

He went from unamused, to irritated, to flustered, back to irritated. “Jesus-FUCK OKAY!” With his hands flung in the air, he looked away from you and quickly folded them over his chest. Was he seriously pouting right now? “Just. Don’t wanna have this stupid fucking conversation with Dark. About…” “Our agreement” falling silent in the air. He didn’t say it, but it was heavily implied so you understood very quickly what was about.

“Oh…” You didn’t know what to say. How could you? Neither of them had given you even a small clue as to what their “agreement” was about. “Then…” You put your hands on his shoulders, and he looked as confused as you felt. You led him to sit in front of you, with his back to the front of the chair and resting somewhat between your legs. “Try not to worry…I don’t know what it’s about, but it’ll be okay. I think.”

He’s so glad you couldn’t see how red his face was. He would have to throw himself out the window if you made fun of his red face. Revoke his status as one of the two kings of the void. Disappear into the human world without any powers and never return.

So instead of saying anything that could give you a clue, he reached back and put the fingers of your hands in his hair. He had always wanted someone to play with his hair, but he was usually too embarrassed to ask. He’d never ask one of his demons, and generally he found humans disgusting. You were the exception. One he would happily make, given how kind you have been to him. Despite…your initial meeting. And the number of times he’s scared you.

It was sweet to see him relax into your hands. His green hair flowing across your palms and between your fingers. He sighed, and leaned into your touch. It was an intimate moment for you both. It wasn’t sexual, or anything of the sort. But it was a moment of vulnerability on his hand.

“M’sorry…for bein mean to you.” He said, and leaned his head back to rest in your lap, looking up at you with serious eyes. There was still a tint of red on his cheeks and nose, but it was admittedly a lot better than it had been.

You looked down at him, now getting a little red in the face as well. “I think…I know you a little better now.” And you smiled. It was a smile that melted his heart, and made him want to protect you forever. To hold you and never let go. To teach him…

What it was like to be happy.

[themissingnumbers]

BRUH- Hi, this isn’t anything important. I just wanted to serve up another yappuccino with a side of theory real quick hope you don’t mind.

THIS MAN! HIM! Fire/Red’s expressions give me LIFE. Oh my JESUS- The talksprites are gorgeous and are very well done. You do such a good job at showing how he feels In subtle ways, like him glancing away and the furrowing of his eyebrows, that the bigger reactions seem visceral and really feel genuine. (As they say “OOC is serious business.”) (My favorite expression on him so far is the one where he gasped and started tearing up before remembering his friend. Just YANK on my heartstrings why don’t ya!?)

Also, ERROR Au79… Is that the homie Gold? Au79 is Gold on the periodic table, if my memory serves me correctly. I don’t know, but I trust him immediately. I believe the words of a dead man over anything else I’ve heard so far. Also, if it really is Gold—his spirit or whatever he may be now—I’m finna start crying bruh… Even in death he’s still looking out for his friend. That’s a good ass friend. He’s a real one for that. (Also, who TF is lying? Red? The Professor? I’m assuming Red because he keeps saying he doesn’t need stuff when he actually does. If nothing else he’s very clearly cold up there. That man needs help.)

And on the note of friends, Fire/Red’s reaction and subsequent denial to the offer of friendship didn’t seem to hold the air of an actual rejection (or maybe I’m reading the text in the wrong tone, who knows? I’m just going off of vibes~ or optimism who knows-) His “no”, to me, felt less like a full blown rejection and more of a “this is for your own good” type of thing. I feel like he wants friends, but I also get the feeling that he’s reluctant to get close to anybody and actively discourages anyone from climbing Mt. Silver because of what he’s been through. Like, he’s already lost one friend to the mountain and he can’t handle losing another. (Gold(?) seems to know that too.)

Anyways, that’s all for this time. Thank you for coming to my ted talk. You and your homies keep up the good work. I look forward to seeing more! :D

Referring to this point in the story.

[gay-otlc]

Not Alone

Wylie talks to Tam and realizes he's not alone in being aromantic.

ao3

Wylie hadn’t expected to be interrupted. Glimmer is in her bedroom, probably asleep, and the twins are in theirs. His dads are still out on their date. So Wylie has taken this opportunity to drink an unwise amount of coffee and start on that Team Valiant paperwork he’s been avoiding all week. It’s not fun.

Why did he even decide to work for the council? He hates the council. And he hates paperwork.

So he hadn’t expected to be interrupted, but Tam’s presence is a very welcome interruption.

It is the middle of the night, though, which is kind of concerning. He studies Tam’s expression. “You okay? Nightmares?”

Tam huffs. “I’d almost prefer the nightmares at this point. At least then I’d be able to get some sleep. Linh has been on a call with her girlfriends for like, two hours, and they won’t shut up. She’s so annoying. Linh is so annoying when it comes to those three.” Tam pauses for a moment, and then sighs heavily. “I’m kind of jealous that she has… that. A relationship.”

This is a topic that Wylie is highly unqualified to give advice about. “You don’t… is there someone you wish you had that with?”

“No, there’s no one I’m interested in.” Wylie exhales in relief. He did not want to hear Tam talk about a crush. “There never has been. I honestly don’t think there ever will be.”

“Oh!” 

The surprise is clear in Wylie's voice; he hasn’t known anyone like him before. Hadn’t known there were other people like him. But Tam must have interpreted his surprise as rejection rather than excitement, because his expression darkens. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he mutters.

“Nothing is wrong with you,” Wylie says, and it’s almost laughable how firmly he believes that to be true about Tam, when he still can’t quite believe it about himself. 

Tam stares at the floor. “I- I hate that I’m proving people right. The people who think I’m broken because I’m a twin and the people who think I’m evil and heartless because I’m a Shade. I don’t want them to be right, but-”

“They aren’t! Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not broken, you’re just… different.” Hypocrite, hypocrite, hypocrite. “And you’re not heartless. You care about people so much. You joined the fucking Neverseen to protect Linh, of course you’re not heartless. You don’t need to be able to fall in love to be a good person, Tam.”

He’s silent for a while. Wylie wonders if he’s overstepped. But finally, barely audible, Tam says “I. Um. Thanks.”

Wylie grins at him, relieved that his words had been helpful. “Of course. No one’s allowed to talk shit about my brother.”

My brother.

He doesn’t really think about it, just says it casually. It’s taken a while for the two of them to feel like family; they’d gotten off to a somewhat rocky start, between Tam’s reluctance to trust people who aren’t Linh and Wylie’s reluctance to get close to anyone in case he loses them too. But Tam trusts him now- at least, Wylie hopes he does- and Wylie has gotten close to him, and Tam’s his brother.

Hopefully saying it out loud hasn’t made Tam uncomfortable.

Tam freezes, and Wylie immediately regrets it. But then he smiles and rolls his eyes, affectionate. “I can talk shit about myself if I want.”

“Nope. You can’t. I make the rules.”

Tam sticks his tongue out, and Wylie laughs and wraps an arm around his shoulders. They sit in silence for a while, and Wylie thinks about everything he told Tam.

He doesn’t doubt it at all. Tam doesn’t need to fall in love to be a good person. 

And, he supposes, he doesn’t either, but that’s harder to believe.

A voice that sounds suspiciously like his dad’s fills his head; Wylie, stop being so hard on yourself. You need to give yourself with the same kindness you give to everyone else.

It’s very annoying, but his Inner Tiergan is right; he needs to give himself the same kindness he’s giving Tam.

Tam’s not broken for this, and neither is he.

“I’m like you,” Wylie says, breaking the silence. He’s surprised at how easily the words slip out. He hasn’t talked about this with anyone else, always shrugging off his friends’ questions about match lists and never raising the subject with his dads. They’ve always known better than to pressure Wylie about relationships, so it’s just… never come up, aside from the time Tiergan stumbled through a horribly awkward sex talk that left them both wishing for the floor to swallow them. 

He’s never told anyone before, but he knows Tam will understand, and he wants to be honest with his brother. Plus, it had helped Wylie to know he wasn’t alone in this. Maybe it’ll help Tam too.

“You are?”

Wylie nods. “Yeah. I know people are usually happy with a partner, but I don’t think I would be. I’ve never found anyone I felt that way about.”

“You never mentioned.”

Maybe he should have. Maybe if he’d said something, Tam would have known sooner that he wasn’t broken. “I was- I didn’t know how to talk about it. You’re the first person I’ve told.”

“Why me?”

“Before today, I thought I was the only person like this. I guess I’m not.”

“I thought I was the only one too,” Tam admits. “I’m glad I’m not.”

Maybe it’s good that Wylie’s like this. It did give him something to bond with his brother over. And like he told Tam, he doesn’t think he’d be happy with a partner, anyway.

He’s happy with his family.

That’s enough.

[talkfastromance4]

Homecoming--Luke&Lily oneshot

a/n: we are officially caught up! again, I apologize for it taking me so long to update.

warnings: mentions of blood/passing out (very near the end), allusion to smut

word count: 2.2k

masterlist

Luke & Lily Masterlist

Enjoy!

PSA: if you’re using mobile and are on dark mode, change to true blue. The words aren’t showing up in white for me on mobile and idk how to fix it☹️ I’m sorry.

****

Luke had originally said he wouldn’t be home until July 26th because they always had a big celebration with the crew for end of tour. He and the guys took everyone out for a special dinner as a thank you for all of their hard work and support

It was a rough morning for mama getting the kids out of bed, to eat breakfast, and to get dressed. But, it’s the first day of Lily’s day camp for the Summer so you know she’s nervous and you try to tell her how much fun she’s going to have; meanwhile Posy is crying about how she wanted to wear her butterfly shirt not her ladybug one. Once at the drop-off for the day camp, all three kids are hanging onto you. You see Ronan and his moms, he shows Lily a sticker book he got that they can do on the bus. If you would have known he was going, you would have mentioned him earlier to ease Lily because she gets on the bus no problem with him. Posy pouts that she can’t go with Lily to camp, you assure her she’s going to have fun at her own summer class. She’s reluctant to go but you promise Lily will tell her all about her day 

Oliver doesn’t get fussy until you arrive at daycare. “It’s been quite the morning,” you sigh to his teacher, Miss Honey. “His sisters were upset and now he’s being extra clingy…” 

“It’s okay, sometimes we have those days, right Oliver?” Oliver is trying to climb up your legs from his spot on the floor as you put his lunch in the fridge. You pick him up and he snuggles into your neck. 

“Mama has to go now, you’re going to have such a fun day.” You kiss his cheeks repeatedly and rub his tears from under his glasses. He’s wailing for you and even though you know he’ll be fine and his smiley self in a few minutes, it still shatters your heart to hear him crying like that. 

Once in the car, you close your eyes and take deep breaths trying not to let the rough morning get to you. Then, you touch your stomach, “Please don’t make me even more emotional, baby.” This pregnancy has really been making you exhausted and your emotions are an incessant rollercoaster. 

When you’re at work, you get through your to do list and emails pretty quickly so by midmorning you were getting a cup of tea from the breakroom when the other women in the office start chattering loudly. When you step out, the chattering stops but they’re all grinning at you, even your boss.

 “What?” You ask. 

“There’s a delivery in your office,” Pamela smirks. When you enter your office there’s a large bouquet of flowers in a crystal vase. Knowing it’s from Luke, you smile and set your mug down next to the flowers when your chair spins around and Luke is sitting there, beaming up at you.

“Hello, Mrs. Hemmings, I have a very important delivery for you.”

“Luke!” You fall onto his lap, your chair knocking into the wall but Luke braces his feet on the floor. You breathe him in feeling tears spike in your eyes.

“Hi lovie,” he murmurs wrapping his arms tightly around you. He kisses your shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t coming home until tomorrow night?”

“We finished things early with the crew. They surprised us actually with a late night buffet. Said they knew me and Michael have families to get running home to.”

“I’m so glad you’re home,” you sniff. He pulls your head back, his hands holding your face gently.

“What’s wrong, lovie?”

“It was a rough morning that’s all,” you give him a teary smile. “And I’m happy you’re here and I’m…emotional. And pregnant.” 

“Tell me about it on the way home,” he kisses your nose then drops a hand to your stomach. “This little one has a lot of emotions, hm?”

“Yeah,” you place your hand over his, and the way your hands are atop of each other it places your wedding rings next to each other. “What do you mean home?”

“Cheri said I can kidnap you,” he smiles.

The flowers are on the floor between your feet as Luke drives your car home, he had Ashton drop him off at your work. You tell him about the morning with the kids, mention how this pregnancy really is bringing out your emotions.

“How else are you feeling? Any morning sickness?”

“No, not yet,” you sigh. “Which is strange. I had morning sickness already when I was pregnant with Lily, Posy and Oliver.”

“Maybe your body’s gotten into the swing of things by now,” he chuckles and you lean over to pinch his cheek. “I’m sorry you had a rough morning, but I promise to make it better for you.”

“It’s already better because you’re home.”

When you arrive home he hugs and kisses Petunia then leads you to your bedroom where he turns the blinds a little so you’re in a comfortable shade. 

“Are we going back to sleep?” you smile kicking off your heels.

“We can after.”

“After what?”

He smiles deviously then starts to unbutton your red silk top. “Do you need another hint?” He quirked an eyebrow before pressing his lips to yours then onto your neck. 

You remove each other’s clothes slowly, Luke’s fingers are always on you and you’re always touching as well. You fall together on your bed, joining together and it’s always like the first time and the last time with every time in between and future ones to come. Your moans alternate and you orgasm (rather quickly, again thanks to being pregnant) he’s not too far behind because you clench around him so tightly. 

He’s panting as he holds himself above you, his curls falling over his eyes. “I forgot your sex drive is heightened when you’re pregnant.”

“And you’re way better than the vibrator.”

He barks out a laugh and falls to his back. “Thank goodness I’m better than the vibe.”

You roll over and trace the perimeter of his chest hair, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he catches his breath. “Wanna go get it while you recoup?” 

Luke lets out a long exhale staring at you. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, let’s see if you can get me off quicker than I can with it.” 

“Fuck,” he groans giving you a hard kiss and rolls you over. “I love you so damned much. Where is it?”

“Bathroom, top shelf,” you giggle as he kisses you again then leaps off the bed. 

You do end up falling asleep after a rigorous romp in the sheets but then you’re awoken by your stomach growling. Luke isn’t in bed next to you. You wash up quickly in the bathroom then slip on one of his new tour shirts then find him in the kitchen making a late lunch. Your phone is on the counter, with his back still turned you take a photo then call out, ‘hey handsome.’ When he turns around with a smile, you capture it perfectly. 

You spend the rest of the afternoon cuddling while listening to him tell you more about tour, how much he missed being onstage with the boys but also how he missed you. He mentions he wants you and the kids to go to Australia with them on the third leg of tour.

“I’ll be very pregnant by then, Luke,” you answer sadly.

“Just an idea,” he responds lightheartedly but you can tell he’s faking it. 

“We can discuss it with my doctor, but it’ll be the end of my second trimester.”

“Like I said, just an idea,” he kisses your forehead. “Your health and the baby’s is more important.”

You bite your lip because you know he’s putting up a front, you can’t help but feel like you’re constantly disappointing him. 

You take a quick shower together before you pick Oliver up from daycare. He’s so excited to see you both that he’s crawling as fast as he can towards you, excited grunts and squeals coming from him. Somehow in his excitement, he pushes up on his feet and walks to you and Luke. You’re cheering him on but when he stumbles, Luke catches him quickly.

This is the first time he’s walked, you’re crying again because those were his first steps and you and Luke were both present to see it. As you’re gathering his things, Miss Honey approaches you congratulating you on Oliver’s walking but then she mentions she’s noticed how nonverbal he is. She questions if he says simple words like ‘mama’ or ‘dada’ or even ‘dog’ and you frown because he hasn’t said anything like that.

When he’s excited he sort of hums which sounds like ‘mama’. 

“He was premature, right?”

“Yes, and he was in the NICU for twelve weeks. Is that common for premature babies not to speak?”

“Every child is different, maybe it’s going to take him a little bit longer,” Miss Honey says kindly.

“Well, we’ll be seeing his doctor soon so I’ll ask her. Thank you for telling me, I’ll make sure to keep an eye on it.”

When you tell Luke he gets angry at first defending that nothing is wrong with him then frowns at Oliver in his carseat through the rearview mirror. He’s playing with his toy keys, humming around them and gazing out the window. 

“We talk to him all the time, so do the girls…”

“It really could be because he was born so early, it could take him longer than most to reach his milestones.”

“But he walked today! That’s a big milestone and he’s 15 months old now.” 

“Luke, it’s okay. We’ll ask his doctor and see what she says,” you rub at the back of his neck.

Posy is equally thrilled to see Luke and starts chatting away about her day explaining how she wanted her butterfly shirt but Luke thinks her ladybug shirt is just as good. She beams at him.

The four of you are standing on the curb at school waiting for Lily’s bus to arrive. When it does and parks, Lily is talking with Roman and another little boy, when she sees Luke, her face brightens and she runs with her arms wide open screaming, “Daddy!”

Luke lifts her up effortlessly, his hand rubbing at her back and hair affectionately. 

“Hi my sweet,” he smiles kissing the side of her head. “How was camp?”

She tells him and you all about it while you walk to the car. Luke sets Lily down to help Posy get buckled in her booster seat.

“How about we go swimming when we get home and we have…McDonald’s for dinner?” Luke asks excitedly. Lily and Posy cheer, then you inform them that Oliver walked today. 

“Good job, Olly!” Lily tells him patting his hand.

Posy asks if Chloe and Maddox will be coming over too, she loves the twins.

“No, bug, they gotta stay home with Uncle Michael and Auntie Crystal. Maybe we can all get together this weekend.”

You all have fun playing in the pool, Luke tosses the ball for Petunia in the grass then she lays at the edge of the pool when she’s tired. Posy and Lily take turns swimming by her and kissing her nose while she pants. For the rest of the week, Luke and you take the kids to their desired places and you watch Oliver more carefully. He makes noises but no coherent words have formed yet. 

You spend the Saturday at Michael and Crystal’s where you ask about the babies. Luke’s eyes meet yours, he smiles and lets his gaze shift to your belly. You still haven’t told anyone else yet.

In August, you agree to tell everyone about the new baby but when you’re out with Crystal you feel a little off. Michael and Luke are with the kids so you and Crystal had a pamper day of mani pedis then went to lunch. You went to the bathroom and Crystal sat waiting. She texted Michael asking how Chloe and Maddox were doing, she scrolled through some stories on Instagram and noticed how long you’ve been gone.

Crystal makes her way towards the bathroom to check on you and knocks on the door.

“y/n?” 

“Can…can you call Luke?” you ask, your voice shaky.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“I’m…” you look down at your fingers holding the wad of tissue as you try to stop it but all you see is red. “I’m bleeding. Call an ambulance…please.” 

Crystal panics and calls 911 right away while also ordering a worker to open the door. She tries to open it herself by shoving on it with all her might but it’s locked. She tries to call for you to unlock it but you’re not responding and Crystal panics more. 

The dispatcher says someone will be there in three minutes. Crystal is still demanding the manager to open the door, he’s fumbling for the correct key as she calls Luke simultaneously smacking the door calling out to you. He doesn’t pick up the first time so she calls again.

Back at Michael’s house, Luke finds his phone wedged between the couch and sees Crystal calling him. 

“Hey, Crys, what’s–” he answers but she’s talking so fast he can’t keep up. 

The only thing he hears is, “get to the hospital now. y/n’s bleeding. Hurry!”

Wails of sirens are heard in the background. Luke freezes. Crystal is crying. Lily’s eyes meet Luke’s. The bathroom door finally breaks open from a paramedic who kicked it down.

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[tuxedaaron]

The context of this picture is a little long-winded, so please bear with me.  The basic idea came to me when I was coming up with some brainstorming for one of my upcoming DCAU fanfics, entitled, "Legacy".   The basic synopsis for the story takes place in the "Beyond" timeline of the DCAU, when Bruce Wayne has ultimately died.  As allies, new and old, remember and grieve, and a new hard-as-nails Commissioner succeeds Barbara Gordon as head of the GCPD, Terry McGinnis finds himself questioning Batman's relevance in a world that seems almost determined to move on without him.  At the same time, a new masked figure has emerged, looking to carve out his own legend in Gotham...one that surpasses even Batman's. One of the key elements of the story is going to involve Terry interacting with various key figures in Bruce's life (from Superman to Dick Grayson), each of them sharing a personal moment with him that no one else knows about.  This particular scene comes to us courtesy of the flashback provided by Wonder Woman, who arrives from Themyscira to mourn Bruce's passing as well.  As she reminisces with Terry, it's revealed that she and Bruce were actually in a committed relationship for several years before various circumstances pulled them apart (not the least of which was Diana being forced to return home). Which brings us to the flashback in question, which shows that Diana was able to provide a guiding light in Bruce's darkness for the time they were together.  This takes place on the tail end of their first year together.  Diana has begun sleeping at Bruce's home on a pretty regular basis, but Bruce would still generally make it a habit to sneak out of bed and do some Bat-work. He'd usually manage to slip back before she woke up, but as far as Diana's concerned, he's fooling absolutely no one. Still, if it made him feel more at ease, she generally didn't take offense. However, this time around...something is VERY different.  Stirred awake to find Bruce sitting on the edge of the bed, still in costume, Diana tries to get him to talk about it.  But Bruce remains adamantly tight-lipped about what he experienced, the only answer for his silence being, "I just think it's fair that ONE of us should still be able to sleep". Now Diana KNOWS that something is wrong. She can hear it in his voice, the way he squeezed her hand as he spoke.  The scene ends with her coaxing Bruce down onto the bed, where she holds him, kisses him and generally gives him all the love she has until Bruce finally reaches a comfortable enough state that he finally manages to sleep.  As the flashback draws to a close, Diana then goes on to talk about how Bruce's heart basically became an open book to her after that night. Even though he would still be reluctant to express his feelings verbally, there was always something Diana would see in his eyes from that night onward. A feeling of...contentment whenever she was around. "To this day, I STILL don't know what happened that night. Bruce never told me and I never asked again," Diana recalls. "For all I know, maybe it wasn't anything at all. Maybe it was just all the years of Batman finally catching up with him." "What I DO know for a FACT...is that night...was the closest he'd EVER come to slipping off the edge," she added as her gaze drifted off across the room. "Hera only knows what he might have done to himself...or ANYONE else...if someone hadn't been there for him..." "...I'm just glad that someone was me." As for the pic itself, it's more or less the way I wanted it to look.   Before you ask, yes, Diana IS naked in the picture and people can read into that however they want.  Since the story I'm planning is going to be rated T, I can be a bit more liberal with the violence and certain sexual aspects.  However, my take is that Diana just generally sleeps naked, no matter what.  Plus, she's sufficiently obscured by Bruce that I don't think we need to insult each other by calling this a "Mature Content" pic.  Besides, the purpose of this scene is not intended to be sexual, anyway.  The idea is that in the end, Diana is able to soothe Bruce's troubled mind with her HEART, not with her BODY. Anyway, I'm quite pleased with how the pic came out.  Not bad for my first time, posting a pic of either of these characters, don't you think?  As always feel free to tell me your thoughts.  I hope you feel the same emotions I wanted to convey in this pic.  Either way, I look forward to hearing from you. ^_^