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pers1st · 2 months

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i'm there regardless of the pain

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

notes: this is more r focused and very short, mentions of death, idk i don’t like it but whatever

Dropping down onto your bed, you let out a breath you've been holding for the past three weeks. It's been three long weeks since that phone call with your father, three weeks of being home and trying to pick up the pieces of your family's life, shattered by the sudden death of your mother. It's been three incredibly difficult weeks, and despite the fact that you've been longing for Alexia ever since you've left Barcelona, you make no move to reach for her as she slides into bed beside you.

"Do you want to talk about it?", she asks, hesitation in her voice. The two of you haven't been dating for that long, haven't been dating long enough for her to finally be introduced to your family, not even long enough for you to tell your parents.

Do you want to talk about it? Not necessarily. All you've been doing for three weeks is to talk about it. To welcome all the neighbors into your home who dropped off food as an excuse to sneak in on your life, gather information to spread it through the neighborhood, all with a fake smile and goggling eyes.

"No."

You don't think you can talk about it anymore. All of the words have left you already, have left you after accepting every wish of condolences at the funeral, have left you at the reception afterwards, have left you since you've read the eulogy you'd prepared on your own. Even if you open your mouth, you're not sure a single word about your mother would escape.

Alexia deserves to hear about her. To hear about the incredibly kind woman who raised you, who gifted you with so much love and support all throughout your life, who was the absolute anchor of you and your brother's life, who was the love of your father's life and left him behind shattered. You wish you could tell your girlfriend all about her, make up for the fact that you are the reason she never met the woman, but you can't.

"Do you want to take your mind off it?"

It surprises you. You don't think you've ever heard your girlfriend string more than one sentence of English together without the odd Spanish slipping in between. It makes you smile, but even the knowledge that she is really trying to help you can't mend the pain in your chest.

Truthfully, there is no taking your mind off it. Your mother's ghost floats in front of you every time you close your eyes, her voice whispers into your ears constantly, if you try hard enough, you can feel the traces of her arms around your frame. She is everywhere, yet she is buried in the ground somewhere in your hometown, left alone under the cold mud and an arrangement of flowers, rain casting over her.

"No."

Alexia doesn't reply for a second, and the room is so silent you want the bed to swallow you, you want to drop under the mattress and let the darkness engulf you. There is no taking your mind off it, perhaps for the rest of your life. How are you supposed to carry on when everything pulls you back?

"Do you want me to leave you alone?"

At that, your glance across the ceiling lowers. Alexia looks up at you with her wide, stormy eyes and for a second, you feel your breath falter.

"No."

You never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone. Despite the fact that you went to your own apartment with an Uber, not even caring to let your girlfriend pick you up from the airport, only letting her know you arrived back in Barcelona and leaving her to guess your whereabouts, despite the fact that you sent her a total of five messages and declined every phone call for three long, impossibly difficult weeks, you never, ever want Alexia to leave you alone.

She seems to believe you, despite the fact that you make no effort to look at her again, and settles her head on your shoulder, using her hand to provide a little cushion.

You missed her return. You missed her comeback to the pitch, one that the two of you had been anticipating for a few months. You missed Barcelona's first Champions League quarterfinal, and if Alexia has any say in it, you will miss the next one as well. Because despite the fact that your breathing is calm, that she feels your heart beating regularly in your chest, she knows just how heavy the burden is that you are forced to carry. She feels the gravity of it all, sees it in your eyes, despite the fact that you won't look at her. She is not just your girlfriend, she is also your captain, and both of her positions worry about you immensely.

"You never got to know her."

Admittedly, you told Alexia you didn't want to speak about it, so the breath she draws in doesn't shock you. You don't want to talk about it, but if it's occupying your whole mind, what else are you supposed to speak about?

"I know."

There it is again. The Spanish accent that rolls off her tongue so easily, slipping in between the words.

"I told my dad. About us", you say next, and once again, Alexia draws in a sharp breath.

You met Alexia's family regularly, having been accepted as one of their own by both Eli, Alba and the rest of her relatives, but Alexia wasn't even a known name to either of your parents, at least prior to last week. It's not that you are ashamed of her - quite the opposite of it, actually. It's rather that sometimes, you feel ashamed of your family. They accepted it when you came out, but they never mentioned it again. You are bi, not gay, and so at every opportunity, they would throw men your way, you figure in hopes to keep the image of a normal family. Alexia doesn't deserve to know the critical gazes of both your parents, although you figure your mother would've accepted her happily. Your father-

"What did he say?"

You shrug.

"I don't even know if he heard me. He was crying, no- screaming, for someone to make the pain stop. I don't know if he heard me, but if he did, he didn't mention it again."

It gives Alexia just an idea of how horrible the past three weeks of your life must have been. She saw it as well- when her own father passed, yet her mother kept herself together enough to be strong for her children. His death was inevitable, and although it pained Alexia to this very day, she knows it's nothing like your situation. Your mother just fell asleep one day, and the next morning, she was dead. She still is.

"Amor, I am so sorry."

"It's fine. I don't want to talk about it", you huff as Alexia tentatively stretches an arm across your chest, placing it in the centre to feel your heartbeat. It is still regular.

That's how you spend the next few hours, your stare fixed on the ceiling, Alexia's alternating between your features, the ceiling and her hand on your chest. You are in an unbearable amount of pain, your girlfriend knows, she feels it weighing down on you, feels it sitting on your shoulder and snarling into your ear. Regardless, she is there. She will always be there. Even if you don't want to talk about it. Even if you don't want to take your mind off it. And even if you had wanted her to leave you alone- she would be there, regardless of the pain.

#woso community #woso #woso imagine #woso one shot #woso fanfics #barca femeni #barca femeni x reader #barca x reader #barca women #alexia putellas one shot #alexia putellas x reader #alexiaputellas #alexia putellas

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suzukiblu · 7 months

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NaNoWriMo fic, day one: obligatory sugar daddy Tim/sugar baby Kon AU.

Tim Drake had absolutely no intentions of ever becoming anyone's sugar daddy when he met Superboy.

This would have worked out better for him if Superboy had ever had an actual legal identity or an actual legal guardian or just . . . literally anything whatsoever in life. Ever. At all.

Just a bank account, even.

"You're working for Cadmus," Tim says slowly. "Cadmus, as in the lab that stole Superman's body and cloned him without his consent. Cadmus, which you had to break out of so they couldn't put mind control code words in your head."

"Yeah," Superboy replies like that's not literally insane. Tim stares at him.

"Why?" he asks incredulously.

"Food and shelter?" Superboy shrugs. "And I mean, I dunno, where else am I gonna go?"

Tim is not okay with this situation.

"What did Superman say?" he says.

"Just to like, keep an eye on things," Superboy says with another shrug. "Make sure they're not up to anything shifty."

Tim stares at him.

"Superman," he says. "Told you to just . . . 'keep an eye on' the dubiously ethical cloning lab. The specific dubiously ethical cloning lab that tried to put mind control code words in your head. Specifically."

"Yeah," Superboy confirms.

Alright, Tim is actually even less okay with this situation than he thought, apparently. Like, impressively less.

"Okay," he says. It is absolutely no kind of okay in any way whatsoever, of course, but he doesn't want to put Superboy on the defensive. That'd make effectively interrogating him a lot harder, for one thing. Cooperative subjects are best in these situations. "What are they paying you?"

"I mean, like, they gave me my own room and they're feeding me and whatever, so I don't really need much money," Superboy says. "There's a discretionary fund I can use if I need to go on an undercover mission or anything like that? But I'm not really the undercover type anyway."

"Sure," Tim says. So . . . no way for Superboy to save up to move out and get an out-of-lab life, then. Great. That's not fucked-up or crazy or horrible at all. "Do you like it there?"

"It's okay," Superboy says, shrugging again. "Better than literally everybody in Hawaii yelling at me every time they see my face, yeah?"

Tim wants to set the world on fire, but he's trying really hard not to go supervillain before he's thirty and he'd hate to throw out all that hard work.

"They just let me do whatever, mostly," Superboy adds. "They don't really care as long as I'm around when they need me."

He'll go supervillain as soon as Bruce dies, Tim promises himself. Just–he'll give his share of the eulogy at the funeral and then he'll blow up three-fourths of Arkham and the entire GCPD while Commissioner Gordon is on his lunch break. He can time that out, that'll be easy. And then he'll go and personally murder the Joker with the very specific combination of a rusty crowbar and a shrapnel bomb, and then he'll just . . . well, he'll just go with the flow from there, he figures. Do whatever feels natural.

Seriously, the world as it is does not deserve to exist. It really just does not.

Tim figures he can probably convince the rest of Young Justice to tag along for the whole supervillain thing and hopefully Dick and Steph and Barbara too, and ideally also Alfred, in the unfortunately likely event that he outlives Bruce. He's got time to lay the groundwork with them all and all, and also everything really is awful and horrible and really does deserve to burn.

"Are they sending you to school or anything? Or tutoring you?" Tim asks with what little scraps of hope he has left. Higher education would be . . . well, something, at least. And actually it probably wouldn't hurt for Superboy to learn a bit more about genetic engineering from the same place he got genetically engineered, just in case anything goes wrong with his DNA again. Cadmus should at least be good for that much, right?

"Ew, no, thank fuck," Superboy says, making a face. "Like I said, they mostly let me do whatever until something needs punched."

So . . . no furthered education or learning any usable job skills or making real money or literally anything that could, again, lead to Superboy ever getting any kind of an actual out-of-lab life established.

Great.

Just great.

"I see," Tim says.

"It's a pretty sweet gig, considering," Superboy says, and grins brightly at him. It's a very nice grin. Normally being faced with that particular grin would make Tim need to beat down the highly unprofessional urge to kiss it.

Right now, though, he's a little bit more concerned with the fact that his teammate is just . . . living in and working for a fucking lab. As a matter of course. Just as a thing.

And Superman of all people thinks that's . . . fine, for some reason? Like, normal and ethical and okay? Somehow? In some way?

What the actual fuck, Tim thinks to himself.

"You said Superman told you to keep an eye on things?" he asks.

"Yeah," Superboy says, his grin widening. "He took me to his fortress and asked me to do it there. Showed me around a bit, too."

"That sounds really interesting," Tim says, wondering in vague disbelief if that means Superman had never taken Superboy to the Fortress of Solitude before. He must've, right? And just . . . inexplicably not shown Superboy around then.

Yeah. Sure.

"It was awesome!" Superboy says with more enthusiasm than Tim's seen from him since they met Nina Dowd's . . . endowments, seemingly forgetting the need to be "cool" for long enough to lean forward in his seat and outright beam at him. Tim is gonna need a minute to recover from the sight of that expression, probably. "It's seriously freaking freezing up there, but there's so much cool shit in the place. Like, from all over the universe, but from Krypton, even! The only thing I'd ever seen from Krypton before was kryptonite!"

Tim considers moving up his supervillain timeline after all. Like. Just possibly. Just a little.

Maybe he can convince Bruce to take an early retirement off-planet and just go from there.

What the hell is wrong with Superman?

"Oh, wow, really?" Tim says, simultaneously pretending he didn't already know what Superman has in his fortress and trying not to be screamingly obvious about the internal calculations he's running on figuring out how to weaponize red sunlight. Or like, maybe he could look into learning some magic. That's technically an option. Probably more time-consuming and harder to hide the process of, though. Still, it's on the table.

"Yeah. He showed me some of it. Told me some stories and stuff, even," Superboy says, and that excited grin turns just a little bit shy and soft and somehow even more distracting than usual. He ducks his head just a little, and then that soft grin is more like a soft smile, and Tim suffers. "And I, uh–and he gave me something, too."

"What did he give you?" Tim asks, praying to God that the answer is "an emergency contact number" or "an allowance that can cover a semi-decent Metropolis apartment" or "an offer to live literally anywhere but Cadmus, including in the thirtieth century or on a hostile alien planet or inside an active volcano". He's technically an atheist, so the praying thing is probably moot, but times of desperation are times of desperation.

"A name," Superboy says, and his smile widens helplessly. "Like, you know, a real one."

Tim might hate Superman, he thinks. That might actually be a thing now.

Yeah, he's definitely going supervillain after Bruce dies and doesn't need an emotional support sidekick anymore. Better start stocking up on the kryptonite.

"That's great," he says with a very carefully not-forced smile of his own instead of anything more along the lines of "wait, you've been alive and active as a superhero for all this time and no one ever actually named you?!" Superboy would probably take it the wrong way, not in the least because that genuinely never actually occurred to him as being a thing before. Like–he really did just assume Superboy was keeping a lid on whatever his real name was for personal reasons or Superman reasons or something. "Are you allowed to tell me it, or is that a no-go?"

"Oh, yeah," Superboy says with a sheepish laugh, rubbing at his arm. "It's like, a Kryptonian name? Not like a secret identity one. It's, uh, Kon-El."

Of course it's not even a damn secret identity, Tim thinks in absolute frustration and abject loathing. Of course not! Why would it be?! Fuck forbid!

"I like it," he says, because he lies to Batman and therefore there is no fucking way that he's going to let Superboy–Kon–see any sign whatsoever of the metaphorical 9.9 on the Richter scale that is currently happening in his psyche. "It suits you."

"You think?" Kon grins all the wider. Tim can't even calm down enough to want to kiss him, except in the sense that he always wants to kiss him.

"I do," he says, and smiles at him again.

Kon smiles back.

Tim hates everything. All the things. There is nothing that Tim doesn't hate right now, except maybe Alfred's snickerdoodles because he might be having a nervous breakdown but he's not, like, criminally insane or whatever.

Yet.

"Yeah, it's kinda cool," Kon says, straightening up in his seat and then leaning back, clearing his throat and slipping his sunglasses back on like they're not in a literal cave right now. Tim doesn't call him on it, because he has a supervillain timeline to work out and that's much more important.

Also because the teammate he has an inadvisable crush on is in a much, much shittier situation than he ever realized and he has to reconcile that with his worldview and also his opinion of Superman. Tim doesn't especially idolize the man except in the sense of knowing he's one of the greatest heroes on Earth and a very, very good man that Bruce thinks incredibly highly of, one of the best men on the League and maybe even on the planet, but . . .

But if he's such a good man, then why the hell is Kon living in a lab that tried to mind-control him and why has he only just seen the Fortress of Solitude for the first time?

Why didn't he have a real name?

"So do we call you Kon or Kon-El now?" Tim asks, which is a bit of a senseless question but also at least a bit of a distraction. He wants to say this whole situation is a horrible idea, who the FUCK convinced you this situation was a good idea?!, but there is no possible way that Kon would respond well to that. Ever.

Also, Kon had a point. Where else is he gonna go?

Clearly not the Fortress of Solitude.

Seriously, would it be that hard for Superman to give him a room there? At least a place to stay sometimes, so he wasn't exclusively relying on the mind-control cloning lab for food and shelter and basic comforts?

"I think just Kon?" Kon says, frowning consideringly. "'El' is like Superman's last name, I guess? So I think just Kon."

"Makes sense," Tim says, internally seething. Superman gave him the "El" name but not a secret identity? A name from a dead civilization with a bit of sentimental value, maybe, but nothing usable on this planet? Fuck, you'd think Kon didn't already know his secre–

. . . Kon doesn't know Superman's secret identity, does he.

Tim had thought he was lying, when he'd said that stuff about Superman not having one, before. Thought it was supposed to be a cover or a misdirection or something. But Kon actually thinks that, doesn't he. And Superman has just . . . kept letting him think that.

Becoming a supervillain actually might be an underreaction, in retrospect.

"Just Kon sounds less formal anyway," Tim says instead of so just in theory, do you think tactile telekinesis could trigger a heart attack or stroke in a full-blooded Kryptonian, if you could REALLY concentrate on doing it? like not FATALLY, just dehabilitatingly?, because he still has some groundwork to do before they get that far into potential supervillainy. There's steps to the plan. The steps need to be followed. They're very important steps. "You don't want Bart full-naming you every time he's looking for the remote."

"Like he'd even bother, it's faster for him to turn the living room upside-down than actually ask anyway," Kon says with a laugh, dropping his head back on his neck. Tim has some thoughts about climbing into his lap and figuring out if the TTK makes him hickey-proof, and then buries them. Not appropriate. Not professional. Just not.

. . . technically, if Kon wanted a hickey, he could just let his TTK down and ask for–

Tim buries his thoughts deeper.

Much, much deeper.

"Point," he says. "So what time does Cadmus expect you back?"

"Dude, it's a job, not a boarding school," Kon says, giving him an amused look. "I don't have a curfew."

Tim, technically, hasn't followed his own curfew any way but accidentally once in his entire life, but for god's sake, is Cadmus even pretending to be raising a teenager or are they really just being that flagrant about ignoring all the child labor laws they so clearly do not give a fuck about? Like, there must be something illegal about this. There has to be.

If there's not, Tim will be adding "burn down Project Cadmus" to his list of supervillain plans to set up in advance. In red pen. Underlined.

Twice.

God, why is the world like this. Why are people like this?

"I guess that'd be convenient," Tim says, internally ranking various methods of combustion. "Though I guess it depends on the cafeteria hours, too."

"It's whatever, I can always eat later," Kon replies with a shrug. "I think I've still got a couple protein bars in my room anyway."

"Just protein bars?" Tim asks, mentally upping the amount of explosives he was considering going with. Cadmus is going to be a crater by the time he's done with it. "Don't you need more calories than that?"

". . . well, sort of," Kon says, folding his arms and looking very briefly embarrassed. "Superman doesn't have to eat, apparently, but, uh, guess I'm not Kryptonian enough for that. Actually I kinda need to eat more than normal humans, it's weird. Like. A lot more."

"I'm ordering pizza," Tim says, upping his mental explosives count again. "What do you want on it?"

"We're the only ones here," Kon says, looking puzzled.

"More pizza for us, then," Tim says.

#timkon #tim drake #kon el #conner kent #dc robin #superboy #young just us #young justice #long post #rinfic #wip: obligatory sugar baby Kon

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girlactionfigure · 1 month

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Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott was a Torah prodigy whose cleverness and chutzpah saved thousands of Jews from annihilation by the Nazis.

Born in a Polish shtetl in 1897, Reuven was one of fifteen children. His family were Hasidic followers of the Ger Rebbe.

Reuven’s exceptional intellect was apparent at a young age. He was a gifted scholar of Talmud and Jewish scripture, so precocious that he was given rabbinic ordination when only 17 years old.

The Rebbe took a special liking to Reuven, and every Friday night Reuven sat next to the great man at his festive Sabbath gathering. Small in size - he stood only 5’1” - Reuven was known for his big brain, and big heart.

Reuven was selected by his community to represent them as the Jewish voice on the local provincial council. When the Polish president died in the 1920’s, young Reuven stood at the graveside with other clergy and delivered a eulogy on behalf of the Jews of Poland.

Although life seemed fairly good for Polish Jews at the time, the Ger Rebbe sensed that big trouble was coming. He urged his followers to get out of Poland and move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel), at that time British Mandate Palestine.

As the Rebbe’s right-hand man, Rabbi Reuven Kott threw himself into the mission of helping Jews leave Poland and return to their ancestral homeland.

The British had a quota system restricting the number of Jewish families they let in. Reuven took advantage of a bureaucratic loophole defining “family” as two parents and an undetermined number of offspring.

Reuven collected money and bribed Polish authorities to get blank birth certificates. He would then “create” new families, matching people up, changing names and identities as needed. Every “family" had at least a dozen children.

Reuven told those he helped that they must stick with their fake identity. Most people complied, but a few didn’t and were caught. Under threat of being sent back to Poland, somebody gave Reuven’s name to the authorities.

Reuven and his brother were on a train in Warsaw when three plain-clothes officers approached. After verifying his identity, they arrested Reuven for bribery and forgery and threw him in jail. As a pious Jew, Reuven couldn’t eat the non-kosher jail food, so every day his daughter brought him a kosher meal - a two hour journey each way.

After several long months, his brother finally got word that there was going to be a hearing in the case. He went to visit Reuven in jail, told him the news and asked which lawyer he wanted to hire.

Reuven scribbled something on a scrap of paper, folded it up and slipped it through the bars of his cell. Outside the jail, Reuven’s brother unfolded the note. He was shocked to read the contents: “Hire me the most anti-Semitic lawyer in Warsaw!“

Reuven’s family was baffled. With so many top-notch Jewish lawyers, why would he want an anti-Semite? Had his incarceration led to a mental breakdown? Reuven’s brother assured them that he was of sound mind, and he went to Warsaw and found an attorney notorious for his fierce hatred of Jews.

The day of the hearing arrived, and the courthouse was packed with hundreds of Hasids from Reuven’s community. Reuven was allowed only three minutes with his lawyer, and then the hearing began.

To everybody’s shock, Reuven’s lawyer stood up, made a brilliant argument, and got the case dismissed.

Back home in the shtetl, everybody wanted to know what Reuven had said to his lawyer in those three minutes. Reuven said his Talmud study had taught him that in a business deal, if you get three “Yes” answers, the deal will close.

He asked his lawyer three questions:

- You hate us Jews, don’t you?

- Do you want to see me rot and die in jail?

- Would you like all of us Jews gone from Poland?

The lawyer answered yes to all three questions. Reuven immediately shot back, “What good would it do if one measly Jew rots in jail? If you set me free, I can get all the Jews out of Poland!”

Reuven got what he wanted by blinding the lawyer with his own hate. He continued his work “creating” large families and helping them move to Palestine. The anti-Semitic attorney even helped him procure more blank birth certificates. People often asked Reuven when he would go to Eretz Yisrael. He said, “I’m like the captain of a sinking ship. It is my responsibility to get all the passengers out before I get in the lifeboat.”

Over the course of 20 years, Reuven helped tens of thousands of Jews escape Poland. Today, almost half a million descendants of those Polish Jews owe their lives to Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott.

Unfortunately, Reuven himself never made it to Israel. He was murdered at Auschwitz in 1942.

For proving that one small man in three short minutes can accomplish miracles beyond measure, we honor Rabbi Reuven Israel Kott as this week’s Thursday Hero at Accidental Talmudist.

This story was told to us by Reuven’s granddaughter, Ziporah Bank. She heard it from her mom - the daughter who brought kosher meals to Rabbi Kott in prison.

Accidental Talmudist

#Yom Hashoah

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stoat-party · 5 days

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Just a Handful of My Fallout Headcanons

Preston started playing the harmonica to entertain the other soldiers at night. He still has it, and he’s weirdly good.

Danse was trained as a courser for a few months. He had a bad habit of trying to justify the Institute’s actions, and Dr. Zimmer didn’t like that level of self-awareness, so they sent him back to the general workforce.

Clover eventually joins the Tunnel Snakes. She manages to escape the mindset Eulogy instilled in her, but keeps hating the Lone Wanderer for killing him because it’s easier to be mad than face everything that happened.

Charon would rather die than drink Nuka Cola. He doesn’t understand why people like it. It’s like stale, irradiated syrup that makes your nerves jittery. He’s not a huge fan of sweet foods in general, but he despises Nuka Cola.

Deacon and Barbara had a small herd of sheep. One of the lambs came out a freak mutant and got rejected by her mother, so she became Barbara’s pet. Her name was Calliope.

When the East Coast started getting too dangerous for mutants, Fawkes moved to Oasis and now keeps Harold company.

Raul has met the Ghoul. They feel so-so about each other as people, but game respects game. Raul never figured out he was Cooper Howard, though.

You wouldn’t believe Boone’s actually 26 until you get him in a room with Veronica. They’ll toss food at each other, steal each other’s headwear, hit each other with pillows, you name it. He’ll keep vaguely scowling but he’s having fun.

(Minutemen ending) Glory moved to Acadia and now helps coordinate things with the Railroad from there. She feels like DiMA understands her better than most members of the Railroad do.

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dabivrse · 2 months

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scrap metal ♡ (frobin)

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genre: hurt/comfort

pairings: nico robin x franky

wc: 2.2k

cw: mental illness, depression, body dysmorphia, dysphoria (but like cyborg dysphoria), comfort, angst, fluff, suggestive references, self harm, franky feels less than human

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

I know x reader tends to do better on this app but I deeply adore frobin and I've always thought about the idea of franky struggling with his humanity. Its been a headcanon of mine since he was properly introduced.

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Franky could never understand people who didn't have an inner monologue. His brilliant mind runs a hundred miles a minute; he's always got something to think about. He internally discusses future inventions and ship-building plans or sings to himself while he works. He spends most of his time thinking about his Nico Robin. He replays the day she said yes to being his partner in his head daily; he could spend hours thinking about her hair and smile. The mere thought of her tears fills Franky with a deep-seated rage. All she has to do is look at him, and he's on cloud nine.

Franky is in his development room, working on a new weapon design, when the door creaks open. He looks up to see Robin making her way over to where he's standing by his desk.

“Hello, pretty lady,” he says, his voice raising in volume as his mood picks up instantly upon seeing the woman he loves. Robin giggles at the affectionate term and stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss the underside of Franky's jaw.

“Hello, Honey.” One of Franky's large hands settles around her waist to keep her at his side. Thinking about Robin when she's not with him, his emotions run high, but when she's in his arms, he's completely relaxed and able to enjoy her company without wandering fears of losing her literally or figuratively. He leans down and pushes his face into her neck; the cold of his metal nose makes her flinch at first, but once she adjusts to the feeling, she threads a hand through his hair and lets out a happy sigh as Franky presses his lips to her skin. He's wary of how much bigger than Robin he is and hurting her is an unforgivable sin, so he's gentle with his affection. He might be gentle, but he's still a pervert, so when his palm opens up to reveal a smaller hand that dips into the waistband of Robin's skirt, she tugs his hair to get him to lean back and look her in the eyes. She presses a kiss to his lips, which he happily reciprocates. “As handsome and tempting as you are, you need to behave. Anybody could walk in.”

She's right - of course, she is - Usopp, Chopper and Nami are all frequent visitors to Franky's workshop. He nods at her words, flushing red at the compliments. The compliments he's used to refer exclusively to how cool and ‘inhuman’ he looks. People tell him how talented he is as a shipwright and inventor in general, but anything regarding his looks comes off more as someone talking about a suped-up car than a human being. It's the one thing he can't get used to in his relationship with Robin. He knows she's not lying to him and that she really does find him attractive, but he still can't grasp how different it feels to be desired. He's completely prideful and not at all shy when he's pleasing her. In the bedroom, he's fully confident, but something as sweet and innocent as a kiss on the cheek has him so shell-shocked that he can barely speak.

“So, how come my beautiful angel came to visit me?” Franky asks after clearing his throat and going back to staring at his blueprints. Robin cheerfully laughs at the pet name. Franky has asked her how she really felt about all his dramatic names for her, and she had told him that they make her feel special; she had also made a morbid comment under her breath about how they'd add to an emotional yet creative eulogy for her one day and Franky had pretended not to hear it.

“I wanted to make sure you're getting enough food and cola”, she smiles, kissing the left side of his chest. Robin places a plate of food down on the desk, and he guesses Sanji had dished up dinner and Franky had been so focused on his getting some work done that he hadn't heard the cooks call for food over his inner argument over what size gun to add to his robot. He thanks Robin and begins to eat. When he's finished with his food, Robin picks up the plate and leaves, promising him she'll visit later as she goes.

Franky is once again left alone with his thoughts.

As he's working, his reflection in a mirror leaning against the wall catches his eye and Franky flinches. Sometimes, he forgets what he looks like and seeing a huge cyborg as flashy as him is jarring. He has to remind himself he's not a little child anymore; he's something way cooler. He goes back to his work and tries to ignore the thoughts that begin to swarm him. His eyes keep getting drawn to the metal on his body. He recalls how earlier Robin had flinched at the cold metal of his nose and how difficult it is sometimes just to hold her without fear he'll hurt her. Sometimes, he thinks she would be better off with someone who can keep her warm at night, like Jinbe or maybe someone younger and more conventionally attractive, like Zoro or Law. Franky is a brash and loud man, but deep in the pits of his heart, there still lies the broken, abandoned kid. The feelings of worthlessness that took over his body as a child never truly left him; even after he tried over and over again to replace them with metal.

His smaller hands shake as he finishes his food and pushes his plate away. He tries to pick up his pen and write again, but he can't focus at all. His initial plans have taken a backseat to the unrelenting self-doubt that he tries to keep locked away behind his smile. He pushes on with his work, absent-mindedly scribbling down plans for a self-upgrade. He doesn't realise he's crying until the door handle clicks and snaps him back to his senses. Now he's acutely aware that he's crying and that one of his crewmates is about to see him. Franky's manly tears aren't unheard of, so he's able to play it off to usopp, who has come to ask about weapon materials, as simply inventing something so cool it's made him emotional. Usopp laughs, tells Franky he can't wait to see it and leaves after getting the advice he'd requested. The tears leave Franky feeling off-kilter for the rest of the day.

Later that night, Franky is entirely unable to sleep. He tries to focus on Robin, who's sleeping beside him and matches her breathing, but it doesn’t work. He shifts around to get comfortable and rests a large hand on Robin's waist, and then it all comes crashing down. That hand is not a human hand. When you press his metal nose, it changes his hair, and that's not human anatomy. His stomach has an empty chamber that uses cola as a fuel, and that's not human. He has weaponry built into his body, and that's not human. Franky is not human.

He makes a strangled noise as if he's gasping for air, and he scrambles to his feet. The noise wakes Robin, and she asks what's wrong, voice laced with concern. Franky doesn't notice she's awake, and he can't hear her question over the uncomfortable ringing in his ears. He makes his way out to the deck, ignoring the worried expressions of Nami and Usopp, who are still awake. He can't verbally describe how he feels, but he reaches to his shoulder, where metal meets skin, and begins to claw. His fingers dent the metal with force, and he only stops when a hand much larger than his covers his and stops his movements. He looks up and sees Robin has used her power. She leans down to where he's knelt on the deck and when she comes into view, Franky notices she has tears in his eyes. He can hear Nami crying behind him and sees Usopp shaking out of the corner of his eye. A new feeling stirs in his gut that makes him feel ten times worse.

He feels guilty for upsetting them. He apologises, but Robin shushes him, cradling his face in her hands. The gentle care with which she approaches him is enough to kick-start the waterworks and Franky is once again reduced to tears. He sobs so hard it causes a sharp pain in his chest. Robin shoos away the younger strawhats and promises to give them an update later. It's now just the two of them and Franky slumps forward, burying his face into Robin's shoulder. His tears haven't subsided, but he starts to apologise before he can stop himself. He repeats ‘I'm sorry’, and though Robin's skin muffles the sound, she can hear him fine and well.

“What are you apologising for, sweetheart? What's wrong?” asks Robin, wiping his tears with her thumbs, and she holds his face to look at her. Franky flounders for an answer, struggling to find his voice. Robin is patient as always and gives him a moment to collect himself.

He doesn't know what to say. How can he tell her he feels alien, like a passenger in his own body? That his ‘skin’ doesn't feel like it belongs on his body. He doesn't know how to explain how nauseous the sight of his own ‘body’ has been making him feel without sounding crazy. Robin is an understanding woman, but how much can she take?

“I feel more like a box of scrap metal than a human”, he says, cringing at how raspy and unsure his voice sounds. Robin remains silent, expression unchanging as she listens to his explanation. “I just wanted to get out of this ugly body. I didn't mean to scare you or the kids”, he says. He tries to avert his eyes despite Robin's hold on his face. He worries he's upset Robin further, but she leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead.

“First of all, I'm not scared of you, and neither are Nami and Usopp. We're just worried about you because we love you.” she says, moving a hand from his face to run it through his hair. “Secondly, your body is not ugly. You're my Franky and I like you just the way you are.” Her voice wraps around the violent words in his mind and strangles them out, easing his mind slightly. “I'm not going to pretend that I understand your pain, but I do know how it feels to be shunned, and I want you to know that will never happen to you here with us.”

Franky listens intently as Robin speaks. Her words don't take away his pain, but they at least calm him down. The strange, itchy feeling under his skin eases up and he relaxes in Robin's embrace. He kisses her neck and whispers a thank you in her ear. She's patient with him as he lets her comforting words repeat in his head. His tears have stopped, but there's still one question bothering him, and he's unsure if it's appropriate to ask right now. Sensing that he has something to say, Robin encourages him to speak up.

“Do you ever consider leaving me? Like don't you want someone more attractive like -” This time, instead of being patient and letting him finish, Robin cuts him off with a scoff, shuffling so she's sitting in his lap.

“You look at me right now, silly man,” she says, guiding him to look in her eyes. “I love you, I want you, I need you,” she says. Surprisingly, it's the word ‘want’ that gets him the most. It's not that Robin needs Franky around to fulfil some type of urge but simply that she wants to spend time with him. They like each other just as much as they love each other, and the reassurance makes Franky's stomach stir for an entirely different reason. “and there is no one as attractive as you. You are the most beautiful man I have ever seen,” she punctuates her sentence with a kiss to his lips. Franky feels much better now.

“What about Jinbe?” Franky asks to lighten the mood. It's common knowledge that Robin had a crush on Jinbe at first (so did Franky, but he'll never admit it)

“Hey! You like him too. We invited him into the bedroom once. You're my man forever,” she says, laughing into another kiss. They're sitting in silence for a while when Robin starts to yawn. “Now that you're feeling better. Do you want to go to bed?” she says, covering his cheeks in more kisses. Franky gets to his feet, scooping Robin up and carrying her off to bed

When Franky wakes up the following day, Robin is pressed up against his side and he feels at peace. As if she can sense him staring at her, Robin opens her eyes for a second, then smiles and goes back to sleep, snuggling further into his side. Franky feels content as he relaxes into the mattress. For now, his unsure feelings have subsided, and he feels more like himself. He knows they're likely to come again, but he also knows he'll have Robin and the rest of his family to help him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

frobin is so cute to me so I just wanted to write a cute comfort oneshot about them 😭

#franky my beloved ☹️#one piece #frobin #franky #robin #cyborg franky #nico robin #franky x robin #one piece oneshots #one piece imagine #anime #franky imagine #robin imagine #frobin imagine #frobin oneshot #op #☁️.one piece #☁️.robin #☁️.franky

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tartt9 · 4 months

Text

@eulogier [ roy ] asked // ∗ o8﹕ sender shows up at receiver’s home late at night . // [ from here ! ]

Will he ever be used to this? Probably not. Jamie is not, and has never been, a morning person. It's been just a few weeks of this waking up at 3:30 to meet Roy at 4 AM thing, and he's sick of it. Well, he's not sick of getting to spend extra time with Roy, but he's sick of the fact that he has to go to sleep at fucking 8:30 like a granddad to get a full night's sleep before training. His social life is effectively dead, and on the nights he does spend with the team, he thinks Roy can tell that he got less sleep than he ought to.

This is one of those mornings. The team went to Ola's for some celebratory food and drink after the game. Jamie avoided Zava at all costs, mostly mingling with Sam, but Sam was busy with making sure they didn't destroy his restaurant. Still, the food was good. The company, when he had it, was also good. And now he's tired, and Roy's at his door, and they're about to do a full fucking workout. "Morning, Coach," Jamie greets, trying to pretend like he's not still tired. "Y'alright? Y'want some coffee or summat before we go?"

#eulogier #eulogier [ roy ]#verse: season iii !#answered !

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nyx-v1 · 1 year

Text

TWST boys at your funeral Headcannons tw-mentions of deaths and funerals

[Heartslabyul],[Savanaclaw], [Octavinelle]

a/n-might be a little ooc

Riddle

Planned to whole thing, from the flowers, to what kind of clothes you would be wearing.(it’s not weird I promise)

Insists that you are buried on campus.

Stands by the casket the whole time, he also give the eulogy. The eulogy was surprisingly heartfelt.

Riddle also makes a point to not cremate, or anything that like that. He wants to make sure that if there's a way to send you back home it's in one piece even if you're dead.

takes no disrespect towards you at all, any students who say anything get collared (for like a week before trey tells him it’s been long enough.)

Deals with everything after the funeral too

Riddle personally cleans your grave every week, and if he doesn't have to time he sends other students to do it.

Doesn't know how to grieve so he just takes on a lot of extra work. Basically he spends his life now studying, working, and then sleeping.

Overall 10/10- he makes sure Crowley doesn’t put you in an unmarked grave.

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say

Pink carnation, meaning- I'll never forget you.

"Please forgive me for not being there perfect, thank you for all you've done."

Trey

Helps Riddle organize everything

Makes sure all students are well behaved

The one who says they should have grim in their dorm

Makes sure to regular check up on everyone else in his dorm, especially the Adeuce duo.

Trey makes the food, if there is a need for food.

His way of grieving is by taking care of everyone else, ignoring his own needs.

10/10

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say

Rosemary- remembrance

"Sorry, it has to end this way.”

Cater

makes sure to backup all photos of you he has, picks the best photo of you for the funeral.

Surprisingly does not take photo during the funeral at all in fact he's off social media for like 2 weeks, before he decides to look at it

Before he takes the break he makes one last post dedicated to you.

Doesn't talk about what happened, in fact he goes out of his way avoid the convo about how he feels

during the funeral he makes sure to dress apparently, he is also super quite when talking

After like a week he's pretending to be over your death

What kind of flower they would give you+ What they would says

A pink rose- thank you

Ace

tbh would probably be in denial for a while, that or he gets extra annoying no in between

Has to be dragged to the funeral by riddle

Yells at crowley for your death, then gets lectured by riddle

oddly quite during the whole things

leaves right after the ceremony is done, Ace goes right to ramshackle after he leaves.

Straight up refuses to go to your grave, and to talk about you

Ace does grieve tho he does this by spending all his free time in ramshackle, more specifically your room

5/10

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say for a final goodbye

dark crimson Rose - mourning

Won't say anything instead he gently place the flower down, before taking once last glance then walking out.

Deuce

offers his and aces room for grim to stay in

takes 2 hours getting ready. Has also never been to a funeral before

Offers to help with anything, because he's not the best academically he decides to help set the venue up

Deuce is on his BEST behavior during the whole thing, he remains quite and by Grims side

Cries a lot, but denies it

During the whole thing he's super emotional, and when ace goes off he can't help but agree

Wants to fight Crowley but doesn't bc he doesn't want to disrespect you like that

overall

11/10 give him a hug

Bonus: What kind of flower they would leave you+ what they would say

Statice- I miss you, compassion, remembrance

"I might not be good with words, but thanks [name]."

#twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twsited wonderland x reader #angst #twst angst #x reader

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heavyhitterheaux · 1 year

Text

My Girl is a Billionaire

Jack Harlow Instagram AU

Liked by jackharlow, champagnepapi, druski2funny, boosiebadazz, sza, chloebailey, urbanwyatt, and 3,097,563 others

badgalyourname: ya favorite girl is back on the scene 🥰

jackharlow: getting more and more beautiful every day I see 😍

druski2funny: what jackharlow said

lilnasx: umm excuse me... when is the new skincare line dropping?

badgalyourname: jackharlow muah! look who's talking, those curls and blue eyes continuously have me in a chokehold

urbanwyatt: I like those shoes. who got them for you?

badgalyourname: urbanwyatt thank you for my birthday gift Urby lol

urbanwyatt: badgalyourname that outfit is fire

zendaya: because every single product you come out with is legit

badgalyourname: lilnasx zendaya soon!

lilnasx: druski2funny why do you always feel the need to try to steal someone else's girl?

lizzobeeating: we definitely missed you mamas! you were gone for too long. don't do it again lol

badgalyourname: lizzobeeating you saw me last week!

lizzobeeating: badgalyourname doesn't count, I MEANT MUSIC

badgalyourname: lizzobeeating oh. about that......

druski2funny: lilnasx why do you always feel the need to not mind your business?

zendaya: about that what?!?! WE NEED NEW MUSIC QUEEN

yournamesource: she a billionaire now, she not thinking about no music lol she's thinking about married life, although we would love to hear something new from you

jackharlowsource: yournamesource since when are they married?!

yournamesource: jackharlow just a thought lol

adele: you look so gorgeous and so happy!

badgalyourname: adele and I absolutely am. been a long time coming, but it's finally here.

lilnasx: druski2funny you just mad jackharlow got to her first

druski2funny: lilnasx jealousy is never a good look. I just admire from afar.

jackharlow: druski2funny you about to admire my foot up your ass if you don't shut the hell up

lizzobeeating: OOP!

Liked by jackharlow, lizzobeeating, zendaya, ryandestiny, hallebailey, jayz, beyonce, urbanwyatt, and 6,093,841 others

badgalyourname: my little love 💕

jackharlow: all me right there 😍😍😍😍

lizzobeeating: WHAAAAAAATTTTTTTTT

lilnasx: I KNEW IT!

jackharlowsource: BABY HARLOW LOADING I REPEAT BABY HARLOW LOADING, THIS IS NOT A DRILL 😭😭😭😭😭

zendaya: damn mama, you ATE THIS UP!

chloebailey: no wonder she was wearing jackharlow's clothes when we went out last week lmao

badgalyourname: chloebailey it was getting too hard to hide, so I figured it was time lol

yournamesource: SHE IS GLOWING!

yourbestiename: yayyyy we can talk about it now! been holding this secret FOREVER

badgalyourname: yourbestiename forever, really? you are so dramatic lol

yourbestiename: badgalyourname I was bursting at the seams!!! I knew something was up when you stopped smoking!

sza: do yall remember when we were on that girls trip and badgalyourname had a blunt for breakfast and we were like that is not food lmaoooo

ryandestiny: sza yesss lmao and you couldn't convince her otherwise. she was like yes it is and I guarantee you I can get full

jackharlow: badgalyourname babe, you cannot get full off a blunt and this sounds like exactly something you would do

urbanwyatt: jackharlow I guarantee you that she can. still remember when she out smoked me

badgalyourname: jackharlow I shall prove you wrong when this baby is outta me lol

2forwoyne: urbanwyatt you will never live that shit down. thought we were going to have to call the ambulance for you

jackharlow: urbanwyatt yeah that..... that was something lol

shloob_: Urb coughing and shit, couldn't catch his breath, eyes watering

urbanwyatt: ENOUGH! we got the picture

badgalyourname: urbanwyatt want a rematch in a few months?

urbanwyatt: badgalyourname no. I know better. jackharlow will be writing my eulogy

quiiso: urbanwyatt 😭😭😭😭

lilnasx: of course druski2funny is nowhere to be found lol

druski2funny: lilnasx I'm right here. I'm taking this news hard so at least you can do is show some respect

lilnasx: druski2funny respect for what? because badgalyourname's BOYFRIEND got HER pregnant? what the hell this gotta do with you?

druski2funny: lilnasx I gotta get myself together, logging out for a few days

jackharlow: druski2funny dramatic ass smh

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, lizzobeeating, druski2funny, lilnasx, zendaya, theshaderoom, and 5,283,762 others

badgalyourname: fashion week wasn't ready for US 🥰

jackharlow: come here and let me put another baby in you, you look gorgeous 😍

zendaya: jackharlow get off of her, you've done enough. you are the reason we aren't getting new music.

badgalyourname: jackharlow NO MY FEET HURT and zendaya lmaooooo

jackharlow: badgalyourname lemme massage them

jackharlow: zendaya well damn

zendaya: jackharlow love you, but I'm in my feelings AND I AM ALLOWED TO BE

lizzobeeating: I second this

badgalyourname: jackharlow we know what your massages can lead to. exhibit A is above.

jackharlow: badgalyourname I didn't hear you complaining tho

badgalyourname: jackharlow don't test me, these hormones have been running WILD

jackharlow: badgalyourname sounds like a challenge to me, wait until we get back home

lizzobeeating: OH

yournamesource: come on queen, just a little snippet of anything you've been working on? WE ARE BEGGING

jackharlowsource: just throw us ONE NOTE at this point

zendaya: I will take all the crumbs I can get 😭😭😭

adele: she can sing the alphabet at this point and I would want to hear it

urbanwyatt: adele said what we were all thinking

theestallion: BODY ODY ODY ODY ODY ODY ODY

sza: pregnancy looks so good on you 😍

Liked by jackharlow, theshaderoom, adele, lizzobeeating, rocnation, privategarden, urbanwyatt, and 9,742,081 others

badgalyourname: I know I've been gone awhile and caring for my little love, but.... SURPRISE! YA GIRL IS PERFORMING AT THE SUPER BOWL 🏈 oh, and I'll have a surprise guest joining me on stage too 😘

jackharlow: LEGENDARY. SO FUCKING PROUD OF YOU!

yourbestiename: my best friend did that!

lizzobeeating: BITCHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yournamesource: THEY ARE NOT FUCKING READYYYYYYY

jackharlowsource: OMG what song do you think she's going to open with?!?!

normani: I'm about to fucking faint

popcrave: jackharlowsource it doesn't even fucking matter at this point. OUR QUEEN IS SHUTTING DOWN THE SUPER BOWL!

sza: how dare they have a football game at badgalyourname's concert. who do I have to speak to regarding this?!

zendaya: badgalyourname can't even tell you what a mark on history this is. this lady has been kicking ass in this industry ever since she was fifteen years old. full circle moment

jackharlowsource: is the surprise guest jackharlow?!?!

badgalyourname: jackharlowsource you just have to wait and see 🥰

rocnation: proud of our girl! can't wait to see what you have planned

lilnasx: booking my flight as we speak. I'm seeing this shit in PERSON

chloebailey: lilnasx count me in too!

urbanwyatt: CAN I REQUEST A SONG?!

yungskylark: ME TOO!

badgalyourname: urbanwyatt yungskylark of course you can, just text me 🥰

yournamesource: her discography is insane. I am willing to be there all night so she can perform every song 😭😭

jackharlow: badgalyourname wait a minute. you let Urb AND Ace request a song but not me?!

badgalyourname: jackharlow for the last time I am NOT doing S&M, Cockiness, or Birthday Cake. Besides, your birthday is next month, be patient, I'll tie you up then

yournamesource: well shit 😲

jackharlowsource: NOT JACK ASKING FOR THE SEXUAL SONGS

jackharlow: CLOSED MOUTHS DON'T GET FED. I HAD TO ASK.

zendaya: jackharlow I repeat, you have done ENOUGH, stay off of her (yall son is cute) BUT STAY OFF OF HER!

Liked by jackharlow, urbanwyatt, lizzobeeating, sza, normani, rocnation, yungskylark, quiiso, yourbestiename, nfl, and 12,439,861 others

badgalyourname: So I guess by now yall figured out who my special guest was.... BABY NUMBER 2! 🥰

jackharlow: look at my babies go 😍😍😍

yournamesource: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

jackharlowsource: BABY HARLOW NUMBER 2!!!!!! BABY HARLOW NUMBER 2!!!!!!!

nfl: it was an honor to have you!

rocnation: so proud of you and congratulations! another baby for roc nation!

lizzobeeating: YOU ATE IT!!!!!! YOU FUCKING ATE!!!!! AND CONGRATULATIONS BABY!

zendaya: JACK! WHAT THE HELL?!?! I TOLD YOU TO STAY OFF OF HER!

sza: zendaya is UPSET baby lmao

jackharlow: zendaya I CAN'T HELP IT, DO YOU NOT SEE HOW GORGEOUS SHE IS?! Every time I see her, I FOLD.

urbanwyatt: I WAS LIVING WHEN YOU DID RUDE BOY, THANK YOU 😭

badgalyourname: anything for their godfather 🥰

zendaya: jackharlow we know but DAMN IT!

yungskylark: UNDER MY UMBRELLA, ELLA ELLA!!!!

normani: whole time I was watching, my eyes NEVER LEFT her stomach

quiiso: BITCH BETTA HAVE MY MONEY!

theestallion: BITCHHHHH my ass was like wait, is she pregnant? wait, no? but from the side......

badgalyourname: lol had yall in shambles

chloebailey: no wonder why you've been missing! you did so well mamas! and YOU ARE GLOWINGGGGGG

yourbestiename: legend shit only!

yournamesource: and the fact that she touched up her make up during the performance WITH HER own beauty products! BILLIONAIRE SHIT!

jackharlowsource: at this point, jackharlow is ready to be a stay at home dad. The bag has been SECURED.

jackharlow: jackharlowsource I'M READY

Liked by badgalyourname, urbanwyatt, champagnepapi, theshaderoom, sza, estgee, brystontiller, claybornharlow, and 5,721,063 others

jackharlow: wifey just made history. first person to perform the super bowl while pregnant and she looked good as hell doing it too 😍😍

Just so proud of you billionaire, grammy winner, amazing singer and dancer, and now I got to change your last name and call you my wife

zendaya: REPEAT THAT FIRST WORD AND LAST WORD AGAIN

jackharlow: zendaya WIFEY AS IN SHE IS MRS. HARLOW 🥰

lizzobeeating: shut the fuck up, SINCE WHEN?!?!

zendaya: not jackharlow beating me to the proposal

lilnasx: QUEEN SHIT!

druski2funny: logging off again for awhile, congrats though, you look gorgeous

lilnasx: druski2funny will you just give it up at this point? 😭

claybornharlow: name this one after me

jackharlow: claybornharlow no.

jackharlowsource: Mrs. Harlow has a nice ring to it 😭😭😭

yourbestiename: literally, you should see the ring he got her if she ever shows it. I thought her hand was going to break with how heavy it is

claybornharlow: jackharlow 🙄 anyway badgalyourname you did amazing!

urbanwyatt: jackharlow me first

badgalyourname: urbanwyatt we can't name all of our kids after you

urbanwyatt: badgalyourname yes you can. you can have eight urban's running around

normani: urban PLEASEEEEEEEEE 😭😭😭😭😭😭

jackharlow: urbanwyatt and if I say Urban and all of you are there how is everyone supposed to know which one I'm referring to?!

urbanwyatt: jackharlow it doesn't matter, we're all showing up

urbanwyatt: jackharlow wait, I got an idea! urban number one is me, urban two, urban three, so on and so forth

badgalyourname: urbanwyatt you CANNOT be serious 😭😭😭😭

yourbestiename: wait a minute, I'm badgalyourname's bestie, someone needs to be named after me too!

badgalyourname: urbanwyatt see what you started?

urbanwyatt: badgalyourname I'm innocent

Taglist:

@harlowsbby

@babyharleezy

@hoodharlow

@stefansalvatoresgf

@jackiehollanderr

@primadxna-girl

@dessmxsworld

@cockslutslurper3000

@raelorns21

@variety-fangirl

@gbaabyyyy

@kamorsstuff

@harlowthot

@sinsandsuccubus

@curlyhairclub

@bootlegroach

@haylexo10

@thinkingaboutjharlow

@fluidsentiment

@charli123456789

@moody4world

@yourstrulymayah

@yana4life

@beanbagbitch

@alinaharlow

@carma-fanficaddict

@minaxcarter

@arination99

@xjup1t3r

@venusvinc

@jacksmoviestar

@jackharloww

@midnight-star47

@minkookie95

@inluvwithladybug

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@jharlowsangels

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@miniaturehideoutmentality

@hoya122

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@jackslover12

@skyesthebomb

@jackharlows-world

@louisianalady

@fdl305

@automaticpeachsong

@harlowcomehome

@gassyandsassy1

@babygirlwilly

@amethyst09

@harrycanyonmoonn

@toocriticalharlow

@tattered-tales

@sisiking99

@dessxoxsworld

@gillybear17

@jacksdaycare

@iheartharlow

@disaster-rose

@babyvinnie

@evansxchalamet

@chtkmyharlow

@itsyagirljaz

@neon-lights-and-glitter

@awhore4moree

#jack harlow imagine #jack harlow #jack harlow fic #jack harlow fanfic #jack harlow x reader #jack harlow x black reader #jack harlow x you #instagram au #jack harlow instagram au #jack harlow fluff #jack harlow concept

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irisintheafterglow · 11 months

Text

More Than It Seams (Chapter 4)

summary: you're a hero costume tech working for one of the biggest fashion companies in quirk society, and the days until the most important fashion event of the year are dwindling fast. if you weren't stressed enough, a certain half-and-half hero keeps appearing with rips in his suit. (pro!todoroki x reader)

word count: 2.8k

cw/tags: swearing, mentions of needles, probably inaccurate fashion design vocabulary, strangers to lovers, no specified pronouns for reader, mentions of food/eating, mention of character death/disappearance, descriptions of wounds and blood, grief with happy ending

note: second to last chapter let's gooooo !!! in theory this could be considered the "last chapter," but don't you wanna know how the ball goes??? and maybe shoto and reader have their first kiss ;). thank you for all the support you've given this series!!

likes/reblogs/feedback are appreciated :)

New Voicemail Message [11:32 A.M]

“Hey! Just checking in; I just finished the whole flame side and I’m about to start the shading for the ice side. If you’re able, I’d love for you to come see it and maybe I can buy you lunch this time. No pressure, just let me know. Alright, bye!”

New Voicemail Message [5:36 P.M]

“Hi, hi, hi. I picked up Soba takeout for dinner if you’re free. I have both of our usuals, and I can drop them at your agency too if you’re busy. Oh, also, the lady behind the counter was so confused that it was me by myself; you should’ve seen her face. Anyway, just wanna make sure you’re doing okay. Bye!”

New Voicemail Message [8:24 P.M]

“Hey Shoto, it’s me, again. I’m sorry for spamming you with voicemails and shit. I just, honestly? I’m kinda worried, haha. I know it’s dumb. Like, I know you can handle yourself and everything, but part of me still wants to make sure you’re good, you know? Just, uh, let me know. If–when you’re home. I miss your stupid voice. Okay, bye.”

New Voicemail Message [11:56 P.M]

“Hey. I’m aware that I keep bothering you. If I did something to make you upset, I’m really sorry…I’m about to go to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow? Obviously, you can’t see it, but uh, I’m sticking my thumb up, haha. Call me when you can, please.”

[2] Missed Calls: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖

New Messages: Big D(esigner)🧵👑💖

12:00 A.M hey 12:00 A.M idk if you’re awake 12:00 A.M but if you are 12:01 A.M please check the news

The incessant buzzing phone in your hand woke you from your position on the couch. You don’t remember falling asleep, but you assume you passed out after eating a late dinner, waiting for Shoto to call. His food was in the fridge, untouched, while yours was only half-eaten, plastic bowls and utensils messily scattered across your coffee table. The notifications at the top of your phone made your heart drop into your stomach, and you prayed that the thought hiding in the back of your mind wasn’t true.

You stood as the TV clicked on, only for your legs to give out beneath you as the reporter detailed where he was last seen, what he was wearing, possible suspects, and the statement from his manager. There was no substance in the public statement, only reassurances that efforts are being made to find him. You shut down the TV after they got into the part of the statement that sounded like a fucking eulogy, talking about how he was a loyal friend, devoted hero, and embodiment of a good person. You didn’t need to be told that. You’d seen it firsthand for the past two weeks. Anger, confusion, worry, and grief came in waves, crashing against each other as you curled into yourself. Your eyes welled to alleviate the burn after staring at the screen, your forehead throbbing from the flashing reds and whites of the “BREAKING NEWS” title screen. Your lungs and throat felt empty, consciousness detached from the body.

No sobs rang out in the darkness of your apartment that night, and it terrified you how silent you were. There was no crying, no convulsing, no thrown objects across the room to create dents in the walls. It was just…silence. You couldn’t tell if you’d slept or not, hours passing as you stared wide-eyed at the ceiling after dragging yourself back onto the couch. It was an effort to breathe, to force yourself to inhale and exhale like it was opening and closing your fists.

As sunlight permeated through the lightly swinging shades, your phone alarm went off. You stared at it, the musical sound seeming to be coming from underwater. The notifications at the top of your phone once you finally turned it off were like reading in a dream, with letters blurring and rearranging until you didn’t know what the original message was. Hey, thinking about you, they said. We understand if you can’t make it in today, they promised. Hello, you were one of the people last seen with Todoroki Shoto. Our news outlet would like to interview you. Fingers gripping the phone so hard you wanted to snap it, you slammed it onto the coffee table. Flashes of white-hot rage took over your body, directed at no one in particular. You pulled a pillow into your chest, fighting back the impulse to scream, scream, scream until either your voice or your lungs give out.

“Hey.” It was your roommate, and she held her cat in her arms like a newborn baby. Your empty eyes stared back at them. “I won’t ask if you’re doing okay because that’s a bullshit question. I just wanted to tell you that I’m here for you if you need anything. Just call me, yeah?” You barely nod your assent, and her gentle fingers brush away the tears that had broken through your resolve. “I know it’s hard, and I know you’re grieving,” she said as she rose from the crouch she took to be eye-level with you. She takes your hand, giving it a squeeze. “But I also know that you’re one of the strongest people I know. We both know it’s Friday, and we both know those assholes in the commission aren’t going to postpone the one event that brings them money.” She doesn’t say it, but you know what she means. You need to get up and finish your pieces. “Do your best, okay?”

Just do your best.

It’s what you repeated to yourself as you struggled from the couch to your bedroom, then to the bathroom, then finally out the door and through the gate in your office. Your other designer, the one who had told you to check the news, runs over from his station. Shaking your head decisively before he could speak, you brush past him with an understanding hand on his shoulder. Your aching throat didn’t have the voice to give one last round of encouragement to your staff, but they looked to you anyway as you took your spot at the front of the room.

“Just do your best,” you said before turning to the embroidery thread shelves and picking out the most vibrant shades of blue and light purple you could find. The rest of the office worked with a fervor you’d never seen before, and you gave them a sad smile whenever they’d glance up to check on you. All the other heroes’ ball looks were finalized, ready to be handed off to their stylists who would do the final dressing and accessorizing. Seven mannequins lined up in front of a window: Cellophane’s intricately beaded suit, Momo’s sweeping velvet ball gown, Deku’s sleek three-piece, Red Riot’s fiery matching set, Pinky’s princess-like mermaid dress, and Bakugo’s sheer-paneled, explosive applique-covered denim jacket.

Everyone’s looks were finished, except one. His tailored leather pants were complete as well as the simple white button-up, and the silver pocket chain rested around the headless neck of the mannequin. All that was left to do was finish the design covering the back of the coat, which you worked on tirelessly far past when your staff had left the building. It should have been a day of celebration with champagne, balloons, and cake to commemorate another successful Hero Ball; but, 11:30 and 5:00 passed with no trace of him, and you couldn’t find it in your mind to participate in festivities. Whispered goodbyes and “see you tomorrow” floated around you, and it took more energy than it should have to smile and nod.

Time ran away from you again, and the coat was finished at midnight on the dot, embellished with small buckles, two rows of buttons, shoulder pads, pockets, and the stunning ice and flame embroidery on the back panel. It truly was the greatest piece you had imagined and created, your quirk allowing the thread to almost act like paint as you added subtle nuance to the two opposing cranes. The fire crane rose from the bottom corner of one of the front panels, forming a circle with the ice crane that descended from the shoulder pad of the opposite front panel. Draping the finished piece on the mannequin and attaching the pocket chain for good measure, you stepped back with your hands on your hips to admire your work. He was gonna love it, when he saw it. If he saw it, the pessimistic demon in your mind whispered. With a deep breath that you didn’t know you needed, you turned to pack your stuff and head home.

And that’s when something large slammed into M’s office window.

The thud startled you, the dull noise of something hitting the glass bouncing off the empty cavern of the room. Your fingers wrapped around a pair of scissors as you approached the half-open door, cautiously guiding it open and squinting at the distorted figure behind the dark glass. Your eyes widened when you realized the object was huge, the size of at least two very tall people. One hand tightly gripping the scissors, the other slowly slid into your pocket to call the police when you heard a voice call from the other side.

“Needle! Needle…wait, what? Needle, uh, sprouting from…Needle sprouting from thumb? Jesus, Todoroki, who would ever say such a thing–” You threw the window open, sending it flying upward as you took in the people set precariously on the ledge. You recognized one as Deku, the number one hero who sometimes visited your office to implement support tech into his costume. His gloved hand grabbed the edge of the window, easing him and the person he was carrying into M’s office and collapsing onto the couch. Deku quickly stood, closing the window and scanning the surroundings for threats. Your hand unconsciously rose to brush the matted red hair from the other person’s face, and the oxygen left your lungs as you zeroed in on the scar barely visible around the blood splattered on the person’s left eye.

Shoto.

His body was in tatters, with scrapes and cuts and punctures covering his body like some zombie Halloween. The white of his hair was covered in so much blood that his entire head was red. His suit had burnt off on his fire side, and his ice side was nearly blue from discoloration. Your body moved on its own when you took in the most significant wound, a large gash cutting diagonally across his abdomen. Mind empty except for the battered man on M’s couch, you shoved your hands into the fabric scraps box and brought them back to Deku, who pressed them against Shoto’s gash to stop the bleeding. Fingers pressed under his chin, you felt a faint heartbeat and could see his chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. He was dying, and you needed to do something to stop the blood loss.

“I tried to get him to go to a hospital, but he said it wasn’t safe,” Deku said to you, eyes clouded with concern. “He was barely able to tell me your building’s address before he passed out. I trust his judgment, but I really need you to know that, if Todoroki doesn’t get stitches, he will die. Do you have some way of stitching this up?” The fabric in his hands was soaked a dark red and the realization of what Shoto wanted you to do hit you like a train.

He wanted you to give him stitches.

You’d never tried your quirk on any actual humans, only textiles. Your parents had suggested becoming a medic because of your quirk, but the idea of manipulating something to enter a human body was an idea that you couldn’t stomach. There were others with more efficient quirks who could do that, but none of them were with you now. An idea dawned on you, and you reminded yourself to applaud your planning skills later.

“Deku?”

“Yeah?”

“I need the sutures from your toolbelt.” His eyes widened in understanding, and he frantically pushed aside objects in his belt to find the roll of medical-grade nylon you’d placed there as a part of upgrading his first-aid kit. “Sorry, I added…more items,” he muttered apologetically, finally handing you the unused spool and the box containing the sterilized needle. Like clockwork, you threaded the needle just as you had millions of times before. Averting your gaze as Shoto groaned in pain from Deku cleaning the wound with alcohol pads that you’d also put in his belt, your hand soon hovered over Shoto’s wound in preparation to close it.

You squeezed your eyes shut, ignoring the image of the sewing machine and instead opting for a simple knot at select intervals. Fighting down the bile in your throat as the needle pinched Shoto’s skin together, you shakily guided the thread through the skin layers and tied it into a tight knot. You felt Deku’s eyes watch you in amazement as you worked, delicately patching Shoto back together as you had with his suit the first day he’d walked through your elevator doors. Slowly but steadily, you moved your hand and the thread across the wound, sewing it shut like you’d attached his trenchcoat panels. They were, by no means, medical-grade stitches, but you believed they got the job done as the color slowly returned to Shoto’s face. When you finished stitching the large wound, you helped Deku wrap the lower half of his chest and his arms with gauze. With more scraps of fabric, you gently scrubbed off the blood and dirt, combing through his tangled hair with wet fingers.

“Thank you, Deku,” you said quietly to him as you threw used fabric scraps into a trash bag. “For bringing Shoto to me. I was really worried.”

“Of course,” he replied, smiling warmly. “I only wish that I’d met Todoroki’s partner under different circumstances.”

“Partner? I mean, yeah, we’re business partners, but–”

“Oh, no. I’m so sorry, then. I, uh, meant romantically.” Your face began to burn from Deku’s assumption. “He just talked about you a lot, you know. How much he liked being around you, how you seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. He told me about all your soba dates and how he didn’t want them to be considered dates since he wants to take you somewhere much nicer when you’re done with all the ball stuff, but I still think they’re dates.” Holy shit, Deku was rambling. “I teased him about it since I don’t think he’s ever been in love before, but–”

“Midoriya, I implore you to stop talking.” You both gasped, turning to look at a barely-conscious Shoto, who was trying to sit up from the couch.

“Todoroki, you’re awake! Wait, no, no–you can’t sit up yet,” Deku stutters out as he rushes over to carefully push Shoto’s shoulders back down, moving the hair from his forehead as his head falls back against the armrest. You feel out of your body again as you kneel next to him, fingers brushing his cheek in relief. “I’ll uh, give you two some space,” Deku declares as he scrambles to pick up the trash bags and exit M’s office, leaving you alone with Shoto.

His gentle eyes find yours. “Hey, pretty.”

“Hi, handsome,” you whisper, reciprocating the weak smile he gives you as he takes in your exhausted face. “What the hell were you thinking, coming here? You needed a hospital. It wasn’t safe risking your life to come here, Sho,” the shortened version of his name slips from your mouth before you could stop it, but the even softer look he gives you sends any regret or embarrassment running. “What would you have done if I wasn’t in the office?”

“I just knew you would be.”

“That’s a terrible plan.”

“But it worked out.”

“That it did.” You press your lips to his forehead and relish in the way his eyes shut in contentment. “I finished your coat.”

“You did?”

“I did, but you can’t see it right now. If you lift a single finger off that couch, I’m going to reopen your stitches.” He lets out a pained laugh, wincing at the pain shooting across his chest. A thoughtful look crosses his face again, and you adore the way you could see him working things out in his mind. What those things are, you’d never know, but his pure intellect was enough to admire.

“Do you still plan on attending the ball tomorrow?”

“Not if you’re still hurt.”

“In that case, I am no longer hurt.” He smirks at you, with an immature, boyish, attractive smile. “And I still haven’t…chosen a plus one.”

You feel your heart cease racing in your chest. “Yeah? And who’s the lucky winner?” Your voice shakes slightly as you attempt to relieve the tension with a joke.

He looks at you again with that expression that makes you want to kiss him.

“It’s you. It’s always been you.”

As you finally drift off to sleep slumped against the couch, your face close enough to his to feel him breathe, you know in your mind that it’d always been him, too.

[1] Missed Call - Midoriya Izuku

New Voicemail Message [2:04 A.M]

"Hi Yaomomo! Hope you're doing well. I need a favor..."

#mha x reader #bnha x reader #mha x y/n #bnha x you #todoroki x you #todoroki x reader #todoroki shoto x reader #todoroki shoto x you #bnha #mha #shoto x you #shoto todoroki #shoto x reader #todoroki shoto #my hero academia #mha hurt/comfort

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barrel-crow-n · 6 months

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Kaz being horrible to Kuwei in chapter 3 (with Jesper occasionally acting as a Kaz-translator + a jab at Matthias because apparently Kaz can't stop himself) <3

"What did I tell you?" Kaz growled, pointing his cane at him.

"My Kerch isn't very good," protested Kuwei.

"Don't run games on me, kid. It's good enough. Stay in the tomb."

Kuwei hung his head. "Stay in the tomb," he repeated, glumly.

"Well?" Jesper prodded.

"I have other interests," Kuwei replied.

Kaz's black gaze pinned Kuwei like the tip of a dagger. "I suggest rethinking your priorities."

Jesper gave Kuwei another nudge. "That's Kaz's way of saying, 'Help Wylan or I'll seal you up in one of these tombs and see how that suits your interests.'"

"I would prefer to go to Ravka," he repeated more firmly. Kaz's flat black gaze fastened on Kuwei and held. Kuwei squirmed nervously. "Why is he looking at me this way?"

"Kaz is wondering if he should keep you alive," said Jesper. "Terrible for the nerves. I recommend deep breathing. Maybe a tonic."

"Jesper, stop," said Wylan.

"Both of you need to relax." Jesper patted Kuwei's hand. "We're not going to let him put you in the ground."

Kaz raised a brow. "Let's not make any promises just yet."

"Come on, Kaz. We didn't go to all that trouble to save Kuwei just to make him worm food."

There was a long, tense pause, then Kaz ran a gloved thumb over the crease of his trousers and said, "Nina, love, translate for me? I want to make sure Kuwei and I understand each other."

"Kaz-" she said warningly.

Kaz shifted forward and rested his hands on his knees, a kind older brother offering some friendly advice. "I think it's important that you understand the change in your circumstances. Van Eck knows the first place you'd go for sanctuary would be Ravka, so any ship bound for its shores is going to be searched top to bottom. The only Tailors powerful enough to make you look like someone else are in Ravka, unless Nina wants to take another dose of parem."

Matthias growled.

"Which is unlikely," Kaz conceded. "Now, I assume you don't want me to cart you back to Fjerda or the Shu Han?"

It was clear that Nina had finished the translation when Kuwei yelped, "No!"

"The your choices are Novyi Zem and the Southern Colonies, but the Kerch presence in the colonies is far lower. Also, the weather is better, if you're partial to that kind of thing. You are a stolen painting, Kuwei. Too recognisable to sell on the open market, too valuable to leave lying around. You are worthless to me."

"I'm not translating that," Nina snapped.

"Then translate this: My sole concern is keeping you away from Jan Van Eck, and if you want me to start exploring more definite options, a bullet is a lot cheaper than putting you on a ship to the Southern Colonies."

Nina did translate, though haltingly.

Kuwei responded in Shu. Nina hesitated. "He says you're cruel."

"I'm pragmatic. If I were cruel, I'd give him a eulogy instead of a conversation. So, Kuwei, you'll go to the Southern Colonies, and when the heat has died down, you can find your way to Ravka or Matthias' grandmother's house for all I care."

"Leave my grandmother out of this," Matthias said.

Nina translated, and at last, Kuwei gave a stiff nod.

#honestly i could make a post of “kaz being horrible to x” for every character in the books #the bold parts are the most outta pocket bits #he's such a bitch #kaz being kaz #matthias and kaz #kuwei yul bo #nina zenik #jesper fahey #kaz brekker #matthias helvar #wylan van eck #crooked kingdom

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sodaabaa · 19 days

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stolen tires, chapter one

jason returns to gotham after the world believed him to be dead. heavily inspired by the film, under the red hood.

tw: mentions of death, angst, self loathing, grief, abuse

Jason's funeral was today. The only people who would be there were Bruce's foster son, Dick, his biological son, Damian, Commissioner Jim Gordon as well as Doctor Lee Thompkins. Bruce entered one of his many cars with Alfred to leave the manor for the funeral. It would be held at a small and humble church on the outskirts of Gotham, to try and avoid the press. The swarm of news reporters and journalists were the last people Bruce wanted to deal with today. He didn't have the patience or the energy to deal with them today. As he drew closer and closer to the church the dread and pain that filled his stomach had been getting worse. Bruce felt as though he was reliving the death of his parents. He felt hollow like a part of his body had been ripped off brutally. As they reached their destination, Bruce could see Dick and his girlfriend Barbara Gordon, the Commissioner's daughter. Once they parked he got out of the car to go and greet them.

"Glad you could make it Richard, Barbara. It means a lot, thank you." He said, giving them a small grin.

Dick offered a sympathetic smile and said, "Jason was like a little brother to me, I wouldn't have missed it even if Gotham was falling apart."

All smiles, all the time. Dick knew how to make even the most heart-wrenching situations a bit brighter with his cheery personality. The day was cold and dreary as if even the sun was mourning for Jason and the clouds showed their respect by joining together in a grey, suffocating blanket that only they could think was offering protection. Bruce thought he was protecting Jason, that he gave him a better life but what was the point of that "better life" if it was short lived?

Bruce couldn't help thinking, if only he had been a little faster, a little earlier, a little sharper. He could've saved his son's life. The night before he could hardly sleep because of the pain, the remorse, regret and the sorrow he felt losing a piece of his heart. He dreamt of Jason, first he came to his dreams as the scared and lonely young boy he had found stealing the tires of his car. That was the day Bruce had first met Jason, stealing tires, he almost laughed at the thought of one of the strongest young men he had ever known stealing tires to sell to be able to afford food. That was also the day he had taken him in. Raised him, taught him and loved him so that he could feel normal and have a family. The dream had shifted, now he was boy wonder himself, eager to catch low life thugs on the street and ensure that the people of Gotham were safe. The final scene of his dream-turned-nightmare was Jason's limp, lifeless body hanging in his arms, gone.

Although he didn't show it, Bruce was disappointed by the lack of people at the funeral. There was a total of six people that showed up. Five of those people had the potential to save Jason. They could've saved him. They couldn't. Bruce looked over to the entrance to see Jim and Lee entering. He walked over to greet them.

"Thank you for coming, both of you." He said to them, offering his hand to shake.

"I'm so sorry for loss Bruce, I only met Jason briefly but he was a good kid, taken too soon." Jim said, shaking his hand.

He had heard that phrase far too many times. For his parents. Jason. For every soul he had ever lost. Few ever actually meant those words. I'm sorry for your loss. Bruce made his way towards the stage to give his short eulogy. He'd given speeches hundreds of times being the CEO of Wayne Enterprises but this was different. He was about to give a speech about a young boy who had been taken from this world in the worst way, and it was all Bruce's fault. With a heavy heart and a burdened soul, he quietly walked towards the podium, trying his best not to slouch and prepared for his speech.

"Jason Peter Todd. Born August 16th 1992. He was an interesting soul. He was introverted yet ambitious. Curious yet so shy. I never really knew how to describe Jason in a way that would truly capture his personality. It took me awhile to get to him but when I did I was amazed by the colors of his heart. Despite being a victim of abuse, he never faltered in his sense of duty to making sure others never had to go through what he did. To shorten it, Jason was a hero. I took him in, a scared, lonely boy at the time, little did I know that this little boy would go on to become an amazing young man who would repeatedly risk his life for others, who would become so smart, maybe even too smart for his own good. Jason was everything you would want in a son."

He let out a humorless laugh, "you know, it's true what they say; the good die young."

The room was pin drop silent and Bruce took a shaky breath and closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm the stinging tears breaking through.

"Jason Todd was a beautiful soul taken away from us, from me, far too soon. May his soul rest in absolute peace."

What Bruce didn't know was that his soul wouldn't know peace for a long time.

#red hood #batfam #batfamily #jason todd #batman #under the red

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emblazons · 1 year

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So uh. Not to go full parentified!Mike again, but: I just realized that the track that plays when Mike and El fight in The Monster & The Superhero (aka a kind of orchestral version of Eulogy) is also the same as the track that plays when Max goes behind her house, sees her mother and it turns into a Vecna vision in Dear Billy? Like:

It’s subtle, but if you listen to the full scenes it’s more apparent—and we all know that repeated use of track means, at the very least, exploring similar themes.

Given that this is the same track/leitmotif used in two other "familial" moments, aka when El watches Mama fade in the void and when Hopper tells El "its not about our fight/eat real food, not just eggos (x) " over the radio in the police van halfway through S02E06…it’s, once again, looking really damn bad for any ongoing romantic interpretation of Mike’s “care” for Eleven. 😭

Like? The scoring choice paralleling all of these scenes featuring familial bonds...somewhow sans mlvn? On top "Eulogy" being inherently connected to death/the loss of emotional connection in all cases, with special emphasis on letters in the S4 parallel scenes—

—all before we get to the Vecna or matching blue plaids aspect of it? It’s giving…platonic-familial (and also really tragic misunderstanding) mlvn. Just like everything else.

like. I said Max and El were paralleled in their depression re: Dear Billy before too, but this adds a whole new layer of Mike being paralleled to parental-authority figures, & in an especially tragic way.

part ii

#I went into dear billy looking for a clip for a gif and game out with this knowledge pls I’m crying #anti mlvn #byler #el hopper #mike wheeler #max mayfield #my st commentary #parentified mike #st parallels #stranger things #st music analysis

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writernopal · 8 days

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Some Lines

Combining a few tag games here to share a few lines of some stuff I've written lately because, as always, I am perpetually behind on tags T_T

Thanks to @teamdilf (here), @tabswrites (here), @noblebs (here), @mysticstarlightduck (here), @mister-writes (here), and

@cosmiccoincidence (here)!

Tagging (gently): @acertainmoshke @sarahlizziewrites @crowandmoonwriting and @sugar-phoenix !

cw: none, just under a cut bc its long-ish

It was strange to imagine. How could a vessel, this mighty invention of man crafted for the sole purpose of travel not move? Indeed it seemed impossible. But what good were wide sails and tall masts without that most crucial agent of change? None at all. And so the proud construction became at once butchery and butcher, each part of her now being keenly inspected by shifty eyes, wondering what portion of her would be theirs. What of that body might sustain them while she, the craft, honed her knife eagerly eyeing the men in much the same way. Ship and crew were not symbiotic then, but parasitic, each anticipating the elixir of life from the other. Could doldrums be a landed affair too? I found myself scratching at the thought incessantly, no matter how occupied I kept my hands. Even now, with the most treasured needles Axtapor had sculpted for me, yes, even with these in my grasp, I could not will my fingers to be busy knots and loops. All they wanted was to break that question open and search for the truth within its bowels. Which of us was the vessel and which the crew? When would we find wind again? When would the food run out? When would we have to make a choice that there was no coming back from? I trembled. That choice had a name, a face, a voice. I heard it day and night even when the choice was not before me asking if I wanted to make it. Asking if I wanted to know. To face it felt akin to lettering my name in the ship’s deck log, on the page no captain ever wished to use. Like every entry, it would be made in ink, but beside it would be a brief eulogy for why my name had been signed there. Heartbreak, it might say. Any who might read it later, with the benefit of hindsight and free of choice’s allure, would surely wonder if I couldn’t hang on just a little longer. Go just that much farther. Push it down as I always had. But deck logs were facts, not accounts of witness or studies of life, and so the question would remain unanswered long after the wind came back and decisions were easy.

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sarahowritesostucky · 6 months

Text

📖"Body Heat" : a Snowpiercer-Marvel Mashup Story

Part 1 - "The Man"

Rated: Mature (non-explicit chapter, marked mature for dark themes)

Pairing: Curtis Everett x ofc

Tags: dystopia, food insecurity, post apocalypse, age difference (18/34), dark!fic, implied/referenced suicide, background character death (offscreen), poverty, arranged marriage, implied/referenced past cannibalism, hurt/comfort

Summary: She’s too young for him to be eyeing her up the way he has been, but this is the Tail section, and Curtis has caught other men looking more than once. Everything is a commodity in the Tail. Everything. It won't be too long before he has to step in and claim her.

Author's Note:

On Tumblr, forbidden ToS content categories are: "terrorism, hate speech, harm to minors, self harm, sexually explicit material, violence, threats, gore, and mutilation."

And while you ARE apparently allowed to write a fictional story about incestual, torturing, anorexic racists who rape, murder, kidnap, hate, cannibalize, terrorize, and self-injure in the plotline of said story,

you ARE NOT allowed to write an underage character who engages is any sort of sexualized conduct in a story.

For this one category and this one category alone, Tumblr staff (or at least one particular individual 😏on staff) makes no distinction between fictional stories and C.S.A.M. They can and will delete your blog without any notice.

So, in the face of this VERY SPECIFIC criteria for Tumblr's censorship choices, I have changed the age of a character in this story to 18. That's not how the story was originally written, and the story can still be read on Ao3, which does not arbitrarily censor their content. But my m/f stories seem to be most popular on Tumblr, so I wanted to include the altered version in my library here.

(To be spiteful, however, I have changed the ofc from 16 to 18 and Curtis from 28 to 34, thus WIDENING the original age gap from 12 yrs to 16 yrs😆)

🖤With that said, this is a dark story regardless, so if you're looking for fluff, I suggest you look elsewhere.🖤

Part 1 - "The Man"

The Man’s been dead for almost a day, the body already stiffened in rigor mortis and then relaxed again by the time anyone comes to take it.

They’d found him in his bunk just after breakfast yesterday, which means they’ve been keeping his wake for nearly twenty-four hours now, up at the front of the lead assembly car; his daughter and a few others who were closest to him sitting vigil with the body until the time comes. Mourning while they still can.

Jackboots visit the tail section only once per day—in the morning, with the food. That’s how Tailies tell time. So when one of their own dies, the funeral and the family’s goodbyes last only as long as the next arrival of the next pushcart with the next batch of gelatinous bars.

Bringing in food and taking out bodies—a callous reminder to Snowpiercer’s lowest inhabitants that their deaths are little different from their lives: cold, unadorned, hopeless.

Curtis keeps his distance once he’s paid his respects, and it’s quiet now as they all wait. A few people had given some nice speeches earlier, a decent eulogy capped off by the beautiful singing voice of the daughter that The Man has left behind: Rose.

Curtis watches her adjust the sheet over The Man’s body. He’s already been washed and stripped in preparation, wrapped in the old grey sheet that will be returned to them within a matter of hours. Nothing is wasted on Snowpiercer. The few pieces of clothing that The Man had owned now sit folded on the floor, ready to be given to their next occupants. The sight of his trademark checked shirt, unworn and available, is a point of mourning all in itself, Curtis finds.

New clothing always means death.

The Man had been a good person, a leader in his own right. Back when they’d first boarded, he’d been one of the first to volunteer his own flesh—though only once his wife had been killed and the mob was coming for his young daughter, too.

Curtis looks back up towards the front of the car when the heavy groans of unlatching metal come from the next section up. Rose’s face, covered in tears, also shoots up at the sound. Her eyes widen and her lip begins to quiver again. Her fingerless-gloved hand reaches for the body, clutching The Man’s shoulder one last time as the door slides open.

The jackboots bark for everyone to move back, since the funeral group isn’t sitting behind the usual yellow line of demarcation that’s taped to the floor, but then they look down and see the body. The lead guard sighs. “Oh, great,” he mutters. “Just what I wanted to do today.”

Curtis’ eyes narrow and his muscles tense, anticipating disrespect to the body—that he can handle, is used to, but if they lay a hand on her as the scene plays out, he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to restrain himself. Rose is a sweet girl despite her circumstances, with an innocence and a naivety that usually only the train babies have, and Curtis has always done what he can to look out for her.

“Right,” the one guard says to the other. “Okay. Protein blocks first, then you can load ‘im on the cart.”

Rose stays sitting by the body as everyone lines up to receive their daily portions. Curtis makes eye contact as he steps up to the lead guard and takes his portion. “Be nice,” he says. “It’s her dad.”

Luckily, the jackboots don’t seem to be in any kind of foul mood today. They let Rose sniffle over the body for a few extra seconds before hefting the corpse onto the empty protein block cart. And then they’re gone. No muss, no fuss, no fanfare. Just like it always happens when a Tailie dies.

“What do you think they do with them?” Curtis overhears Ned and Peter saying, talking with each other as they nibble off their protein blocks not too far from Rose. “Throw ‘em out?”

“How?” Peter says doubtfully. “S’not exactly an escape hatch in this thing.”

“Course there is,” Ned argues. “Where d’you think your shit goes when you flush the—”

“Hey,” Curtis hisses, glaring at them and tipping his head discreetly in Rose’s direction. “Show a little respect.”

Ned and Peter mumble an apology and move off, and when Curtis looks back to Rose, she’s blinking up at him with red rimmed eyes. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says, her voice deeper than usual as it emanates from a throat scraped raw by grief.

“I did.” Curtis walks over and slides down the wall to sit next to her. “He was a good man, your dad.”

“Thanks,” she says quietly.

Her nose sounds all stuffed up, so Curtis fishes in his pocket for his handkerchief. “Haven’t spoken to you in a hot minute,” he says, handing it over for her to blow her nose.

“Yeah well I hear you’re always planning the next revolution, so …”

Curtis scoffs. “Yeah, maybe.” He looks her over, taking in the worn knit of her sweater, the colorless felt of her coat that’d once been blue and belonged to her mother. So many of the Tailies are worn down to nothing but dull, grey husks now, just like the clothes they’ve recycled for over a decade. But Rose is different.

For whatever reason, her skin is still clear, her hair still thick. The malnutrition hasn’t affected her the way it has most others. Her soul still comes through her eyes. That inner luminance makes her pretty, maybe even the prettiest girl in the tail section. Even though she’s still very young. Probably too young for Curtis to be eyeing her up the way he has been, these past few months.

But she’s about that age now, even though it feels like only yesterday he was scrounging up materials to make her a little doll she could play with. People grow up fast in the tail whether they want to or not, and Curtis has been on high alert for a while now because he’s caught other men looking more than once. He’s even heard some bits of hushed conversation, whispered from nearby bunks where the occupants didn’t realize he was there to listen. Everything is a commodity in the tail. Everything. And there’s no one else who looks like Rose. She’s only made it this far because of her father.

And now her father’s dead.

Curtis realizes he’s been staring a little too long when Rose’s eyes slide over to him in curiosity. He coughs and looks away, shaking his head when she tries to hand him back the handkerchief. “Naw. You hold onto it for me, Hon.” She tucks it shyly away in her coat, and Curtis is pleased. “So …” he hedges, not knowing what to say to her. There’s nothing he can say. All they have in the tail is each other, their people, and she’s just lost hers. “So … you still going by ‘Rosebud’?”

That gets a tiny smile from her, which warms Curtis’ chest in the same way that he can remember whiskey doing, a lifetime ago. “Nobody calls me that anymore,” she says. “Nobody but him. And you.”

“Yeah?” Curtis thinks on it some. “Well maybe you should retire it. It’s a girl’s name anyway.”

“Aren’t I a girl?”

He raises an eyebrow without looking at her. “You still have that doll I made for you?” He hears her scoff and knows the answer. Rosie helps look after the young children in the tail. Curtis has seen that shabby little doll floating around in various tiny hands for years now. “You’re a good person,” he says quietly. “Like your dad. He was good. I’ll miss him." He’s looking straight ahead across the assembly car when he says it, but he still catches her slight movement out of the corner of his eye.

“He didn’t act any different,” she says, voice tiny. “I didn’t know. He didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything that made it seem like he was going to …” She cuts herself off, swallows thickly and shakes her head. “I just didn’t know.”

Curtis holds out his hand in offer for her to hold, and she takes it. Even with the fingerless glove on, her hand still feels tiny in his. “How about Petal?” he suggests.

“Petal?”

“Yeah,” he decides. “Yeah that’s what I’ll call you. Petal. My rose petal.”

“Oh, god.” She groans. “No. Curtis.”

“No?” He turns his head to look at her, and this time he waits until she looks at him too. Her expression sobers as their eyes meet. Curtis reaches to gently tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “It’s a beautiful word,” he murmurs. “Couldn’t I call you that?” His eyes skip over her face, soaking up the way her breath stutters, how a slow blush starts to fill the apples of her cheeks. “I promise I won’t tell anybody else,” he whispers.

She ducks her chin with a bashful smile. “Well, I guess so.”

In her lap, her other arm curls protectively around the small pile of belongings she’s been holding onto, drawing Curtis’ attention. Her father had been a large man, imposing, and yet the pile is so tiny. A whole entire life, compressed into less than one square foot in the end.

(Curtis does wonder, sometimes, what they do with the bodies.)

“He was one of our best,” he tells her. “Even in the Desperation. I remember how he was, how he volunteered. He was a leader. Brave.” His eyes slide over to the excuse for an artificial limb that's been cobbled together from an umbrella and a few old wire coat hangers, of all things. Now it sits, sad and unused, on the floor next to Rose’s leg. “You know who you’re gonna give it to?”

“What?”

He nods at the limb. “His arm. It’s the best one in the tail.”

“Oh.” She glances away from it, looking pained. “No,” she says. “I figured I’d just give it to you.”

“Me?” Curtis isn’t one of the few who’d volunteered in the Desperation—obviously, as he’s still got all four limbs intact. He wasn’t the same person back then that he is now. Back then he’d been a taker, not a giver. He looks away with a frown. “Give it to Phil,” he suggests. “He needs one, since his broke.”

Rose agrees that the arm should go to Coulson. She carefully sets the pile of clothing aside on the floor and returns to place her hand back in Curtis’ waiting one, this time pulling their joined hands into her lap. They sit there together like that for a long while, not speaking, just existing side by side. Some things have so much more value now than they did Before, including silent company and a comforting hand.

“Do you remember it much?” Curtis eventually says.

“Before?”

“No.” He never talks about Before, since it only breeds despair. “Boarding,” he says. “Do you remember?”

“Of course.”

He winces. “Oh. I didn’t know if you did. You were so young. I thought maybe … maybe you’d forgotten. A lot of the kids did, even some of the older ones.”

“Yeah. MJ was eight and she says she can’t remember at all.”

Curtis nods. “Sometimes it feels like a dream even to me, it was so long ago.” He’d been twenty-two when the world froze and people were reduced to animals all around him. Twelve years couldn’t erase that pain, but it could muddle it a lot. “I’m sorry you didn’t. Block it out.”

“I remember ... shouting,” Rose says, her voice teasing the memory out. “It was dark. And I remember getting shoved around, hiding against my mom's legs, being hungry ... how cold it was.” It’s been cold ever since, but never as cold as that night—the last night before the wind and snow and ice got shut out forever. She heaves a sigh. “It’s all a jumble in my mind, anyway. I couldn’t see past anyone’s coat.”

“You were little,” Curtis mumbles. “Short.”

“Well I was six."

He smirks and bumps her shoulder with his. “You’re still short,” he teases, while privately he thinks that it’s better that she was so young when it happened. It means her earliest memories are of cold and chaos, and that’s better than the alternative of having had more time in the World. It means less things to mourn. “What are you going to do now?” he asks, shaking his head like he can knock the past out of it. "Plans for today?"

Rose shrugs. “Same old, same old. Kids, stories. It’s my night to shower.”

Curtis turns his head towards her, brow furrowed. “You … but you’re not going back to you guys' spot, right?”

"'Course. Where else would I go?"

He doesn’t know what he was expecting, what he thought the alternative was supposed to be. Every square centimeter of the tail section is already portioned and claimed. New space doesn’t just appear. Nothing new ever appears, except babies, bodies, and the rats that Wanda breeds to supplement their diet.

“Rosie,” Curtis scolds. “No. You can’t go back there. Not where he—”

“It’s not a big deal,” she says stubbornly, pretending it doesn’t bother her. But she’s a horrible liar and that’s just another thing that's always made her so endearing ... and so vulnerable.

“Hon,” Curtis mourns,

“It’s just a bunk," she insists. "He slept there, he died there. I’ll probably die there too, one day.”

Curtis growls unhappily. “Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that. Hey, things won’t always be like this.” He catches her throwing him side eye and he glares at her. “They won’t.”

“Right,” she says, mouth quirking sadly at one corner before her gloved hand gives his a final squeeze and then lets him go. “Well. Not everybody has the big plans that you do, Curtis. Sometimes it's better to know what the future holds, even if it's this.”

“Don’t lose hope, Petal,” he pleads, but he can see that she’s dismissive of it. People lose hope all the time in the Tail. That’s what’d killed her father.

He sighs and looks back to the opposite side of the car. Now that the jackboots are gone it’s thinned out some, with some people gone back to their bunks and others remaining behind to munch on their protein blocks in the fresher air of the assembly car. Curtis spots a man several yards away who’s been openly staring at Rose. When the man sees Curtis looking, however, he hurriedly turns away.

Curtis scowls. “Hey,” he says, intending to take Rose's hand again and offer to have her spend the night with him. But her hand isn't there when he reaches over. She’s getting up, gathering her dead father’s pile of folded clothing items in her arms. Curtis frowns and gets up with her. He hurries to pick up the artificial limb. “Wait. Where’re you going?”

“Gonna give these to Gilliam,” she says, already on the move. “I want him to have first dibs." As if her father’s clothing would even come close to fitting Gilliam's shrunken and weathered old frame.

But Curtis gets up anyway and follows after her, not wanting to let her go just yet. He hurries along as she walks surprisingly fast for having such short legs. “Hey,” he says, talking to her back as they navigate through the communal living cars and the showers, and then into the cramped passageways of the market. “Hey, you know … you could come over tonight, if you wanted. My spot’s a pretty good size.”

“So is ours—” she says, faltering when she realizes her mistake. “I mean, so is mine.”

Curtis sighs and grabs her shoulder, pulling her to a stop. “Don’t go back there,” he pleads, cornering her into a cramped spot to face him. “Hey. I mean it, Hon. Don’t. You shouldn’t go back there tonight. Not alone, not where he …” She squares her jaw and looks up at him, expression stubborn as ever, and Curtis is struck by the sudden, overwhelming urge to kiss her. “It’s too soon,” he insists, because she’d been the one to find The Man sitting up in the bed: straight backed and purple faced and all out of hope, a cord wrapped thrice around his neck. “Too soon,” Curtis repeats sadly.

“I’ll be okay,” she insists, nodding when he makes a face to show how much he doesn’t agree with that. “It’s fine, Curtis. Really. I appreciate the offer. And I get it, I do. But that's our spot, ya know? I’ve lived there for twelve years, and I—” her eyes cut away, glossy with the threat of fresh tears. She swallows thickly and won’t look at him again. “I’m not ready to leave it,” she whispers. “I’d rather stay where it still smells like him.”

Curtis isn’t sure what love feels like, but he thinks maybe it’s partly made up of the horrible feeling he gets in his guts when he sees Rose in pain like this. “... Okay,” he says quietly, taking a small step back so that she can continue on down the passage. The tail is made up of twenty cars, and they’re only several down from the forwardmost car at this point. “Gilliam’s probably at the back,” he tells her. He can see that she wants to be alone in her grief, though he hates the idea of letting her go. “Hey,” he says softly, cupping her face. “I’m right here if you need me, Hon. You know that, right?”

She smiles and nods with watery eyes, worsening the tug in Curtis’ guts. He thinks seriously about leaning in and kissing her, but winds up holding himself back like he’s done so many times already. Instead he just strokes his thumb over her cheek, finger ruddy against the clear skin of her face. “Okay,” he says again. He gently places the artificial limb on top of the stack of clothing she holds, then takes another step back. “I’ll see you at dinner?” he asks, not bothering to hide the hope in his voice. He wants to see her again, as much as possible. The more he can keep her in his sights, the better.

“Yeah,” she agrees, leaning up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. “Thanks, Curtis. For looking out for me. He'd feel better, knowing that."

He watches her go with a sense of trepidation, uttering a quiet, "Not doin' it for him," once she’s halfway down the car.

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