#how do i simultaneously feel invisible and like a burden

[whatzittooyah]

i feel so fucking invisible

[aamnaan]

What will you say?

Tonight, I feel suicidal.

There was no dramatic breakdown. No spark that set off an uncontrollable wildfire of emotions that led me to this. A few minutes ago, I was lying in bed, the taste of strawberries and yogurt fading in my mouth – the last remnants of the patchworked meal that I put together to hit my macros. As I scrolled Twitter, I saw a post about a professional video game player who had committed suicide. Hax. I had never heard of him before, but I searched his name on the platform. I poured over the waves of condolences posts, as well as the turmoil that often accompanies death.

Hax had been kicked out of the videogame community that he had helped shape. The details of what exactly happened are beyond my understanding – and (cruelly) interest. But there was something about the discourse around his death that made, and continues to make, me uneasy. Expressions of grief by those that seemed to know him were often contested by hordes of faceless fans of his who were enraged at a perceived feigning of care. An accusatory tone has been set. Who is to blame for the death? How much can we blame each person we deem responsible? Do his fans believe this crusade is just? It seems like it. Are those that are dismissing their pointed allegations in the right? I don’t know. And I’m not really interested in finding out. Or even centering my thoughts around Hax or any one person that had the courage to go through something that is unimaginably terrifying.

This little bit of exposure has been enough for the thoughts to come back. It was enough for me to feel the invisible weight re-appear, forcing me to sink deeper into my mattress. The burden that feels insurmountable, infinitely heavier than the weights that I had conquered earlier in the day at the gym. The load that feels simultaneously too heavy to ever truly escape but also light enough that it isn’t truly a problem. The wright which whispers that it’s not that heavy. Purr’s that I’m being dramatic and that others have it heavier; stop complaining.

I wonder what would happen if I did it tonight. I know what happens to my body, but what happens to the idea of me? Who will I be remembered as? Will my family speak about me as the golden child? The one who got into every elite university? The one that presented the perfect picture to the outside world. The responsible older child? Will they brush aside my flaws? Will they only think about it in their most intimate moments of solitude – too scared to voice the concerns that they had when I was alive? When they think of my suicide will they think of the successful attempt? Or will they think about all the times where I tried and failed? The times they saw me almost die?

What would my friends say? I wonder who would even care. Which one of them wouldn’t wait to use it as an anecdote? Tell people that they had a friend who committed suicide before launching into uninformed takes about the value of mental health. Would people speak about me at the reunions? How many pass before the memory of me starts to fade? The 10-year reunion – they may make a short statement of remembrance.  The 20 year – maybe there’s a placard with my name? The 30 year - someone struggles to remember my name as they reminisce about the time they did the thing with that guy who ended up dying later.  

How would my girlfriend remember me? As a doting boyfriend that puts her first? Will she write to handle the grief? Will she tell herself a story about our relationship, crafting the perfect fictional deceased boyfriend? Will he be the dick that I was? Will he have my rudeness or bluntness? Will he make her cry like I did?

Sitting at the computer, I can’t escape these thoughts that even if I went through with it, I wouldn’t be able to escape. The idea of me persists in some way, transferring the pain I feel onto those around me. My being - my essence – becoming a prop that people cling onto. Fragmented husks of the person that I am permeating through the populace that I have influenced. Each one a poor imitation of who I truly am.

I’m not immune. How many times have I mentioned my childhood friends that lost their fathers. How many times did I think about what I did and didn’t do to comfort them. How many times have I thought about what must have been going through those men’s minds and whether I could relate. Me. Me. Me. It’s always me. Even right now. What does it mean that my first description of these two men was as fathers. Is that the remembrance they deserve? Is it the one they wanted? Even if it wasn’t, have I earned the privilege to remember them in any other way?

I wonder why they had the courage that I didn’t. They must have had it worse. I don’t have it that bad. I need to stop complaining, grow up. My internal monologue is a never-ending repetition that I am a pretender. I’m not really suicidal. Suicidal people don’t journal. They don’t wonder if someone will ever see their words. They don’t have a playlist of songs about suicide that they listen to on nights like this. They don’t have the bandwidth to deal with anything other than the overwhelming weight. The pain. The frustration. The never ending need to make it stop.

Reading about someone killing themselves has me like this. Am I a voyeur? Living vicariously through fantasies in my head. Painting a bleak picture with a brush of self-pity. So desperate for attention that I would lie to the world and myself. Is that how they will remember me? A casual? A suicide tourist? Someone not really about this life. A poser.

What will you say when people ask about me?

[moririki]

⤷ A BLOODSTAINED CONFESSION

RENGOKU KYOJURO X READER -> 3.6K
you patch up your fellow hashira after the hardest fight of your lives

REQUEST -> ✰
CONTAINS -> MUGEN TRAIN SPOILERS like before the cut and everything, mentions of blood + gore, so kinda angsty but definitely a fluffy ass ending, reader is a hashira but it's left ambiguous as to what element you are👍, i watched the movie two months ago so my recollection of dialogue and plot may be *slightly* off, near-death experience, idk how to write combat so i just... didn’t, reader lowkey thirsts over rengoku's back muscles and shit because why tf not, idk how injuries work aaaa
MORI'S THOUGHTS -> rengoku my beloved,,, he deserves the world,, i think i should have made this less angsty im SORRY (i rlly heard "extra fluffy" and it just went 👩🏻➡️ straight through my head huh) also i bet you guys missed me and my late-ass posting <3 but here i am!! for now!! yeahhhh!! i feel like the writing in this got a little repetitive so i apologise for that

APPARENTLY, THE DESTRUCTION OF AN ENTIRE TRAIN wasn't enough to end this mission. even with one lower six demon defeated, another much stronger one had replaced it. the arrival of akaza was a significant turning point in the battle, and one that you cursed yourself for missing.

you should have known that this mission would he more dangerous than expected when both you and rengoku had been deployed to the train, alongside three rookies. you should have known better than to let rengoku convince you to stay back and help evacuate rather than let him handle it alone.

he had been so full of confidence- squeezing your hand firmly before rushing off, leaving you feeling slightly lightheaded from the brief contact of his warm palm. you should have wished him luck, told him to be careful, anything, but he was gone before you had the chance.

you made quick work of evacuating the passengers of the derailed train, making sure that they were all confirmed to be outside of the carriages before entrusting their safety to zenitsu and nezuko. it was around when you had carried out the last passenger that you felt the ground rumble beneath your feet, coming from the other side of the embankment that you were currently placed at. 

before you gave yourself time to really think things through, you were shouting instructions to the pair of demon slayers and dashing off towards the source of the noise, hand readily placed on your sword. that was the direction that rengoku ran is all that went through your mind.

the scene that you found yourself facing did little to quell your fears. you reached two bodies first, recognising them as the hapless figures of inosuke and tanjiro. from a glance you could see the extent of their injuries, with the latter laying on the ground barely conscious. the boar-headed one could only stare at the fight happening several metres away, his shoulders slumped in defeat and swords hanging by his sides.

“there’s no opening,” he only whispered, barely audible. that much was true. even you had difficulty keeping up with the movements of rengoku and the demon that he was fighting. the fact that it had already been several minutes and that there was no clear advantage concerned you, and you unsheathed your sword.

“you two stay put, and learn what it means to be a hashira, alright?” you tried offering a brilliant smile, much like you had seen the flame hashira do so many times, but you hoped that yours didn't fall flat. from the slight relief shown on tanjiro’s worn face, though, you took that as a good sign.

without wasting another second, you rushed towards rengoku and the demon, assessing their movements. inosuke wasn’t joking when he said there wasn’t any opening, their movements equally matched. you took the chance and struck when rengoku managed to get the demon to stumble back. bringing your sword down in a vertical strike, you severed one of its arms, before taking a cursory glance back at rengoku to make sure that he was alright.

your wound did little to hinder the demon, as it simply chuckled before regrowing its limb.

“oh? another hashira? don’t tell me you think that this is a fair match,” the demon sneered as you held your sword in front of you, still nervously eyeing the blood that was beginning to drip at rengoku’s feet. it amazed you as to how he was still standing, let alone also ready to keep fighting, but you weren’t going to stop him with that amount of determination in his eyes.

“i wouldn’t say that you appearing after we had to fight an entire train was fair either, but here we are,” you glared at the demon, adjusting the grip on your sword.

“think you can hold on a little longer?” you asked rengoku, still facing the demon.

“always.” you could picture the steadfast smile on his face, lending you his strength whenever you needed it. you took a deep breath, starting your total concentration breathing and launching off of your foot, propelling yourself forwards.

you heard rengoku's footsteps right behind you, dependable as ever. when you swung your sword and sliced through, you knew that the flame hashira was there to follow through with a co-ordinated attack.

despite your best efforts, the upper six demon lived up to its status and provided to be more than a challenge for even both you and rengoku fighting him simultaneously. in fact, akaza had even managed to gain the upper hand a few times, leaving you with a cracked rib that was making it more difficult to focus and control your breathing.

but you and rengoku's big break arrived in the form of a rising sun that leeched itself into your surroundings. the glow was nothing but welcomed by you, though your demon opponent let fear flicker across its face for the first time this night as it turned foot and fled. the invisible adrenaline-fuelled strings that held you up snapped, and you felt the strength from your body sap, too spent to gove chase to akaza.

the bitter taste of defeat crushed you, numbing your senses as you barely heard the cries of tanjiro as he yelled at the retreating figure of akaza. you turned to your fellow yashira, eyes widening and senses returning as you took in the way he had slumped to the floor, head bowed as he kneeled.

"no, don't you dare," you mumbled, dropping to your knees too in front of him. panic gave your limbs a new purpose as your hands stretched out in front of you, seeking out the warmth rengoku still emitted even when mortally wounded.

the most pressing matter was the dark stain of blood that gave his uniform an unnatural sheen that was still spreading. you pressed a hand to the source of it, a large gash across his stomach that was much too deep for your liking. your other hand came to rest on his face, tilting his head up to look at you for any sort of good sign to cling onto.

"you better stay alive!" your voice was shrill, harsher than you wanted it to be, but those were factors you could hardly control more than the blood oozing from rengoku's stomach. you could see how unfocused his eyes were, and how heavy his head was when only being propped up by the waning strength in your hand. your own injuries had been forgotten, cast aside in favour for you to fear for the flame hashira's life.

and still, despite everything, the man still smiled. the blood covering half his face did little to mar its radiance. rengoku raised a shaking, bloody hand of his own, letting it fall heavy against your own as you felt your hold begin to slip.

"you're hurt too, you know." his words were more of a shaky exhale, though you heard it all the same. you felt a smile slip onto yours too as rengoku proved to still be so vigilant in the wellbeing of others.

"you don't need to remind me, shut up and save your energy," you whispered back. you didn't trust yourself to speak any louder in fear of your voice cracking.

"but.. i have to tell you something." the insistence in his eyes was back, burning into you so mich that you couldn't help but lean closer, trying to ease his burden of being audible.

"quit talking like you're dying." you were practically whispering into his ear, close enough to feel the rasp of his breath as he laughed, holding your hand tighter. his other hand came up to your own face, rough thumb brushing against the skin underneath your eye, wiping away a tear you never realised had tracked its way there.

"let me bandage you up." your voice may not have shook, but your hands definitely did as you disentangled them from rengoku's hold, urging him to put pressure on his wound while your fingers found purchase on the hem of your uniform and ripped off a strip of it. it was barely enough to cover his injury but you managed to wrap the severed cloth around his middle a few times, tying it tight and hoping that it was enough to stop the bleeding.

"just.. stay with me until backup comes, alright? you've got tell me something once we get out of here, remember?" rengoku nodded into your palm, smiling at your words as his eyelids fluttered shut. but you were close enough to still feel that he was warm, to feel the slight rise and fall of his chest as he managed to still breathe, and that gave you some comfort.

minutes felt like hours when you had to talk to fill the gap. whether it was to give rengoku something that tethered him to this mortal realm, or a way for you to distract yourself from your own pain, you onew that you would both have to tough it out a little longer, just until the others arrived.

"you know, i've always admired you." you were surprised at both his words and how clear rengoku's voice sounded. your grip on his hand tightened a little, and you leaned towards him so that your forehead pressed against his.

"this is hardly the time to say something like that, kyojuro." you tried not to laugh, the pain of your ribs starting to edge back in as the adrenaline left your body as the sun soaked your bodies.

"i just wanted you to know." you would have responded to the man if it weren't for the shouts that became all too clear. help was here, and everything was going to be okay now.

you didn't want to let rengoku out of your sight, but many insistent hands prised his body from your grip, and with barely the strength to speak there was little that you could do about it except succumb to the pain of your wounds and finally fall unconscious.

recovery was never an aspect of fighting that you looked forward to. when you finally came to, there were a few gripping moments of panic when you asked a nurse if rengoku was here, if he was alive. you had been assured that he was before the pain and medication kicked in again for a fitful sleep as your body healed.

but no matter how you were pressed back into bed, into the constraints of sleep, you never really felt like you were at rest. your mind was still racing to places your body couldn't as it pieced together the events just before you got hospitalised.

when you could finally get up without keeling over, you were stumboing your way through the hallways as stealthily as possible, leaning on walls for support and peering into rooms as you walked past, in search of your fellow hashira. your cards of luck had lined up when you stumbled upon his sleeping figure less than three rooms down from yours.

he looked a lot cleaner, still donning a serene smile even when unconscious and you felt the panic gripping your body loosen its hold. the throb of your most likely broken ribs was enough of an edge to keep you awake, and you made your way over to rengoku's bedside.

there was a convenient chair placed next to him, and you tried not to grunt in pain as you sat down in it. rengoku didn't even stir at your approach, and you resigned yourself to sitting there, studying his figure and resisting the urge to check whether he was actually breathing or not. if you focused enough, you saw the subtlest rise and fall of his chest, just enough to qualm your fears.

your concentration was broken as you heard the sliding door open again, and the hesitant voice of a nurse breaking your intense silence.

"ah, i'm sorry to interrupt but i need to change rengoku's bandages." to prove her point, the nurse raised her arm to emphasise the strips of fabric held by them. you stood up hastily, sending a cursory glance back at the still-sleeping form of rengoku.

like all matters regarding the flame hashira, you found your mouth and body working a little faster than your brain.

"it's alright, i can change them for you. i'm sure that you have plenty of other patients to tend to." the nurse nodded, though she still looked hesitant to hand you the bandages. you gave her a reassuring smile, stretching out your hand to take them. "i've had plenty of experience with this, don't worry."

the nurse appeared relieved, giving you a quick thanks before exiting and letting the door click shut behind her.

you turned your attention back to rengoku's sleeping figure only to watch him crack a single amber eye open and give you an almost sheepish smile. you couldn't help the flooding sensation of relief that drenched your bones, and you returned his gesture.

"i'm glad to see that you're alright." rengoku's eyes never left yours, and you felt yourself grow hot underneath his gaze.

"glad to see you too." you offered a hand, helping rengoku shuffle further up the bed with minimal effort on your side. despite the bandages covering a large expanse of his upper body, his grip on your hand was still stable and you bit back the fond smile threatening to bloom on your face.

luckily for you, rengoku seemed to get the message that he needed to get shirtless without you asking him, which saved you a whole lot of embarrassment. you weren't confident in your ability to look him in the eye and ask him to strip without blushing, though you did exactly that as your eyes raked over his bare skin.

littered with scars and covering taut muscle, it was hard not to let your eyes wander down his form. from the look on rengoku's face, he looked well aware of the effect that he had on you and fixing you with a practically imperceptible smirk. you were quick to ask him to turn around, and he obliged as quickly as someone with broken and bruised bones could manage.

his back was the same story, with broad shoulders and defined shoulderblades that had muscle twitching without you touching it. you sucked in a breath, way too audible for your liking, and tried not to let your hand stretch out to run your fingers down the expanse of his back. you were here to help treat him, not indulge in some fantasy of yours.

your mindset snapped back to professionalism as you grabbed hold of the fresh bandages, opting to put them on after you removed the old ones. while there was no sign of infection, you still grimaced at the bloody sight of rengoku's major wound. you tried not to show how much it had upset you, both now and in the moment, and your attention turned to your slightly trembling fingers.

you were careful to avoid where his skin was obviously discoloured from bruising, not wanting to cause him any unnecessary pain. he was warm to the touch, enough to invite you in with some false sense of confort before burning you alive. the way his back muscles jumped at your touch did little to help your concentration, but you shouldered on.

your mingld escaped you, insisting on recounting those painful minutes where rengoku was vpeeding out on the battlefield. there was a particular focus on his insistence to tell you something, and you bit your lip. surely, he would ask you at some point from now.

"how are your ribs?" rengoku's voice cut through the silence, its rasping edge acting as evidence of hiw soundly he had been sleeping earlier. while it wasn't the question you wanted him to ask you, you were never one to turn down conversation. especially from him.

"worry about yourself, kyojuro. i'm fine." your appliance of the fresh bandage meant that you would now have to be stood in front of him, a development that had your face flaming from the close proximity. silence set in, and all that distracted you from the rise and fall of his stomach was his breath tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. your eyes flickered towards the ceiling, relying on your hands to guide yourself instead.

you dared to glance down and saw rengoku’s eyes fixed on your face already. there was something about his softened features and the look in his eyes that had you scrambling to stare at the blank ceiling again. as much as you would like to retreat at every first sign if danger or confrontation, you knew that you woukd have to talk to him soon, whether it was you or him who brought up the conversation topic from that day.

taking a deep breath, you perched yourself on the edge of rengoku's bed, still maintaining a professional amount of distance from him. still close enough to spot how his smile brightens when you choose to stay. you glanced down at your fingers, twisting knots into themselves as they were placed in your lap. you almost cursed and placed them underneath you to stop that, but instead you fixed your gaze on the flame hashira's ever-present smile.

"do you remember when you said you had to tell me something? right after akaza?" rengoku straightened up a little, nodding. you gave a cursory glance to the bandages safely wrapped around him, and winced as you remembered how much blood had left him that day. 

as if he could tell what you were thinking, rengoku reached forward and took your hand in his. you sucked in a breath at the sensation of his calloused hands, wincing as your ribs ached in protest. you couldn’t bring yourself to break his stare as your fingers intertwined, and rengoku brought you slightly closer to him. the tension was palpable, and you squeezed his hand in an attempt to alleviate some of it.

“what did you want to tell me, kyojuro?” you were still closing the distance between the two of you, voice barely above a whisper because there was no need to talk any louder for him to hear you. everything about him drew you closer, and the thought of pulling away never crossed your mind. you finally stopped, inches away, staring at him expectantly.

“well, there was a chance that i was going to die that day, so i was going to be selfish and tell you that i love you."

it amazed you how he could say that with such confidence when that statement had effectively swept you off of your feet. you were well aware that you looked more than caught off guard- your eyes had widened, and your mouth probably hung open from shock. that was nothing to stop rengoku’s words, though. if anything, it only encouraged him to keep going.

"and when i said that i admire you, i meant it. i admire your strength and how willing you are to help others. i admire you when it's sunset and you're laughing and i admire the way your hands feel, especially here." he guided your hand to his face, letting it cradle his cheek as he rested his own hand at your wrist, not willing to let go. you were sinking into the warmth of his body, letting his borrowed strength keep you upright.

“and most of all, i admire you because i find your beauty striking in everything that you do.” you were silent as rengoku’s eyes searched your own, watching as his lips split as he laughed. “you’re crying again.” you raised your other hand to your cheekbone, feeling the liquid there that began its trek down the planes of your face. you wiped them away with the back of your hand, keeping yourself anchored to rengoku as you curled your fingers around his own.

you felt so light that you could float away, and you couldn’t  help but laugh and grin as you fully processed the confession of the man lying underneath you. tears still rolled down your cheeks, and you couldn’t help the bittersweet pang as you remembered exactly why he was here recovering.

“you really scared me back there, you know?”

“it wasn’t my intention.” you laughed through your sniffle, feeling his warm hand trace patterns on the back of yours. you shuffled forwards and, as best as your shared injuries allowed it, you gave rengoku a hug. while your arms were around his neck, his rested squarely on your lower back, and it was better than anything else you could imagine.

you pulled away, relinquishing the comfort of his arms in favour of looking him in the eye as you prepared what to say next. admittedly, it was a lot easier when you knew how the other person felt about you.

“you know i admire you too, rengoku, and i love you. so much.” joy rewrote itself within his eyes, and they almost glowed with how intense his emotions were after you uttered those words.

“you do?”

your yes came out as a barely audible breath before you were being snagged forwards by him again. you practically crashed against his lips, but you welcomed the sensation, pulling yourself closer to him and settling on his lap.

you sighed into the searing kiss, only truly appreciating his warmth now as you felt it spread through you. you kissed him back intensely, ignoring the dull ache of your ribs to chase the addictive feeling that you only got around him.

around the person who loved you back.

take a look at the menu - ,, ⛩ ·˚ ༘ ꒱

[animatedrapture]

RINTOBER: [to love and to be loved ]

suna rintarō x gender neutral reader

tags: fluff, comfort, established relationship, slight angst, mentions of feeling unwanted and sadness. reader feeling the bigsad™️

word count: around 1k+

a/n: didn't proofread ): queued. hope this is turned out alright. like, i suck at writing fluff and it shows shows ;( almost sure i flopped suna's characterization here and idk why.

Suna always thought that he was good at memorizing things—it was an advantage brought about by his observant nature.

But there's something about you today that's not clicking in his head; there was a wall put up around you that he can just feel, like you're locking yourself inside an invisible space you wouldn't let even him get through.

He lets it slide during lunch. There's only very few things that can unsettle Suna, but perhaps something he'll forever dislike is how absent you feel when you're actually sitting in front of him. It's not like you were the loud type, nor were you like him—mostly silent and apathetic, but you weren't usually like this either. You seemed ghostly, Suna never would've thought he'd be so unsettled by it.

In fact, he was so unsettled that it urged him to pull you in his arms right before he lets you go back to your class after lunch. Nevermind that you were in the hallways still littered with people, or that it was uncharacteristic of him to express such affection in public. He keeps you in his arms long enough for your tensed body to melt into his before he squeezes your hands, a silent notion to let you know he's going back to his class, and then lets you go.

Maybe it's because he knows that he doesn't have you all figured out in his head, he doesn't know what to do when you're simultaneously there but also not. He doesn't have every inch of you memorized in his head and that makes him fail from knowing that he shouldn't have let it slide during lunch.

Suna curses in his head after class when Kita walks up to him, telling him that you'll go ahead for today instead of waiting for Suna until after their volleyball practice like you usually would. Kita doesn't question it any longer when he doesn't see Suna in practice. Your odd demeanor when you approached him earlier was enough to let him know what Suna was bound to do.

You were about to fumble for your keys but the door was open when you came home. It took you a longer walk than usual today, you felt exhausted—not even in a physical sense but more so in a sense where breathing is hard and functioning is difficult. You don't understand what clicked in you today that made you just want to disappear, if even for a moment; you felt like you could vanish from this earth, cease to exist, and it wouldn't matter—the sun would continue to rise and fall, all the planets would continue to orbit around it, everything would follow through as it always did.

God, how you wanted to just tell someone—anyone what was wrong, how you just wanted to be held for the longest time and find a speck of comfort from whatever pit you've fallen into. You couldn't, though, and you hated it so much. You hated how you felt like a bother for even the most miniscule of movement you make, the smallest sound you'd create.

But when you push open your door to find your boyfriend, Suna, already there and staring at the door as if he's been waiting for you—it's like the cogs in your head slowly started to turn backwards in an attempt to redo how it's been moving.

"Hey."

"Rin? What are you—? You have practice…"

You watch him from your own doorstep as he makes his way towards you, watch him pry your bag from your hands and pull you inside, pushing the door closed.

Your question remains unanswered as he brings you to your room, placing your bag to where you usually would, helping you out of your school blazer. Then, he pulls you to your bed along with him, placing you between his legs, your back pressed against his chest.

It's his own, unspoken question that lingers in the air after that. What's wrong?

Suna leans in and rests his chin on your shoulder. You can feel his arms around you hold you closer, providing so much warmth you didn't know had been slowly dissipating out of you the past few days.

"I—" you try to speak, only to wince at the crack in your voice. You grit your teeth as you feel hot tears forming from the corners of your eyes.

"'s okay, baby. Take all the time you need," he murmurs. You feel him press his lips to your shoulder, as if to comfort you.

"I… Feel disgusted with myself, Rin? Feel like… I ask too much of you—? Take? Too much of you," you choke in a sob. Suna swallows a lump in his own throat that grows from the words you tell him.

"I-I feel like… I've been too clingy with you? Like… D-do—do you want me around? I feel-I feel like I'm being stupid for feeling like this but I just—" you feel him shake his head. Your tears continue to fall, staining your cheeks with its tracks. 

"I feel like… I shouldn't be around, y'know? I don't understand it but I just–I feel like no one would want me around?" your words come out in between sobs, in the same uncertain tone, trying to find the right words to string together.

"I love you, y/n," his voice comes out thick and coarse, like he's struggling to wrap his head around how you've been feeling and what he should do about it.

"'m sorry, Rin. I shouldn't be burdening you with—" You feel him flinch against you.

Suna gently lifts you from between his legs to sit on his lap, cupping your cheeks to make you face him. His eyebrows were furrowed, a small frown on his lips, and he shakes his head again.

"You're never a burden to me, baby," he tilts his head, sighing, "I want you around, always. Want you near me, always. 'm not sure if you're clingy 'cause I love you exactly as you are, yeah?"

You only stare at him, dumbstruck, "I'm not sure what's going on in that pretty little head of yours but 'm always gonna be here for you, y/n. Always gonna love you, always gonna hold you for as long as you need, always gonna want you around, yeah?"

When you don't answer, biting your lip as your tears continue to fall, he brings his lips to your forehead, offering a lingering kiss. Then, he mutters, "Please tell me you believe me."

You never heard him so worried, so concerned before. You nod fervently, "I believe you, Rin."

Suna lets out a sigh of relief, his hand stroking your hair. "You can tell me whenever you feel like this, yeah? 'm right here, I'm not going anywhere."

You nod. "I love you, Rintarō."

"I love you, y/n," Suna's reply was immediate.

"Even if I'm a bit too much sometimes?"

You hear him scoff, pulling back to look at you. He flicks your forehead, "You're never too much for me. I mean, who else is gonna want to always hold my hand and nap with me?"

You pout at him, "Like, a ton of other girls!" You answer him, emphasizing the amount.

He rolls his eyes at you, pulling you closer to him, "They're not you."

You let out a loud laugh, a laugh that resonates in his own chest and eases his worry. "That's so cheesy, Rin!"

"You're cheesy."

"Nu-uh."

"Just shut up and let me love you, y/n."

You smile. As if he didn't already make you feel like the luckiest person in the world to be loved by him. It's absolutely ridiculous how simply being in his arms was reassurance enough, ridiculous how he tried his best offer you what you needed when you needed it—even when it's usually so out of character for him.

But maybe that's what you're missing—knowing that Suna Rintarō loved you like the heavy water currents of the deep sea, loved you like no novel of love penned in history would have the ability to express.

"Only if you'd let me love you, Rin."

There's a chuckle that erupts from his throat, the corners of his lips curling to a smile.

Of course he would let you—as if he would have it any other way.

[cuntess-carmilla]

On disability and gender

I'm writing this from my perspective as a dyadic TME non-binary lesbian (also mixed but very pale and non-Black, as well as relatively thin). I will group myself with women but like, I'm also not really a woman it's complicated lol. I say this because I can't have first-hand comprehension of all the possible dynamics between gender and disability, and other physically disabled people are very much encouraged to add their own thoughts and perspectives to this post.

I don't feel equipped to speak on how being disabled and intersex impacts gendered experiences because I have too much left to learn, so I'm sorry that I'm not going to go into it. It's not because I don't recognize that struggle, it's because I just don't have the range, so please, if you're an intersex and physically disabled person and you want to expand on this, don't be afraid to do so.

Able-bodieds can reblog but don't speak out of turn.

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For a long time I've been trying to articulate my thoughts and pain on how physical disability impacts our gendered experiences and I think I'm finally starting to get to it.

When you're physically disabled you're immediately stripped of a (willing) gender identity as well as desexualized.

Gender is embodied and performed. You can embody it "incorrectly" and perform it "poorly". Everything regarding the embodiment of physically disabled people is seen as incorrect, and the literal meaning of "disabled" is that we can't perform the same way that able-bodied people can, or at least we can't without severely impacting our wellness.

Disabled men are emasculated. Constructs of ideal manhood are in big part built on things such as physical prowess, never expressing vulnerability, being self-sufficient outside of anything domestic, and conquering women sexually and romantically.

Disabled men are seen as weak, they are seen as pathetic for having visible vulnerabilities or (if their disability isn't immediately visible) for exposing their vulnerabilities instead of "sucking it up". By needing aid, accessibility and carers that do more than what a wife would traditionally do for any man, the sense of self-sufficiency men are supposed to perform is unavailable to disabled men. All disabled people are desexualized and seen as repulsive once our sexualities are acknowledged, and even disabled dyadic cishet men can't escape this. Able-bodied women see them as unfit for any sort of serious romantic or sexual partnership. Not to mention too the traditional role of men as providers and how difficult it is for any disabled person to acquire wealth at all, let alone enough to support more than ourselves alone. The rates of poverty for physically disabled people are fucking astronomical, so most disabled men can't even use that to their advantage in romance and sex to make up for all the other ways in which they're at a disadvantage compared to able-bodied men.

Disabled women fail at embodying and performing every single aspect of traditional womanhood too, but in particular; domestic labor, sexual labor, and beauty standards.

All labor is difficult if not downright impossible when you're disabled. Disabled women who need carers as adults are seen as complete failures because, even as children, but especially as adults, we're the ones who're supposed to be the carers of others, not the other way around. People love to pretend that women are coddled more than men, but nothing breaks that illusion more than being a disabled woman. A woman's needs are supposed to be invisible and self-fulfilled, or else we're whiny spoiled bitches, and guess what that means for disabled women. When we can't perform this pristine role we're immediately marked as failures, we're undesirable and nothing but a parasitic drag in the lives of abled people.

Yes, not all disabled women are straight, plenty of us are bi or lesbians, many are also aro/ace, but the point is that the patriarchy doesn't really give a shit what a woman's sexuality is, because no woman is seen as having sexual agency, so even if we're not straight we're expected to exist to satisfy men sexually. I cannot describe how difficult it is to be sexual, even when you're not ace, if you're physically disabled. Speaking from my own experience, trying to maintain a sex life as someone who experiences chronic fatigue and chronic pain is one of the most frustrating and demoralizing aspects of my disability. I want sex, I want to want sex, to be able to fuck my fiancé, but most of the time I simply can't gather the energy to even feel horny. I feel like such a failure of a lover because of it. Even though my fiancé is patient and understanding with me!

Can you imagine what it is like for disabled women who aren't as "lucky" as me, to have a partner who understands that we simply can't do it all the time even if we do want to? I don't want to go into too much detail about this because it's very painful and triggering to many, but I think you can imagine what happens to a lot of disabled women (and disabled people in general) when we're not satisfying a partner sexually and they get too frustrated by it. Being as vulnerable as we are, nobody cares much what happens to us. More so since, again, physically disabled people are seen as sexually repulsive, so if anyone wants sex with us we're supposed to be "thankful" for it, no matter the circumstances.

As for beauty standards, any woman who doesn't fit traditional beauty standards will know just how badly men treat you when they don't find you physically appealing, and well... Let's just say that a cane or a wheelchair aren't seen by society as particularly attractive, no matter how much the woman using them fits traditional beauty standards otherwise. Then there's female amputees, women with deformities, etc. In my case, I'm a literal mutant. If I don't disguise my tells with corsetry, long sleeves, and so, so much more, my body looks "off", I have been told repeatedly that my body looks "off" my whole life, and I'm one of the least visibly disabled ones! Even regarding body hair it's fucking hell. My collagen is so elastic that when new hair grows it stays ingrown unless I manually break my skin with a needle or a pumice stone (no, gentler ways of exfoliation don't work), but shaving isn't ideal either because my skin is, due to my altered collagen too, literally transparent and you can see the roots of my dark hairs under it even if I shave down to accidentally harming my skin with the blade.

Performing femininity at all is just... It's fucking hell. If it's exhausting for able-bodied women, can you imagine what it is like for us? I can barely manage to shower, by the time I'm done with my hair, makeup and outfit, every bit of my very limited energy is depleted and then I still have the rest of the day to go through. And I LIKE being feminine. I like wearing makeup and wearing the outfits I wear and yet I still dread it when I know I'll have to do more than stay in my pajamas at home.

Also, the perceived fragility of disabled women isn't the type of fragility that is seen as desirable in women. It's not delicacy. Wheelchairs, canes and other mobility aids aren't seen as "delicate" or "demure". Neither is kinesio tape, or compression stockings, or any other sort of medical equipment which, on top of it all, tend to not be very "aesthetic". Our fragility isn't the romanticized type, it's the "wow, you're an useless burden who can't serve me the way I expect you to" type.

When it comes to "binary" disabled trans people (for a lack of a better term) the degendering is even more intense than it already is for their cis counterparts (all that I described above applies to them too). There's a dichotomy of the even heavier denial of their actual genders as men and women due to the combination of their transness and disabilities, contrasting with how even if they were to conform to their assigned genders at birth they'd still be seen as failures at it due to everything I've already stated. There's also the sentiment that their identifying outside of their assigned gender at birth is a sort of consolation prize, something they're going for only because they were failing at being proper cis men and cis women, and thus their actual genders are even more invalidated and effectively pathologized in the most medical sense of the word, which is already a problem for all trans people, but for physically disabled trans people this intensifies the problem even more.

When it comes to non-binary disabled people things get so fucking confusing and infuriating. If binary disabled people get denied their manhood and womanhood, best believe that multigender disabled people (bigender, genderfluid, etc) are denied all aspects of their genders even harder. Not even completely agender disabled people are safe from being seen as failures of their gender identities by people who would perfectly respect the identity of an agender but able-bodied person. The fact that the default gendered status of all disabled people is forcefully degendered makes it so agender disabled people aren't seen as having any agency or self-determination in their (lack of or neutral) gender identity, it's seen as a passive inevitability from their embodiment, so it doesn't really "count", while simultaneously being subjected to the general transphobic bullshit any other agender person would be subjected to.

All of these things already affect white, thin and dyadic physically disabled people. When you add race (especially Blackness and/or being dark skinned), fatness and being intersex into the mix, the ways in which we're degendered and misgendered are off the fucking rails.

We can't fucking win.

[starshipsofstarlord]

Mattress Comfort | Ashton Irwin

Summary; Ashton comes home, and as his girlfriend’s sponsor, and of course lover, he is there to help her get through her difficulties.

Warnings; depression, angst, mentions of self harm, fluff, sponsoring. Do not read if this is triggering.

It was late when Ash got home from the studio, he had been conjoining lyrics to fathom a musical world that would encase him away from dark thoughts, or possibilities of mental torture.

A while back, he had began to attend meetings for his depression, it was no secret that in the past that he had suffered with a well known thing called depression, many people in the world had it.

It was a gripping sensation, one that reminded its victim that they were never good enough, and could never possibly be. The energy to do the simplest tasks was lacklustre, the tank was left near on empty.

That was where he had met his partner, at the meetings. He was inclined to spend more time together outside of your mandatory hours of attendance, simply because he wanted to. Ashton was smitten with you, and you happened to be his first potential love interest who understood his struggles.

So when he arrived home, the place blanketed in darkness and the living room left untouched, except from an empty packet of Doritos, he knew what kind of mood you were being affected by.

The curtains hadn’t even been opened since the prior day, and so he drew them, blinking hastily at the intruding light. It hurt his eyes, but what made him ache more was knowing that you were currently struggling, so he went towards your safe place; your room.

Although you had been the only person at home, the door was still closed, it was no surprise. It was a barricade of protection, closure from the rest of your life. Ash remembered as a teen and young adult, he would do the exact same thing. And so he pried it open by the handle, and found a lump of duvet wrapped around you.

It was even falling out of the cover, some of the poppers undone, but that was the least of your worries, especially when there were already so many. Ashton made slow footsteps, shutting the door behind himself, and switching the light on, causing you to burrow further into your personal nest.

“Hey honey, how are you feeling?” He already was aware of the answer, but he asked nevertheless. You needed to be enquired about your feelings to feel as though someone cared, so he took that mantle. It hit him add seeing you like this, he wanted nothing more than to join you in your amputated bubble, however it wasn’t healthy, and he always had to remind himself that it wasn’t for you either.

“Fine.” Was your mumbled response, your lips brushing against the pillow that your unwashed hair had been resting on a while back. “How was work?” It was a distraction, to enquire about his day in return, so that he wouldn’t pry any more at your physical or mental state.

“I missed you.” His rough fingertips gently brushed over your covered form, allowing you to know that he was right by you, and preparing to peel them away from you. “Mikey was telling me about this new restaurant, I think we should go out tonight, get some fresh air.”

“I’m busy, got work to finish, but maybe tomorrow.” He didn’t get mad at your excuses, mostly because he couldn’t. It wasn’t merely an excuse, you probably did have work, but were putting it off because of your present head space.

“Okay.” Ashton nodded, replying softly as his hands raked down the sheets, and revealed your tiresome and resting face. “You should have called me if you were feeling like this.” He reminded you, his hand tracing over your cheekbone so gently that the contact was barely there.

“I didn’t want to bother you.” You said honestly, a light frown finding it’s way onto your face. “You’re so busy, and your work is important, I can get through this by myself, I don’t have to drag you down with me.”

“Nothing is more important than you y/n.” He spoke seriously, meaning his every word. If it were necessary, such as an instance as this, he would drop everything in that moment, and rush home or wherever the hell you were.

It didn’t matter, it wasn’t only his duty as a boyfriend to be prepared for when you needed someone, but as your sponsor. The contract was mutual, but he was feeling slightly better, but your worriesome behaviour made him want to crash down all over again.

But he swore to himself that he couldn’t. He wasn’t the only person he needed to be strong for anymore, you depended on him, and despite you seeing that as a burden, he was more than happy to come at your beck and call.

“Don’t lie, please.” You whispered helplessly, pulling at the strings of Ashton’s heart. If you could, you’d rewind time to hours before, so that you could go back to staring at the ceiling, and Ash would be at the studio, hanging and relaxing and laughing with his boys.

“I’d never lie to you baby.” He contradicted and corrected you, slowly pulling you up to be seated against the headboard. It was a better position, considering the fact that you had probably been laying down all day and waiting for multiple reasons to force yourself up so you could go and pee.

You wanted to believe him so bad, but that voice in the back of your head began its mad barking, and threw every possibility of that out it’s back door. It was truly difficult to live with an invisible illness, not everybody understood.

At least Ashton did though, that was one true relief and blessing. But simultaneously it wasn’t, because that meant that he had endured such thought and self harm, and he was too beautiful to suffer like you were.

“I-”

“Let’s just go have a shower, yeah. And then we can put on something you haven’t watched before, get out of your comfort zone a little, and cuddle on the sofa, with a proper dinner instead of snacks.” He knew your every move, your every flaw, bu he loved them all the same.

There was nothing that he could do to permanently render the pain away, but sometimes he could temporarily distract you, and that was today’s plan. Tomorrow could be another story, you could dressed up to go out, and change your mind because of your nerves to call a cab home, because you thought the driver may judge you from their front seat, but that was okay.

It was mandatory that each day was taken a step at a time, it was still overwhelming nevertheless, but Ashton felt a wave of happiness cast over him as you reluctantly nodded your head, and despite not wanting to, slipped out of your bed.

[george-fabian-weasley]

Fred Weasley — Helplessly Part 3

Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred was rushed to he muggle hospital for better treatment of his injuries. While in a coma, his soul stayed with you for a couple of months. He watches as you went through the stages. And he watches when you start to write a song, just for him.

Words: 2, 681 words

Warnings ⚠ : I don’t think this fic will have anything BUT sadness and constant pain and heartbreaks sdhsjd im sORRY

Disclaimer: This one... hurts a lot

TAGLIST FOR HELPLESSLY: HERE

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 (COMING SOON!)

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CHAPTER 3: I'll Follow You

He woke up alone. 

Fred Weasley woke up with no idea where he was. ‘This�� This isn’t Hogwarts?’ he thought. The fluorescent light above him was a bit bright, yet he didn’t feel like he needed to adjust his eyes. Fred blinked, wasn’t he in the middle of a war? The last thing he remembered was saying words to Percy before-

Before the walls.

He tried to move, and was surprised that he can, with complete ease. ‘Wow, and here I thought getting crashed by walls would hurt a lot.’ He thought, scoffing a smile. How the bloody hell did he feel no pain? Absolute brilliant! He sat up from the bed, looking around, looked like a hospital ward.  

Strange, he’s in a hospital but he didn’t feel any pain. Was he visiting someone? That’s not likely, innit?

And then Fred heard the constant beeping. He looked to his right, there’s a peculiar machine showing a line going up and down. Then his eyes darted to a wire connected to it, and then followed his eyes until the very end.

A hand.

Fred tilted his head, slightly confused. He blinked a few times. He just woke up in a hospital… And he saw a beeping muggle tech machine… and now there’s a hand…. Whose hand is it?

He looked to the hand, that hand looked awfully familiar, looking like George’s. But George’s hand is less calloused than this one. So naturally, Fred sees the owner of the hand when he turned around.

It’s… It’s him.

Fred felt the blood draining from his face, his heart felt like it did a somersault and a fucking split to the ground.  He instantly jumped out of the bed in shock, his eyes were the size of two golf balls. Even with bandages, he knew that was him.

It… It could be George, though. But that thought was quickly thrown out the window. He’s lived with the man all his life; he knew they were both very different physically. Fred was, rightfully to be frank, terrified.

Why was he there? In bandages? If that’s him, then what the hell is he doing standing here?! Fred walked closer to ‘himself’, thinking to himself that this might be some prank George pulled on him, Polyjuice potion and all. Upon thinking that, Fred relaxed; actually convinced his brother was pranking him.

“Ha, ha. Funny.” Fred muttered; a relieved smile painted upon his lips. For one second there, he really thought he had gone crazy. He looked around, “Oh, Georgie? Where are you, you little git?” He sang playfully, chuckling to himself. This prank was a great one though, he had to admit.

Fred’s eyes darted back to the man on the bed. He smirked to himself, wondering who did George had successfully coaxed to drink that nasty Polyjuice to turn into him. His mind instantly thought of you, and his smirk widened.

“Oh, goodness. Why is there another me here? I wonder?” Fred faked a shocked voice while simultaneously walking closer to the man, whom he had convinced himself was you under the Polyjuice potion. When ‘you’ didn’t react, he chuckled a little bit more, “I know it’s you, darling. C’mon now, trying to prank Fred Weasley? The prankster himself? Really, love?” 

He reached his hand to touch ‘yours’, only to realize his hand literally went through it. Fred frowned, he reached again. His hand went through the other hand, again. At first, Fred thought this was some sort of magic going on, a hologram at some sort, but the one who looked like a hologram was him.

“Bloody hell-“ Fred inched away fast; his feet stepped back a few steps in newfound fear. He looked around hastily, “This isn’t funny anymore, George. Knock it off!” He shouted across the room, yet nothing happened. He looked back to ‘you’, “Y/N, you can wake up now. This isn’t funny.” When ‘you’ didn’t react, Fred gulped. “Y/N!” He called again.

“Fred!!!”

Fred snapped his head upwards, his heart dropped at the sound of your wail. “Y/N…?” He whispered in horror, eyes darting back to the man on the bed, “Who the bloody hell are you…?”

Fred heard your scream again, and quickly without any thinking ran out of the ward, looking left and right at the unfamiliar surroundings. Suddenly, he saw Bill. He was with Fleur, looking distraught and anxious to the group of nurses at the counter, who instantly got to their feet, some calling the doctors while some followed Bill and Fleur.

He instantly followed them, “Bill!” He kept calling his older brother, but Bill didn’t seem to notice. Fred was far back, yet he kept calling for him. “William Arthur Weasley, you deaf git!” He muttered under his breath, gritting his teeth. He grew more anxious when he heard your screams getting louder, “Fred!!!! Let go of me!!!”

“Y/N?! Y/N!!!” He shouted back, he had lost Bill among the people, yet he kept following until he reached a ward. “Freddie!!!!” You were screaming, with tears non-stop scrolling down your cheeks, a strand of saliva was visible at your mouth, showing how many times you had called for him.  

A group of doctors had pinned you down, and quickly injected you with something, making Fred furrowed his eyes in anger, “What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing?!” He shouted. He looked at the surroundings of the room, everyone was there. 

Why was Molly crying hugging Hermione? And why was George just standing there? 

“George! What are they doing to Y/N? Why aren’t you doing anything?!” He shouted, yet George seemed to ignore him. His heart tore apart every time you screamed his name, you were looking very distraught, and scared, and anxious.

He literally ran to be beside you, kneeling to the ground, “Y/N, love, I’m here.”

Yet you kept crying, until it slowed down, “Please, I need to see Freddie… He almost died in my arms, please…” was your last whimper before you passed out. Fred frowned, “Y/N, darling, I’m here! I’m not dead, I’m here-“

His hands that were to cup your face went through you.

Feeling fear right about now is the understatement of the century. Fred had never felt so horrified, in his life. Not even when he was fighting the Death Eaters a while ago, not even when the walls shattered him. This… This is terrifying.

He turned his head to the group of people who were now lifting unconscious you back to bed. He stood up slowly, gulping as he took in your state. You had heavy eye-bags, your skin was pale, and you looked exhausted. Yet you never failed to make his heart flutter at the very sight of you.  

As if adding oil to the fire, Harry who was beside him just stood up and bloody walked through him. Not walk past him, through him. As if he’s just a ghost.

Fred froze. Is that what he is now? A ghost? Like Peeves and Moaning Myrtle? He quickly looked down at his body, checking himself. No, he isn’t glowy blue, nor is he see-through. Fred was confused and terrified, and that two feelings together were never a good mix.

“I told you it’s a bad idea to tell Y/N so soon, George.” Fred turned to Ron who was looking to George who looked distressed. “Now’s not the right time for you to pick up a fight with me, Ron,” George growled; his eyes were dark. Fred realized George’s state was similar to yours. In fact, everyone looked exhausted. His heart broke at the sight of the quietly crying Molly who was still in Hermione’s arms.

“You could’ve told it later.” Ron, ignoring his brother’s warning earlier, continued with silent rage. “Ronald,” Hermione warned, glaring at him. “Then what am I supposed to do, you bastard? Is it your twin who’s in a bloody coma and your best friend hyperventilating, losing their mind? Am I supposed to carry this burden alone, huh you git? You’re fucking 18, Ron, use your bloody brain for once.” George snapped and walked out of the ward, seemingly wanted to cool off.

Hang on. What did he just say?

Fred gripped the bed railings to balance himself, his head suddenly went dizzy. “Coma? Me?” He whispered, not believing his ears. So the man earlier, that was really him? Not you under the Polyjuice potion? So, him standing in your ward right now, what was he? A ghost? A million thoughts swarmed Fred, he felt his chest tightened and he almost couldn’t breathe.   

“Why did you have to do that, Ron?” Hermione sighed out, Molly had just calmed down and excused herself to the bathroom. Ron didn’t answer her, and just walked out after looking solemnly in your direction.  

Harry sighed, “I’ll go get him.” He said, glancing at sleeping you, and left the ward. Slowly, the ward became empty, and the only ones there were Fred and you. His grip on the bed become tighter at the sight of you.

“F… Freddie…” Suddenly you mumbled out, and a tear rolled down to your sides. Fred was beyond devastated, heartbroken even. You looked so miserable, and Fred wanted nothing more than to hug you, caress your hair, and just whisper sweet nothings to you.

“I’m… I’m here, love.” His voice quivering, his hands trembled severely. He wanted to kiss your forehead, but the fear of his lips not touching your skin scared him more than ever. He wanted to wipe your tears away, so bad. Without warning, his own tears scrolled down his cheeks. But the tears never drop to the floor, they just vanished into thin air the moment they left his face.  

Fred felt a painful tug in his heart, he was beyond devastated. You were right there, and he could see you, but you couldn’t see him.

No one could.

The thought of being invisible made Fred’s crying worsened. He started to scream within his cries, begging anyone to just listen to him or actually notice he’s there. Fred wailed, screamed, shouted, with tears running profusely, the saliva in his mouth kept coming out as a result of his excessive breakdown.  

He was screaming his heart out, yet no one was listening.

Fred had to crouch down beside your bed as his knees turned weak, his head facing the ground, silently begging to see if one of his many tears would plop to the ground, and actually wet them. But the moment they jumped from the edge of his face; his tears vanished.

Fred calmed down a few minutes later, he was growing exhausted from the mental breakdown he just had.  He stood up trembling, his mind still distraught and disheveled, and his eyes softly darted to you.

He weakly smiled, “At least I got to see you, love.”

A week passed and Fred had accepted the fact that he was indeed in a coma, and his soul was out of his body, resulting in him to be like… this. 

But it wasn’t easy for him. 

He had to watch Molly and George take turns to look after him and Y/N, and they seemingly took turns crying for both of you. Fred was sobbing in the corner of his ward when Molly was crying while wiping his body, the view of his mother crying over him was absolutely heart-breaking. Molly was the first woman in his life, and he dreaded the fact that he couldn’t hug her, nor even touch her. 

He also discovered that his body would also cry whenever he’s crying, resulting in Molly crying even harder as she realized her unconscious son was also crying silently. His heartbeat would also match his body’s heartbeat. When he was having a breakdown at Y/N’s ward a while ago, his heartbeat was very fast, causing the beeping machine to enhance its pace. 

So Fred had jumped to the conclusion that somehow, he and his body are still connected. And with that being said, he’s not a ghost. Only a lost soul.

Fred would always visit your ward. He couldn’t sleep, but he would close his eyes at night so that his heartbeat won’t increase rapidly, in order not to worry his family. He would smile whenever you smile, just silently watching you communicating with Hermione. But as soon as he realized that you had nightmares at night, he couldn’t sleep after that.

So he would sit at the empty chair beside your bed whenever it’s empty, and just watch you sleep. When it’s time that you woke up crying, Fred was grateful that Hermione was there to calm you down, he couldn’t even describe the pain in his heart when he sees you so distraught.

And it broke his heart, even more, when he found out the nightmare involved him.

You were… suffering because of him, and Fred had never felt guiltier. He had also discovered that he could touch objects, he just couldn’t touch humans, which explained why he woke up laying on a bed, instead of sinking. He didn’t do anything to you though, he was afraid it would worsen your condition.  

That night came along. For the nth time, Fred felt his heart breaking at the sight of you sobbing on Hermione’s arm, once again attacked by the same reoccurring nightmare. When you begged Hermione to go see him, he had expected Hermione to say no, that’s what she’s been saying for the past week.

It’s a pleasant surprise when Hermione agreed.

You didn’t know, but Fred walked beside you and Hermione, watching your every step so you wouldn’t trip. He knew how weak your legs were, he was there when the doctors explained your condition to Molly. If it wasn’t for him being invisible, it would look like Fred was worrying for you at every step you took. He quietly smiled to himself, knowing it would annoy the hell out of you whenever he does that.

“Hello, Freddie.” Your quiet voice made a slight tug on his heart. You were holding his hand, and it was killing Fred that he couldn’t feel your touch. Or your warmth. He had to control his tears when you begin to sob on his body, his cold hand became the resting place for your forehead as you leaned forward. 

He had never wanted to touch you so badly, and it’s torturing him to control his tears because he knew the body would cry as well, and he didn’t want to sadden you any further. No words could describe the pain in his heart, and how fast his heartbeat is becoming. You didn’t notice, seemingly had filtered out the beeping sound from your mind to focus on your lover.

“I missed you, darling. I’ve missed you so much…” He heard you whisper while caressing his face. Fred was right in front of you, the only thing between you two was his static body on the bed. 

Fred forced out a chuckle, faking the laugh so his tears won’t come out instead, “You have no idea how much I missed you as well, my love. No idea…” When you left, after kissing his knuckles, that’s when Fred broke down. He had never cried loudly before, courtesy of sharing a house with several people for years, but when he does, it was refreshing.

But he had never felt so alone. 

So he understood your feeling when he saw you leaning against your bedroom door, crying in the dark at your apartment once you’ve been discharged. He decided to follow you home because he couldn’t bear staying at that cold, lonely hospital any longer.

 His home was you; you were his home and you still are.

And his heart bleeds; because he knew he was your home as well. And while he’s right there in front of you, sitting across you with tears in his eyes, begging you to see him so you won’t cry out of agony again, you didn’t know. 

You would never know.

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PART 4: READ

TAGLIST:

@paigeyisme @britishspidey @hargreevesgrace @jasminweasley @neutralgoodval @kaidenceweasley @igotabadfeelingabouteverything @123happyllama @nicole-prz @phuvioqhile @ionlycamehereforfanfics @martalol @mccloudchloe @hufflepuffzutara @weasleysangel

[peacho-oward]

taemin's never gonna dance again trilogy tackles his complex relationship and feelings towards fame. in criminal, the criminal in question is fame and taemin sings about his extremely contradictory emotions towards its impact on him: "i know well that you're bad for me ... but being brainwashed, all i can do is nod. so elegant, a criminal who hurts me. it's okay, you soothe me just to torture me again." it's akin to stockholm syndrome, as taemin has been lured in by the glitz and glamour of fame but is frustrated by its toxicity, the ways in which it has wounded him. there's an added layer of irony as taemin further perpetuates his fame by singing about it, selling albums that contain stories of his misery. the harder he fights, the deeper he falls. it's an incredibly genuine and honest side of taemin, making himself vulnerable to the public eye through his own art.

the theme of fame continues in idea, as fame is "the dangerous dream that swallowed me," taemin's self proclaimed messiah that kills him softly. something that immediately stood out to me was how often taemin stands with his arms outstretched in the music video, mimicking a crucifixion pose (we also see this in criminal). this could allude to the way taemin's been viewed as a god, given the title "idol of idols" in reference to how many other individuals in the industry have stated taemin as their primary inspiration behind dancing. this bears an extreme burden on him, viewed as their otherworldly and untouchable creature by so many when he's nothing but an ordinary human being. the crucifixion pose simultaneously elevates and grounds him. the key visual motif in idea are shadows, notably the metaphor that shadows represent the uncertain, the darkness that taemin wishes to escape even if he's unsure of what he's running away from in the first place. "the shadow holding the night is getting darker ... beyond the limit of realization, your shadow i finally found. at this moment i've become to trust everything that is invisible." the final lines almost feel like a moment of catharsis: "on the night that i cut you from my heart, (killing me softly, killing me softly) finally i open the eyes." taemin thrusts himself into the darkness of the shadows, but he is now in control. his eyes are open to the way he lives his life through contradictions, but he is living on his own terms. fame can be dangerous, but taemin is determined to take back his own life, his own humanity.

theory: what if want and famous (released the year prior) fall into this overarching narrative of taemin's precarious relationship to fame? want is ultimately a song about a relationship between slave and master, and could symbolize the ways in which fame has seduced taemin into submission. taemin is incomplete without fame and he talks about how he craves it, how fame leaves him thirsting for more. the way fame has broken him down is one that is slow, deliberate. it's engrained into him in such a way that is difficult to unravel the impact it has had on him. he's been in the industry since he was 14, spent more than half of his life in the spotlight. fame is a parasite yet he cannot fathom what it would be like to live without it because this is all he's ever known.

the line "the sweetness of the forbidden apple tempts you" particularly stands out, as one of the key visual motifs in famous are apples. there are several shots in the music video where taemin is lying on the ground, surrounded by apples, each one with a bite taken out of them. (i also enjoy the biblical allusion to eve, especially how apples symbolize indulgences of the utmost unholy kind.) famous is the visual representation of taemin giving into the erotic, sweet pleasure of fame: however, this is something he will later have to fight against in criminal.

[minty-malfoy]

milk and honey

• pairing: draco malfoy x fem!reader

• summary: when living feels like purgatory, you find heaven in the comfort of a lover.

• request: Hey i have a request. Can you write draco x female reader with a plot where she is totally pissed with life in sense where she has problems everywhere; school,home and draco is just being there for her and helping her through it. P.s: Include warm and comforting hugs and little pecks❤️

• warning tags: brief mentions of sensitive topics, but everything else is fluff

• word count: 1.2k

a/n: I wrote this at 2 am but I promise I tried proofreading at a more humane hour of the day. this is one of my older requests that I haven't gotten around to writing, hope you enjoy <3

Draco had just recently come to the bitter conclusion that— despite what you tell him— it didn't feel like you were doing alright. His hypothesis became factual on the days your eyes didn't reflect the smile on your lips, or on the days you huffed out more than once or twice, only to recoil into the grown habit of an "it's nothing"

Draco really did try to be an understanding boyfriend, in the sense that he never pestered, never once pushed a subject you were so persistent to avoid. He was stuck telling himself the same string of lies over and over, memorizing it like a mantra. That you were just having a bad day; that you'd talk about it when you'd feel ready, just like you promised; that you wouldn't carry lethal burdens on your own no matter how tempting it was to leave him out of your suffering.

But the moment he saw you arrive late to dinner with both eyes stained and puddled, he knew the predicament was no longer a fact— it was an urgency. One that he'd give anything in the world to eradicate.

You sat yourself beside him without muttering a single word, looking away to avoid the questions that would inevitably plunge out sooner or later. But they never came, instead being replaced by the warmth of a hand lacing itself into yours, fitting through the gaps of your fingers like a completed work of art.

That was how the two of you spent the rest of dinner, wrapped up in a comfortable and understanding silence. You didn't look at him, but you felt his hand never once leaving you, between sending slow soothing strokes down your back, holding your waist gently as he watched you nibble your food, or simply going back to hold your fingers in his.

No matter how concerned or hurt he was to see you miserable, Draco put in the effort of generously giving you a moment of time and space, he was determined to address the issue only when the storm inside you would have quieted down for all the rain and thunder to go away, so that this once, he could persuade you into telling him what exactly was bothering you this entire time. Then, better yet, put a permanent end to it.

By the time the two of you walked out of the Great Hall, he didn't walk you through the regular direction towards your common room, but instead led you to a destination you were yet to discover. It confused you, but you didn't object him slowly leading the way.

You didn't expect to end up in the courtyard, but here you were, in the hands of your concerned lover, accompanied by nothing but the night and the distant sound of crickets chirping.

His hands met yours nearly as fast as his eyes did, in which concern decorated both orbs like a christmas ornament. Icy greys glimmering just as bright as the moonlight, pulling you in to briefly discard all your troubles and worries for a moment, until he brought you back into the present with his words.

"What's wrong?"

The question was firm and delicate, overflowing with all the love he had for you. You realized you couldn't bear lying to him anymore.

"Everything." Your voice cracked.

It was almost visible the way his heart had dropped in his chest, but he didn't want it to be. This was about you, and only you. Anything else wasn't supposed to matter in the moment.

Before Draco could say anything or ask you to elaborate, the sound of your pent up pain surfacing into sobs attacked his auditory senses like a knife. He was frantic with concern and worry, trying to figure out how to make everything better.

"Oh, darling, come here," You let him pull you into his arms, more than willingly. You needed the warmth of his embrace and the constant feeling of his breathing against your cheek. He let you cry into his chest, one hand holding your waist tightly as if you'd disappear the moment he let go, the other tenderly stroking through your hair.

You cried and cried, letting out all the pent up tension, all the hurt you've been trying to hide from him. You wanted to talk to him, tell him how you've felt lately, but you weren't sure where to start.

"I just— I'm sorry, Dray. I thought I could deal with it on my own, but luck hasn't really been on my side lately."

He lets you finish before saying, "You don't have to, love. Let me help."

You don't respond for a few seconds, blinking once. Twice. Shedding the last few drops of tears swelling on your lashes.

When you begin to let it all out, he listens attentively, holding you in his arms, where your hands come to find refuge against his chest.

Life wasn't giving you the best set of cards to tackle it with, pitting you into horrible situations left and right. Whether it was the badly marked assgnments you've spent hours working on, or the turbulent relationship with your family back home.

For a moment, it felt frightening. To let all your fears and concerns be known, saying them out loud for the first time and making the words feel much more real. Let alone when it was to the person you loved wholeheartedly and couldn't stand to burden.

Yet simultaneously, it made the issues feel less heavy on your shoulders. You weren't sure how it was possible, but it may have been the effect of the peaceful night air, or perhaps Draco's effect on you. Whichever one it was, you couldn't tell.

You finally finished up with a quiet sniffle, snuggling deeper into his chest. "My parents haven't stopped lecturing me in their letters, this time. It just hurts."

Draco cups your cheek, tilting your head up slightly so that your eyes could meet his. "Darling, I wish you would've told me sooner."

"I know." You look down shyly.

He doesn't say anything, mostly because he's the type of person that believes love translates through actions better than it does through words. So he does exactly that, showering you in sweet little pecks that begin to form constellations on your skin.

His scent is soothing, more than anything. Familiar and comforting, just like how you'd describe the fragrance of one's home— or yours, at least.

But Draco felt more than just home. As though when you look into his eyes, you imagine catching glimpses of the land of milk and honey. His arms bring you to a place where clouds are made of cotton and the fields glimmer brighter than an emerald green. When you kiss him, everything ceases to matter.

"Would you like to stay the night?" He offers, brushing away the remaining wetness on your cheeks with his thumbs. "I'm taking you out on a date at Hogsmeade tomorrow. If you'd give me the pleasure, that is."

For the first time, your lips break into a smile at his words. "Yes, I'd very much like that."

The two of you stay there for just the slightest bit longer, wrapped in an invisible cocoon that promises nothing but an abundance of love and comfort.

• • •

draco taglist: @arossebyanyothername @kawaii-angelanne

[jokerfan99]

My Top 10 Favorite Anime Heroines by DarkChild316

Being a hero isn’t easy, but someone’s gotta do it! And these ladies have shown to be just as capable as their male counterparts. Now I’ve already done a list showing everyone “My Top 10 Anime Villainesses”, but I figured: “Hey the good girls deserve some love too,” so I decided to give you guys my list of my Favorite Anime Heroines as well. So, with that in mind, here’s my list:

#10. Saeko Busujima (Highschool of the Dead): This is an anime that will give you plenty of two things in abundance…boobs and zombies! While it may seem like your run-of-the-mill apocalyptic fanservice anime, among the well-proportioned ladies is this kendo warrior who’s more than capable of holding her own against any foe and would fit right in with even the most old-school samurai-themed anime. When the dead start to walking most of the cast usually reach for a form of firearms, not this lady who prefers to slice apart the undead with the greatest of discipline and precision, whether it be with her signature bokken or her deadly Murata-tou sword. There’s no denying that Saeko’s the ideal companion we’d want on our side for a zombie apocalypse.

#9. Touka Kirishima (Tokyo Ghoul): Living as a ghoul isn’t easy, especially when you’re trying your damnest to retain what little remains of your humanity. Starting off as a cold, yet collected individual, Touka found shelter in both the horrors of her dark past and her constant hunger for flesh in her day job at a café as a waitress which serves other ghouls and as a hangout stop for ghouls. While she grew warmer as her relationship with one Ken Kaneki grew, she’s not without her bestial side, possessing an abject hatred for the CCG after they killed her parents. In a series where everyone seems to be on the edge of insanity and turning into a rampaging, bloodthirsty monster, Touka is one of the few characters genuinely fighting for a chance at a peaceful life.

#8. Riza Hawkeye (Fullmetal Alchemist): Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye is undoubtedly one of the best female anime characters of all time and for good reason, she is truly the perfect soldier. As both an Amestrian State Military’s officer as well as Colonel Roy Mustang’s bodyguard, Riza Hawkeye is a dangerous sharpshooter and firearms specialist. From the outside she can seem strict and even a little cold, but those close to her know that there’s much more to her than her strict no-nonsense attitude, including a courteous nature in the presence of her allies and a desire to protect those she holds dear. Beneath the strict persona is a kind soul who understands the difficulty of carrying a heavy burden and let’s not forget…she’s a true badass in every sense o the word!

#7. Erza Scarlett (Fairy Tail): She went from child slave to arguably one of the strongest mages in all of Fiore. All while battling against S-Class mages, terrifying demons, and even her own psychotic mother, now that’s dedication folks! Forced by her possessed childhood friend to build the Tower of Heaven, she manages to escape her captivity and make her way to Fairy Tail, where she would soon rise to become one of Fairy Tail’s youngest S-Class mages and one of the most truly badass fighters in Fairy Tail’s ranks. With her magical ability known as Re-Quip, she has an unlimited number of weapons and armors at her disposal, each possessing their own devastating abilities. She’s a stoic warrior with a soft heat and a dark past, and you can bet your ass that she’ll fight to defend her Nakama to the bitter end.

#6. Ryuko Matoi (Kill la Kill): Her choice of armor may be a bit on the revealing side but going against this rebel isn’t the smartest idea if you value your life. You’re not likely to find a more stubborn soul in this absolutely whacky series and trust me…NONE of these characters are on the subtle side of things. In search of her father’s killer, Ryuko takes up the sentient life-fiber uniform Senketsu, and openly battles the dictatorship that is the Student Council. Stubborn as hell, Ryuko will always stand up to anyone who gets in her way, no matter how badly the odds are stacked against her. How can you not love someone with that kind of drive!

#5. Saber (Fate/stay night): Before she became a hero in the endless Holy Grail Wars, Saber was actually Artoria Pendragon, known throughout history as King Arthur, the mythical King who united Britain. As the Saber-class servant, Artoria generally tries to hide her identity in battle by using an invisible sword. When pushed, she can brandish Excalibur instead though, a sword she wields with unmatched skill and can do long-range attacks as easily as close-range. With her holy sword, and her “Mana Burst” ability, she is one of the most powerful Servants. Saber is loved by fans worldwide for good reason: she is kind, valiant, and fierce, all traits that make for one divine heroine. None would mind putting the fate of the world in this blonde beauty's hands.

#4. Mikasa Ackerman (Attack on Titan): Attack on Titan's Mikasa is one of those reserved, stoic characters who doesn't speak very often and seems to be stuck in her own head. After all the trauma she’s experienced living under the looming terror of Titans and the carnage she witnessed while part of the Survey Corps, not to mention the brutal murder of her biological parents by criminals, it would be difficult to come out unscathed. Perhaps it’s endurance that is one of Mikasa’s most relatable traits. Despite her often-cynical comments about the world around her, she manages to retain her humanity. Mikasa herself said, “This world is cruel. And yet... so beautiful.” The stereotypical boy-saves-girl gender roles that play out in media are also very much reversed when it comes to her relationship with Eren, which is a refreshing and welcome change of pace to see, though her protectiveness of him seems a little unhealthy at times. On top of everything mentioned, she’s also totally ripped.

#3. Asuka Langley Soryu (Neon Genesis Evangelion): I just couldn’t leave out Neon Genesis Evangelion’s Asuka Langey Soryu from this list of awesome female protagonists. Asuka is a classic anime heroine and remains beloved by fans of the show to this day. Asuka is an American teenage girl who serves as an Eva pilot for the Evangelion Project and pilots the Evangelion Unit-02. Asuka was raised in Germany and often swears in German. She was a child prodigy with a college degree at only fourteen years old, but definitely has her human flaws. She has a temper and is obsessed with being the best at everything she does. Despite these flaws, Asuka is hilarious in her own way and has the kind of confidence and pride you rarely see in a young girl. She knows she can do her job well and isn't afraid to tell you about it. Asuka is relatable in that she is stubborn and often has a hard time properly expressing her feelings and vulnerability to others. Her eventual nervous breakdown shines a light on her humanity-- she is not a perfect person and she is still a child forced to do a job that no child should be forced to do.

#2. Motoko Kusanagi (Ghost in the Shell): Major Motoko Kusanagi is one of the primary protagonists of the popular Ghost in the Shell franchise of manga, films, and animated series. Motoko is a cyborg who works as a field commander for Public Security Section 9 on the Japanese National Public Safety Commission. Motoko is a very physically strong and incredibly intellectual who that is quick-witted and an excellent hacker. But put a firearm in her hand, and she’s especially deadly. As a child, Motoko was comatose following an airplane accident. After her health began to steadily decline, her consciousness was put into a  "full-body prosthesis,” an augmented-cybernetic human body. Motoko causes us to question exactly what makes us human. She is an emotional, stoic, strong woman who fights for the citizens she protects, yet she lives inside an artificial body. But her greatest use is as a platform to speak on the nature of humanity in a technological age. She's a human mind that has been stuck in an artificial body since childhood, and her life and trials bring up the age-old question, "What does it mean to be human?"

#1. Usagi Tsukino (Sailor Moon): You really can’t have a list of awesome female protagonists without including everyone’s favorite schoolgirl superhero: Usagi Tsukino from Sailor Moon. Usagi is the embodiment of an empowering female in anime in her fearless display of conventional femininity without any implied weakness. Usagi is your typical teenage girl who is all about her friends, food, and cute things, while simultaneously being a badass heroine who cleanses the streets of evil. In the original manga and anime, Usagi was portrayed as reluctant to be a superhero and would often run away from fights and be a crybaby. However, through her careful character development, Usagi becomes a brave, reliable, and confident person who cares deeply for her friends. She becomes a better version of herself without stereotypically “shedding” her girliness. Instead, her femininity becomes a defining feature of hers, deconstructing the idea that being girly makes you weak. On the contrary, Usagi’s girliness makes her funny, relatable, and a good role model for young girls. Usagi set the template for a generation of female heroines for generations to come, and it’s for that reason why she’s well-deserving of my #1 ranking on my list.

So that's my updated list, what did you guys think about it? Love it, hated it? Go on and tell me what you think and let me know who your favorite anime heroines are. See you soon!

Deviantart: https://www.deviantart.com/darkchild316

[hitsuackerman]

Unpredictable (Overhaul x Reader) pt.21

a/n: things will get better~ <3

warnings: this cannot be read solo

Links: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17, part 18, part 19, part 20, part 22

Masterlist to my other fics: here :)

Overhaul’s waiting list: @jjk-biased @infinite-universe-love @dirtypride @blackymomo03 @azzie @purple-rabanito​ @meximorrita @awesomeee19​​ @celestial-kanzakii​ @laure-lo​ @team-wang-puppy​ @aydience-world​ @choros-main-hoe​ @colorseeingchick​  @but-kairis-not-that-smart (i cant seem to tag again :( hope this lands in your timelines!)

The silence of the hall was cut by the vibration of your phone. Taking it out, you answered.

“Yes, Nao?”

“The cameras showed the Fukuo Kai members left the building. Save for two people. Overhaul not included.” Inside the tent, Tsukauchi focused on the monitors. Observing and watching as live and recorded footage were being played to make sure the remaining two were to be caught. “I’m assuming you're on the 4th floor. Be careful. Cameras aren’t picking up feed.”

“I know. You said there were two?” Staring at the fresh blood dripping onto the floor, you took a step back when the thick red liquid began to run down the wall. Recalling that sound earlier, the other person was surely on this floor. Somewhere.

“That’s right. It’s your call from here.”

“Any info on their quirks?”

“We’re still digging it up. Apparently, those two men weren’t part of the meeting. If my deductions are right, they were the ones who terrorized our plan.”

Feeling a bit lightheaded, you inhaled and let out a long exhale. The man wasn’t lying entirely when he said it had nothing to do with the Fukuo Kai. Now that you were sure he was not on the same floor, you cursed under your breath.

“Nao. There’s only one person left. Overhaul used his quirk on one of them.” Heading back towards the fire exit, you wiped off the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Feeling chills run down your spine, the grip on your phone tightened as your hands began to feel tingly. “My adrenaline is going down. We’ll catch the other one… next time.”

“Bring yourself back to safety. We’ll debrief once you're here.”

“See you in a few.”

Ending the call, you shook your head and made your way back to the fire exit. With each step you took, your eyelids seemed to become heavier. Leaning on the wall for support, you saw how your vision was starting to blur. Shutting your eyes close, you reached out for your phone only to stumble to the ground. With a steady growing headache, you activated your quirk.

Giving yourself a self-administered adrenaline pump, your felt control over your body once more. Standing up with effort, your shoulder remained glued to the wall as you took slow and steady steps towards the exit. Taking your phone out, you dialed for Tsukauchi only to flinch as another gunshot echoed through the room. The way your phone just sprung out of your hand and landed with a crack made a small yelp escape your mouth.

Taking your handgun out as you turned around, you were face to face with a man in a suit. Realizing that your phone was long gone by now, reaching base through your earpiece would not be the best option.Squinting your eyes, your blurry vision was not helping one bit. Hopefully, the sudden end to your call would alert your partner.

“Who are you?” Buying time was all you could do for now.

“No one important.” He took a step forward. His face void of any emotion save for the complete focus he has. “The question is, what are cops like you doing? Teaming up with the yakuza? Have you all stooped that low?”

“Says the man who’s ready to pull the trigger. Is it Overhaul you're looking for?” Each second that passed, your headache was evolving into a migraine. Breathing alone was becoming strenuous.

“On the contrary, yes.” He takes another step forward. “He’s been rather difficult to deal with these days.”

“You… You’re not from the F-fukuo Kai.” This was not good, you thought to yourself.

“Don’t strain yourself, love.” Seeing how your eyes widened and body trembled. He let a smirk cross his mouth. With much confidence he closed the gap between your bodies. With one hand, he unzipped your bulletproof vest. “You might be wondering why you can’t move?”

“No shit.” Watching him create invisible circles over your stomach made your heart beat even more rapidly. Thinking that his quirk had something to do with how your body’s motor skills were useless, you hoped that back up was now on it’s way. “This is your quirk, isn’t it?”

“Right you are. I can control a certain portion of a person’s gravity. It also works with force as well. But it’s much more fun.” Slapping your face, you barely felt a thing till you saw how his irises changed colors. The amount of force you received hurt double than it should have. Before your hands could touch him, his irises shifted color once more. “Not fast enough. But that was fun.”

“Why are you after Overhaul? Isn’t that suicide?”

“That man refuses to partner with us. We were more than willing to sponsor but for some shitty reason he turned us down.” He rolled his eyes and took a step back. “Wanna see something fun?”

You flinched at the sound of his gun. Yet the bullet lay suspended in mid air. Knowing where this was going, you tried to gather each ounce of your strength to break through the man’s quirk. With your body trembling from the failed attempt, you cursed under your breath and focused on your own quirk. If his quirk centered on gravity, then maybe yours could regulate your blood flow to show any kind of result.

“Struggling won’t get you anywhere.” He blinked and his irises changed colors.

Regaining control of your body did not save you. Feeling an intense heat pooling on your lower obliques, the burning sensation was enough to let you fall to the ground. Immediately covering the wound, you focused your quirk on that area to stop the bleeding. The pain made you curl into a small ball, your body trembling as your mind remained focused on the bullet’s entry way.

“Guess backup isn’t coming~” Taking his time, he grinned at the sight of slowly forming a puddle of red liquid. “Sucks to be helpless? Hoho~ I see your quirk is preventing blood loss.”

Bending down to squat, he grabbed your hand and flipped you over. Trying to release yourself from his grip, he placed a foot on your right hand and kept a hold of your left. Placing his free hand on your wound, he let out a chuckle. The pain had subsided but you were too aware of what would happen next.

“And here I thought police officers were a force to be reck-”

Before he could finish his sentence, you watched as he went flying all the way to the other end of the room. Simultaneously, the blood he had stopped came oozing out like a small water fountain. Seconds after, you harshly bit on your lip as the pain came back two fold. Putting pressure on the badly bleeding wound, you activated your quirk.

“This.” Despite the ringing in your ears, you knew who owned that voice. “This is why we refused to work with your lot, Ayato. Always causing unnecessary burdens.”

“Well if it isn’t the man I wanted to see.” Ayato stood up, barely keeping his balance. The way he landed was rather painful on his side. “Thought you left already, Overhaul?”

“I did.” He scratched his forehead. Glancing at your bleeding body did not help the situation.

Taking slow steps forward, Ayato focused his sight on the mask wearing man. Blinking a couple of times he felt his blood start to boil. Patting his body, he felt the small bullet on his side. The same red bullet he was supposed to be funding. Meeting Overhaul’s eyes once more, he felt a chill climbing up his spine and enveloping his mind.

“The bullets are nearing its completion..” Overhaul said as he removed his other glove. Moving forward, Ayato couldn’t help but take a step back. The growing anger in Overhaul’s eyes was enough to shrink whatever confidence he had in him. “What’s wrong, Ayato? Not so brave without your quirk?” Patting around his body for his gun, he let out a silent curse when he saw it resting beside Overhaul’s foot. Reaching for a small knife, he assumed a battle stance only to be met with a faint chuckle and a shake of the head. Gritting his teeth, Ayato began to sprint towards the supposed villain. Only to fall to the ground with a thud as a surge of electricity coursed through his body.

“Sorry.” Tsukauchi’s body appeared from behind the fallen man. “Got held up at the entrance.”

“Useless.” Overhaul commented as he watched the unconscious body. Turning around, he went closer to your body. Observing how shallow your breathing was, he caught himself clenching his fists. Caught up in the fight, he had forgotten the main reason why he rushed back to the building.

Before he could do anything, a hand touched his shoulder and shoved him. Stumbling three steps to the side, the same officer who was not fond of him was now administering first aid. Seeing him lift your badly bleeding body made him feel uneasy.

“This is your fault.” The officer's eyes focused on the standing man. “If you weren’t involved in this mess, (l/n) wouldn’t have been injured this bad.”

“For your information, she was already injured when I arrived.” It took a lot of strength not to harm the person in front of him. “Tell me, officer, do you think it would have been a smart move to just barge in?”

“You and your quirk are more than capable of doing something on the spot.” He stood up. A few drops of your blood dripping down his fingertips. “Lend a helping hand? An officer gets injured, and one of the terrorist is gone because of your hot head. That’s why I despise working with your lot. Nothing but  bad news.”

“Captain Iwase.” Tsukauchi butted in. He had just finished cuffing Ayato and handed him over to another officer. “Enough. Let me tend to (y/n) injuries. Your babbling mouth is causing her to bleed out.”

“Look at her.” His index finger pointing at your heavily breathing form. “Do you really think first aid is gonna help? For a bullet wound, that amount is abnormal. If anything, a blood transfusion is what she needs now but I doubt the ambulance would get here in time.”

“Then why don’t you stop complaining and dial 119?”

“Tsukauchi. Are you serious?”

“You may be higher in terms of ranking, but she’s my partner and she will always come first.” Reaching for his personal phone, Tsukauchi tossed it to Iwase. “Now unless you want to keep Overhaul’s hand away from your neck, I suggest you dial emergency hotlines. Now.”

Defeated, Iwase marched off the floor. Making sure to bump shoulders with the tall detective.

“He means well.” Tsukauchi still vouched for the captain as he checked your weak pulse. Carefully lifting your body, he made you lean on the wall. Iwase, despite the rambling, was right. He wasn’t sure what happened but the puddle of thick red liquid was alarming. “What happened?”

“The man you just electrocuted used his quirk on (l/n). He can control gravity to a certain degree. By the time I arrived, your partner was already bleeding and glued to the ground. His hand was covering the entry way so I assume her blood came gushing out like an oil pipe when I attacked him.”

As he relayed the information, Tsukauchi was already wrapping a bandage around your waist. For a moment, his eyes met your dull ones. Looking back at the red patch, he swallowed a bit of his saliva.

“Move over, Tsukauchi.” Overhaul looked down on both your crouching bodies. His eye twitching at the sight of your blood stained bandage. Not wanting to go on his bad side, Tsukauchi stood up and excused himself. Despite Overhaul being the labelled sociopath, he had gained enough respect for him to be trusted. “Can you talk?”

“I’m in a lot… of pain… but I’m fine, Overhaul.” You reassured him. Voice breathy and shaky. “It’s not that bad and I’m already doing my part by regulat-”

“Shut up.” He cut you off and forced your hand away from the wound. Taking a look at his hand, he let out a muffled curse. He was breaking out but the priority of fixing your wound won. Seeing Ayato’s knife, he reached for it and sliced the bandage. The bleeding was still bad and he knew full well that your quirk was no longer doing its function. “As much as I hate to admit it, that asshole officer was right. You need blood transfusion. I can close the wound but i’ll have to overhaul the bullet.”

“I think dying would hurt less.” You managed to chuckle.

“Just shut your mouth and let me overhaul the damn bullet.” Without a warning, his index finger entered the small hole. His eyes darted back to your screaming voice. He had to do this quickly to make sure any more blood loss would stop. Sighing, he leaned in closer. Just enough for you to lay your head on the crook of his neck. Your badly trembling body was not helping the situation.

Luckily, it barely took another push for his fingertip to reach the cold shell. Overhauling it in barely a second, this time he warned you about his exit. Receiving a nod, he felt your shoulders tense. Once his bloody finger was out, his clean hand held on to your wound before closing it completely.

“You’re in for an amount of pain.” At least the wound was closed now. The small whimper that escaped your mouth was the telltale sign that you were near exhaustion. Yet somehow, you managed to grip on to his jacket. “Your wound may be healed bu-”

“I-I’m sorry.”

“Be specific.”

“For m-mentioning Ackerm...Ackerman.” With your last ounce of strength, you wrapped your shaky arms around his neck. To which he did not refuse. “You’re b-breaking out.”

“I know. Guess you really aren’t as pure as I thought you were.” He stared at his hives and back at you. Slowly sliding in and out of consciousness. “Such a shame. Then again, each and every person is tainted in their own way.”

“I… I’m sorry about… last time.”

“You should be.” Wrapping his arm under the crook of your knees, he lifted you up. He adjusted his hold to make sure you were comfortable. By now, you had lost consciousness. Failing to hear what he had left to say. “Don’t ever mention Ackerman again. You’re mine and mine alone my guilty pleasure.”

- - - - -

a/n: and the fluff begins :D hope the tension was alright in this scene... took a while to write this tbh xD see yall next week <3 yes Overhaul is still accepting in his waiting list too :)

[unlockthelore]

Pressure

Under good intentioned pestering, Lisa allows herself to be fussed over but she doesn’t hesitate to return the favor.

Lisa smiled softly as Paimon’s insistence for a celebratory dinner at Good Hunter’s echoed through the main hall, much to the chagrin of the on-duty knights. Hushed pleas for silence succeeded by Paimon’s snippy rebuttal were assuaged by a gentler, kinder voice belonging to the heroine of the hour.

There was a brief lull in silence as the pair’s resulting squabble grew fainter and hazy, leaving naught in its wake but the ticking pendulum clock and gentle humming from the pendant light’s bulbs.

Lisa lifted her arms, folding them loosely over her chest. Her awareness of the dull, annoying tingle in her fingertips persisted despite her best efforts to smother the prickling needlepoints beneath her gloves. The crystal’s crimson moire had been attractive in the beginning, but such knowledge wasn’t worth the incessant pain. Still, she did have her reservations of leaving such an artifact in the traveler’s hands, whether it proved dangerous to them or not.

Not out of a sense of distrust, Lisa reminded herself. The regret on Lumine’s face, stricken with guilt as she hurriedly pulled the crystal back to her, couldn’t escape Lisa’s notice. Such palpable remorse couldn’t be fabricated easily, and Lisa knew surely they could entrust this little cutie. All she could do was offer a bit of humor to alleviate the mood and wipe the concern from their faces but her unease held long after Lumine and Paimon departed.

While Lisa could admit it was amazing how someone so young could achieve feats grander than those twice her year, it was also quite disheartening. Stories of daring youths willfully throwing themselves to peril rarely ended happily. Through their efforts, selfless and kind, many were saved and those who regaled their deeds inspired others to follow suit. However, the romanticization of sacrifice hid its true weight, leaving those who carried the burden to suffer alone.

Or become deified as a caricature of who they truly were.

She could only hope that Lumine would be able to brave the incoming storm, literally and figuratively.

Lisa sighed and brushed her black-clad fingertips over the gold embroidery of her sleeves, picking lightly at invisible dust. The lapse in silence lingered long enough for the pendulum clock to toll. Her gaze lingered on the Acting Grandmaster perched near the window behind the polished desk, shoulders sloped toward the ground and hands loosely clasped at the wrist behind her back. Hardly the upright and focused posture one would expect from a soldier but with silvery-blue dustlight streaming through the windows, illuminating the golden accents in her hair — Jean seemed more mythological than personable.

Lisa could almost imagine this would be what the Dandelion Sea was, if they weren’t surrounded by carpets upon polished wooden floors and walls filled to their brims with texts. Separated by a plush red carpet emblazoned with the Knights of Favonius’ symbol - golden swords crossed at their blade silhouetted by wings and a shield.

Freedom at its finest. Yet, with the grilles’ silhouette criss-crossing over Jean’s face, Lisa wondered if this was freedom or a prison. She winced and shook her head, dispelling the thoughts as she caressed the railing’s smooth nobs, climbing up the steps. The book she’d abandoned for their earlier conversation left cold and wanting on the shelf near a ornate picture frame. Lisa scooped the book in her arms and held it to her chest, eyeing the photograph longingly.

A golden-haired girl winked back at her, her lips split in a grin and cheeks reddened likely from laughing if the smiling red-headed young man beside her was any indication. Their eyes twinkled with mirth as they shared a conspiratorial look just outside of one of the windmills. From the blue blur in the background, Lisa deduced Kaeya must have tripped before the photograph could be taken. Why else would Diluc allow himself to be immortalized with such obvious glee?

Simpler times, Lisa thought demurely, sparing a glance at the woman the girl had grown up to be. Strong and revered but suffering in silence. At the mercy of her thoughts as she was to the world around her, as well as the people she served. Concern coupled with pity but Lisa knew Jean needed neither. Not now when the weight of Mondstadt hung in the balance and the worse was yet to come. The people’s faith placed in a traveler from where, no one knew, and the Dandelion Knight attempting to stay strong despite the hollowing winds.

Lisa sighed. It’d be best not to let her melancholy get ahead of her. After all, such thoughts were increasingly troublesome. “Well, I believe that’s enough excitement for one librarian’s night,” she announced, descending the steps, careful not to step on the carpet’s gold trimming. “I think I’ll be taken my leave now.”

She scarcely turned to walk along the small strip between the raised floor and the carpet when Jean called out to her, “Ah, wait a moment, Lisa!”

It hadn’t occurred to Lisa how thick the air became between them with Jean’s thoughts until she spoke. Or perhaps, she hadn’t noticed how deep she was in her own. Achingly slow, she turned to face the source of the voice and internally sighed with relief as the dour expression was replaced with another. Whether this was better or not, Lisa wasn’t sure, but Jean was remarkably earnest and transparent with her concern. Guileless blue-grey eyes roved over Lisa but lingered somewhere below her chin. If not for the book she’d been cradling to her chest, Lisa might have teased about wandering eyes and temptation.

Still, she couldn’t help herself. “For you, Acting Grandmaster, I could spare a moment or two.”

Jean’s eyes widened, pink dusting her cheeks and Lisa could have sworn that the air around them had grown warmer. “Your hand…” Jean cleared her throat, simultaneously succeeding and failing to change the topic.

Lisa feigned a shocked gasp and shielded her parted lips with still-tingling fingers. She noticed how Jean’s gaze wandered to her hand and hid a smile behind her palm. “Oh, Jean as sweet as that is,” her eyelashes fluttered and she reveled in the slight confusion twisting Jean’s lips into a pinched frown. “I believe you should have a good night’s rest before you propose marriage. Who knows if you’ll regret it in the morning.”

Now, Lisa was sure the air was definitely warming between them and Jean’s pink-tinged cheeks darkening to a charming shade of scarlet was the cause. “Wait, wh— no! I was..” Jean scoffed, pitched as her rebuttals fell silent. A breath dragged in before she uttered in a firm, rushed enunciation. “When you touched the crystal, you said that it hurt.”

Lisa tucked a knuckle beneath her chin and hummed, letting her gaze fall to the potted plants by the door or the pins and notes attached to the map. “I see, you’re worried about me.”

“O-Of course I am,” Jean sputtered, her voice low and wistful as she muttered, “Why do you sound so surprised?”

Lisa could practically feel the hurt rolling off her words and batted them aside, ignoring the guilt squeezing her chest. “Not surprised at all,” she said gently, glancing around the room. “Just.. analyzing.”

Papers flecked with ink were messily across the conference table, a stack held down beneath an adorably decorate teapot and cup. Books stacked horizontally on shelves and on the floors near their lower cupboards annoyed and confused Lisa at the same time. When was the last time Jean cleaned in here?

With how often she was working and on the move, Lisa doubted there was time for neatening her things. Yet, considering how thorough Jean was with even her work station’s neatness - perhaps it was cause for concern.

Lisa could feel Jean’s gaze, cutting as the wind, attempting to slip through cracks and chinks in her armor to no avail. Eventually, Lisa relented with a sigh. “I can’t quite describe the pain, but I doubt there was a wound inflicted. Nothing to inspect, really…” She trailed off. Jean’s eyes dimmed at the dismissal and her hand, perched upon the edge of her desk, tightened ever so slightly around its trim.

After a moment, Lisa relented once more. “Though,” she began, blatanty ignoring the twitch and hopeful look Jean gave her as she strode over to one of the sofas. “I suppose it doesn’t hurt to be thorough.”

She sat down, fully aware of the steady gaze as she fiddled with her dress then situated herself against the pillows. A brow arched at the deep blue blanket tossed over the couch’s left arm. The pillows seemed squashed and a connection slowly made itself known as Jean sat down on the other end.

Barbatos guide me, has she been sleeping in her office?

Crossed between upset and exasperated, Lisa remained silent as Jean beckoned for her hand. Only stopping a second from impatiently laying it in her own when she remembered the wound was skin-deep not on the layers of her gloves. Taking a moment to inch her fingers free, she thought on Jean picking at the couch’s upholstery and fidgeting as she waited. It was increasingly difficult to be crossed with her when she was so earnestly worried.

Finally, the glove slipped free from Lisa’s hand and she bestowed it to Jean, palm ward up. The knight descended upon inspecting her with the graveness of a life-threatening wound. Agitation’s final simmering quelled as Jean’s gloves brushed from palm to fingertip, only inciting the faintest of prickling when she applied pressure. Lisa must have given away a pained response because cooling relief seeped beneath her skin and chased away the fiery prickling. Her heart fluttered as Jean delicately traced the creases on her palms. Tingling remained where her fingers laid, a hollow sensation remaining long after they fell away.

“You seem fine,” Jean sighed, seeming pleased with herself, a smile resting on her lips reminding Lisa sorely of the girl.

Lisa curled her fingers around Jean’s gloved ones, a giggle bubbling up. “Why, thank you,” she preened. “That’s quite the compliment coming from you.”

“Lisa…” Jean’s brow twitched and the pink flush returned, prominent as they were bathed in the pale moonlight.

“Although I must say,” Lisa continued as if she heard nothing, her still-gloved hand stretched out, fingers grazing the underside of Jean’s jaw. “You are seeming a little pale. Are you sleeping well?”

Muscle flexed in Jean’s jaw as her eyelids fell, golden eyelashes barely obscuring stormy depths. Lisa ignored the shiver rolling down her spine and thumbed at the clenched muscle, rubbing slow circles.

“Well enough,” Jean said. She turned her head, inadvertently bringing her cheek to rest at the crook of Lisa’s forefinger.

Lisa tapped her cheek lightly, wondering if Jean’s skin would be as soft and soothing as her winds. Faint circles wearily tightening their grasp beneath Jean’s eyes dispelling the thought. “By your standards or that of the average young woman?” Lisa inquired, nonchalant and taunting.

Jean scoffed, her grasp on Lisa’s hand tightened then loosened as if she’d been electrocuted and with how charged the air was, she might as well have been.

“Weren’t you the one who said I wasn’t average?” Jean asked, pulling her hand away and Lisa sorely missed the light touch. Her knuckles knocking against the book in her lap with a light thud.

“Yes,” Lisa began, savoring a fleeting touch along Jean’s jaw as the woman pulled back from her grasp. Fond exasperation disquieting her calm as she watched Jean rise and amble over to her desk. “Nevertheless, I don’t recall saying you were invincible either.”

Her fingers curled around her book’s spine while Jean hovered dangerously close to the armchair. “Dandelions are quite delicate, you know.”

Jean paused with one hand set on the chair’s pointed rail, a rigidity to her shoulders despite the weariness in her sigh, “I’m not a dandelion, Lisa.”

Lisa smiled sadly. She disagreed in every way. Jean was beautiful, she inspired hope and care, she was delicate although her being wouldn’t give away such a thought — and if one strong breeze came her way, she may be gone. Lisa prayed to the Anemo Gods, to Barbatos, that she would never have to see that day.

“No, you are not,” Lisa said as she stood. “Dandelion Knight.”

Jean’s shoulders tensed and Lisa knew once the words came free, there was no taking them back. Perhaps the gales were still covering Jean’s eyes and she couldn’t see the folly in her own good intention but Lisa could.

“I know the situation with Stormterror is weighing heavily on your mind…” Lisa said to her as she slipped on her glove. “But perhaps you would be better suited to tackle it and the Fatui’s ambassadors, if you had a break.”

Jean’s hold on the chair tightened and Lisa could hear the wood creaking but she stood and approached carefully. The faint trembling in Jean’s shoulders matching her own heart’s ache.

“You would also set a better example for our newly appointed Honorary Knight,” Lisa pointed out. “A girl barely grown, armed with a sword and wits, sails through blue skies on wings of freedom laden with the hopes of many…”

It was like a fairy tale. One that would end with the hopes and joys of many answered, and the hero standing on top. But between the lines, the secrets were told and Lisa was always thorough in her research.

“I wonder who that reminds me of…”

“Your point’s been made,” Jean said tersely, her trembling stilled as Lisa curled her fingers around her shoulder in a light hold. She knew if Jean wanted, she could shrug her off and dismiss her but the knight did neither. Her blue-grey eyes, dull and longing, as Lisa gleaned them over Jean’s shoulder.

All she could do was offer a smile and ease her hand down the length of billowing white sleeves, her fingers curled along ones clad in black gloves.“Then for tonight..” Lisa breathed in the words, whispering them softly to Jean’s waiting ears. “You are dismissed, Acting Grandmaster.” Bitterness tinged Lisa’s smile and she nodded, holding Jean’s hand loosely. “So shall we be off, Jean?”

She received her answer in a gentle squeeze around her fingers.

[eternallyyoungjustice]

Wherever the Winds Take You: Chapter 13

A/N: Okay, not gonna lie, didn’t really edit this one much. It’s super duper short, sticks pretty close to the episode, and it’s just been a week. So I apologize for any spelling errors or awkward phrasing. But otherwise, I hope you all like it! Thank you so much for your continued support of my shameless guilty pleasure.

Santa Prisca July 22 21:10

The tunnel remained dark and cold for a few minutes, the only sounds being the ragged breaths of six young heroes and the shuffle of feet against stone. All members collectively could hear their own heartbeat in their ears, and felt the adrenaline pumping through their veins.

Finally, a loud crack broke the silence and an eerie red glow emitted from the glowstick that Aqualad held and promptly tossed to the ground. Every member of the team stood there; Kid Flash and Zephyr showing the most wear, as the non-humans held good composure and Robin stood silently, staring at the barricade of rock and debris that separated the team from the way they came.

After a moment, however, Robin finally broke the silence.

“How could my first mission as leader go so wrong?”

“You do have the most experience, but perhaps that is exactly what has left you unprepared.” Aqualad spoke. “Fighting alongside Batman, your roles are defined. You two do not need to talk. But this team is new, and a leader must be clear, explicit. He cannot vanish and expect others to play parts in an unknown plan.”

Robin whirled around, snarled and poison-tongued. “Oh, so I’m supposed to hold everyone’s hands?!” The boy let out a growl of frustration and glared down at the ground. But then, after a moment, the tension in his shoulders released and his form slumped slightly. “Oh, who am I kidding? You should lead us, Kaldur. You’re the only one who can.”

“Please! I can run circles-” Kid Flash’s outburst was cut off by Robin’s now much calmer tone. “Wally, come on. You know he’s the one.” The young boy’s eyes lifted to meet his elder’s. “We all do.”

“Hello, Megan! It’s so obvious!” M’gann chirped.

“Could’a told you.” Superboy shrugged.

Kaldur’s eyes met Lina’s knowing gaze. “You know you have my vote.”

Everyone turned to Wally, who stood awkwardly for a moment before sighing in resignation. “Okay!”

“Then I accept the burden,” Kaldur nodded, stepping towards Robin and placing a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, “until you are ready to lift it from my shoulders. You were born to lead this team, maybe not now, but soon.” Robin nodded, his normal smile returning to his face.

Kaldur turned back to speak to the team as a whole. “Alright, our first priority is preventing that shipment from leaving this island.”

“Funny,” Robin smirked, “I had the same thought.”

As the group began to dash down the tunnel’s length, they began to compare notes.

“Robin and I discovered data about the new shipments on a computer in the warehouse.” Kid Flash spoke up. “It looks like Kobra has combined Venom and the Blockbuster formula from Cadmus, making Venom three times as strong and permanent.”  

“So obviously Kobra attacked Bane’s Satna Prisca to have an unlimited supply of the Venom formula, making it able to create the new superformula.” Robin explained. “Which explains how normal supply chains have been cut off if--it’s for a whole new product. But it doesn’t explain how Kobra got his hands on Dr. Desmond’s formula.”

“We discovered that the supplier arriving today was the villain, Sportsmaster.” Aqualad nodded.

Robin pulled up his holo-computer. “Okay, so that must mean Sportsmaster is the supplier and buyer...but it still doesn’t track. He’s a gun for hire, he doesn’t have the power to acquire the blockbuster formula or to get Kobra to do his dirty work.”

“And neither of them have the chops to bond blockbuster with venom. That took some major nerdage.” Kid Flash chimed in.

“I believe the expression is…” As the team arrived at the mouth of the entrance, they were met with the sight of Bane standing there, finishing pumping himself with his normal venom serum which connected from a tube from his arm to the base of his skull, and seemed to enhance his muscle to an inhuman amount. With a sigh of relief, the masked villain dropped the vial formerly containing venom and gazed down at the team of young heroes with a crazed look in his eyes. “‘tip of the iceberg’.”

“Halt, ninos.” Bane growled and revealed a handheld trigger in his grasp. “I’m feeling...explosive.” Simultaneous beeping alerted the team to gaze up, revealing a large number of charged explosives around the mouth of the tunnel.

“You betrayed us, why?” Aqualad spoke, in a tone that-to anyone that knew him-sounded very fake. Bane, however, didn’t seem to notice the falseness. While Bane was distracted, the Atlantean reached out via the telepathic link. “Kid, you’ll need a running start.”

“I want my factory back!” Bane began to monologue. “So I forced you into a situation where you would either take down my enemies for me, or die trying. If the latter, the Justice League would certainly have come to avenge their sidekicks. And when the smoke cleared, Santa Prisca would be mine once more...blowing the tunnel with you inside, should have the same effects.”

Caught in his own monologue, Bane didn’t see the dark blue that flew by him.

“With what?” Kid Flash suddenly asked, now suddenly behind the hulking man and holding the hand-held trigger that had just been in Bane’s grasp. “This trigger thingy?”

Bane let out a loud growl and pulled back to land a strong punch to the speedster, but promptly found himself being lifted off his feet by an invisible force. Being slowly turned around, Bane saw a smiling Miss Martain standing under him, lifting him telekinetically with a raised hand.

“Finally,” Superboy smirked as he stepped forward, and cracked his knuckles. “Drop him.”

Santa Prisca July 22 21:31

Back outside the warehouse, at its helipad, we watched patiently until Sportsmaster and Kobra bid goodbye to one another. Sportsmaster was a tall, hulking man that was essentially all muscle, who wore a signature goalie mask over his face, but otherwise had no notable physical traits. Kobra, on the other hand, has an almost just as tall figure with an equally as strong build, although his muscles were not nearly as hulking as his compatriots’ and hid his figure under a dark crimson cloak. His pale skin was almost anemic and seemed to glow under the light of the moon, but somehow didn’t make him look sickly. Overall, the aura around him made Zephyr’s spine tingle uncomfortably.

“This Kobra man…” Zephyr whispered from her spot in the shadows next to Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad. “I do not like his vibe.”

Robin snickered quietly. “Have you liked any villains’ ‘vibe’ before?”

The young girl thought for a moment. “Poison Ivy.” She whispered, thinking deeply. “She is, uh, qu'est-ce que...fine as hell, tres tres bonne. Robin, why are most of your famous villains so good-looking, hm? Seems very unfair.”

This made both Robin and Kid Flash snort with laughter to the point where they had to muffle themselves.

“Do you want to trade cities Zeph’?” Robin asked, eyebrows cocked in amusement.

The young women paled, recalling the patrol she and Aqualad had done the other night. “Fair enough! No thank you!”

This made Robin chuckle a little more.

Sportsmaster began to make his way towards the helicopter, causing Aqualad to give Kid Flash his signal, and the young ginger ran off at lightning speed, knocking down cultists and pulling gunfire in his wake.

“Protect the shipment!” A cult member exclaimed. Just in time for Superboy to jump and land in front of Mammoth, who stood next to Kobra.

“Go again?” The clone yelled at the hulking beast, causing it to roar and attack. However, it was promptly forced off-course by a sudden continuous force of water, controlled by Aqualad, sending him right into nearby trees. “Sorry, not the plan.”

As Mammoth roared fiercely and began to fight back against being sprayed, Zephyr flew over him, moving her arms and collecting as many of the coldest Winds she could find. The girl reached high up into the atmosphere to find the ones to complete her task and sent them crashing down onto the blast of water and onto Mammoth, freezing the water around him until slowly but eventually, he was encased in thick, frigid, ice.

At being controlled so forcefully, the Winds carrying Zephyr faltered and the girl landed on the ground in a crouching stance. “I am going to be honest with you,” She called to her new team leader as she dodged a cultist’s fire. “I did not know if that would work!” She managed to grab hold of the cultist’s gun and bashed him in the head with it, before chucking it at another cultist’s head, successfully rendering both unconscious.

“Be thankful it did then!” Aqualad yelled back as he fought his own share of cultists.

Not a moment later, the helicopter filled with products began to take off with Sportsmaster inside. Zephyr turned and prepared her Winds to go after it, just in case, but was relieved when it exploded into flames mid-air, causing it to plummet down towards the factory. Off in the distance, the figure of Sportsmaster leaping out and deploying a parachute could be seen.

As the burning helicopter dropped into the factory, it only took a moment before a deep, rumbling ‘boom’ seemed to shake the island as a whole, and flames erected from the giant metal structures. As the fire began to swallow up the entirety of the warehouses, the cultists-those who remained conscious enough to stand-began to flee from the helipad and into the forest, causing the team to turn its attention to Kobra, who stood (no longer wearing his cloak) over Robin, with a single foot pinning the boy to the ground. The cult leader seemed to scan the six teenagers carefully as if weighing his chances of success, but ultimately began to move away, removing his foot from Robin’s chest and slinking away into the shadows of the trees with a low, grumbling “another time then…”

Robin stood, and immediately darted into where Kobra had disappeared, but alas, he was gone without a trace. Slowly walking back to his team, Robin gazed up at the sizzling remains of the factory and watched the flames like at the metal for a moment, before looking back down at his comrades.

“We picked the right guy to lead.” Robin nodded with a smile at Aqualad. “...automatically making you the right guy to explain this mess to Batman!” Robin walked away, laughing, and Kaldur’s face seemed to immediately drain of any blood as fear entered his eyes.

“Don’t worry Aqualad.” M’gann piped up, floating close to her leader. “We won’t let Batman chew you out too much! Besides, I was technically the one who made the helicopter explode.”

“Yeah, don’t sweat it too much.” Wally smiled. “We’re a team now, which means we’re all gonna be killed by Bats equally!” This earned him looks from all the remaining members.

“Your bedside manner definitely could use some improvements, my friend.” Lina shook her head, but she quickly offered a supportive smile to her best friend-now leader.

Mount Justice July 23 10:01

“A simple recon mission! Observe and report!” Batman growled loudly, his tone so uniquely terrifying that it could possibly strike fear into every living creature on the planet. Or at least that’s what it felt like. “You will each receive a written evaluation detailing your many mistakes. But until then…”

The main open room of the cave seemed to ring with anticipated breath as the co-leader of the Justice League paused.

“Good job.”

This shocked every member of the team with surprise, causing them to all whirl their heads to look at Batman with bewildered looks.

“No battle plan survives first contact with the enemy. How you adjust to the unforeseen is what determines success. And how you choose who leads determines character.” Batman turned and began walking away. “You’re all dismissed.”

“Did…” Wally spoke, a small smile itching at his lips. “Did we just get verbally patted on the back by the Batman? For blowing up a factory?”

“I...I think we did!” Robin chuckled, running a stunned hand through his spiky black hair.

“We just finished our first actual mission together, right?” M’gann perked up. “I believe that’s cause for celebration! What do you guys think?” All the members of the team looked to one another, and then looked to Kaldur.

“Well...leader gives the orders.” Robin smirked.

Kaldur smiled and nodded. “Celebration is well-deserved, I think.”

The team all cheered, or in Superboy’s case silently smiled, and began making their way towards the exit to the cave.

“I’m thinking...pizza, Chinese food, snacks and a movie marathon...with possibly dessert provided by the lovely M’gann?” Wally asked, shooting finger guns at the martian herself.

“You...want me to make dessert? After my batch of cookies went so wrong?” M’gann asked, seemingly delighted and flattered.

“I will give you some help in the kitchen M’gann, don’t worry,” Lina said, locking her arm with the younger girl’s. “We’re going to need two sets of hands in the kitchen if we need to feed Kid Mouth and everyone else anyway.”

“Oh, this is going to be sweet!!” Wally exclaimed.

As the gang began to loudly plan their big party, Lina leaned away from the conversation slightly, pulling her phone out of the pocket of her jean jacket. Unlocking the device, she quickly found her and Roy’s texting conversation. Smiling to herself, she quickly types out her message.

Call me when you get home from patrol tonight! You’re going to want to hear about our first mission! Guess who our new leader is…. :D -L

[suddeninklings]

Update!

Hide Your Fires. A little over a year after the events of the Dover-Birch case, Detective David Loki has a chance run-in with a former classmate. Equally lonely souls, burdened with pasts they would like to forget, the two reconnect in ways neither expected. Detective Loki x OC. Romance, Thriller, Comfort.               

(Part 1)

Tuesday. 

Helen Abbott-Howser. The fourth of twelve victims. Between October 1997 and March of 1999, the incongruously named Roadside Ripper had been active across the counties of Centerfield, Cambria and Conyer’s own Middlesex. A round dozen, the killer had proclaimed in a typed letter posted in rest stops across the state in the early hours of April 1st, 1999. Some called it a manifesto. In it, he attempted to rationalize the attacks. At the time, there was no word for a man like the Ripper. With the turn of the century and the rise of the internet, there now was. All of the victims were women between the ages of 25-40.  In the letter, he cited years of rejection and humiliation as proper cause. It wasn’t until 2012 that similar attacks brought the Rippers killings back to light and gave him a more suitable label. He was an incel.

One of many men who practiced what they called “voluntary celibacy” due to the lack of romance or sex in their lives. In their minds, women were to blame and many of them believed that women should be made to suffer. As they had. To most, they were angry young men, dangerous and ruled by hate, but heroes to some. Sixteen years had passed since his last victim had been found off the interstate, ten miles outside of town. Despite the PSP and the FBI’s involvement in the case, there was no evidence other than the circumstantial. No leads. The few suspects the police had managed to find had all of them been disproved by DNA. The case was open, but practically dead in the water. 

David could remember his foster mother, Teri (or was it Denise then? They all blurred together in his memory) watching the story play out on the news with equal parts disgust and fascination. Women were told to take caution driving on the highway alone. Some police departments advised against it altogether. Even after the manifesto had been found, in which the killer claimed he had been absolved of the shame and pain of living as “subsidiary male in a society that set him up to fail,” people were on edge for many of the years that followed. It wasn’t until the string of missing child cases grew more and more frequent that public focus shifted and the Ripper was more or less lost to time.

Shit. David thought, the weight of his offense still weighing on him. Maybe it’s too early. I should come back later. 

He stood on the Howser porch, fighting the urge to pace. Sleep had not been easy to find that night and the lack of it made him restless. He blinked, his grip on the paper wrapping in his hand tightening. He had been up before dawn trying to craft an apology in his head, but anything he managed to come up with felt hollow on his tongue, lacking the sincerity he knew he owed her. It was a problem he had dealt with since childhood. Even now, he still struggled to engage with people outside of work. He couldn’t interrogate them. Couldn’t order them about or adhere to their orders. There were no such hierarchies in life, or at least, if there were, there shouldn’t be. 

He took to observing from a young age, desperate for social cues and leads. He attempted emulation, but as a child often failed, leading him from home to home. Shuffled through a broken system that neither liked nor cared for him. Those years were not ones he wished to linger on, but he couldn’t deny that they had helped him build an arsenal of tools that allowed him to excel at his work. Being guarded and watchful were gifts professionally. But personally? So many relationships were shot before they could even properly begin. He convinced himself it wasn’t troublesome. That it made life easier. Easier to push through life from one day to the next. 

He lifted his hand, to knock on the door one last time, when he picked up the sound of light footfalls behind him. 

“Are those for me?” 

David turned. Grace stood at the bottom of the small staircase leading up to the porch, having just returned home from a morning run. Her cheeks and forehead flushed red and a thin sheen of sweat covered her face and neck. She wore a loose grey t-shirt and leggings, a thin hoody was tied around her waist. Strings of loose hair clung to her temples or floated like a strange crown around her head. Small clouds of smoke escaped her lips as she slowed her breathing. He looked down to his hand, where her gaze was focused. An early morning drive, to help better his thinking, had resulted in, not the right words, but flowers. The market on the corner of Main and Bradshaw had been stocked full at opening and he had had his pick. It was a small bouquet; sprigs of white daisies and purple hoary stock in place of olive branches. He nodded, opening his mouth in hopes that the right words would just tumble out. 

“I’m an asshole-” He felt his own cheeks go hot. 

Grace shook her head, hitching her hands on her sides with a breathy sigh. She looked towards the ground. “David, it’s fine-”

“No really, I-wasn’t even...My head’s be so full of-”

“David!” She laughed this time.

He stopped, blinking twice before daring to look her in the eye again. They were light, almost amused. Yesterday they had looked hazel, but under the glow of the early morning sky they seemed almost green. She smiled and stepped up to meet him, snatching the flowers from his hand and holding them up to her nose. 

“They’re nice,” She said, whole-heatedly.  “I can’t remember the last time someone gave me flowers.”

David dodged her eye, the heat spreading from his face down his neck. A mixture of relief and nervous energy still broiling. It seemed too easy. All the officers at the station, they talked about their wives and girlfriends as if apologies were impossible. 

“You…want to come inside? I have coffee.” Grace said, her voice lilting as she placed her hand on the door and pushed it open. 

-

David settled into a chair at the head of a small oval table off the kitchen, waiting for Grace to return. After ushering him through the narrow front hall, passed the steps to the upper floor and into the family room off the kitchen, she had brought him a cup and excused herself to change. Out of habit, he began to appraise the home. It looked as though no work had been done to it since it had been built. The formal dining room across the hall had been converted into an office; stacks of papers and books were littered across a small folding table that doubled as a desk. A computer that looked to be older than anything he had come across in the precinct was already sitting in a box. The kitchen was small, with bulky walnut cabinetry and aging appliances. The family room was equipped with a small television, couch and recliner that seemed to have labored through the most use. There were few photos on the walls. A watercolor painting of a marina scene hung over a small electric fireplace in the corner next to screen door that led out to the backyard. There was a stale scent in the air. Dust. He could see it floating slowly, as if practically frozen in time, catching the light of the morning sun as it filtered lazily through the glass. 

“Looks like you have your work cut out for you,” He said when she returned. She nodded, her eyes rolling back as she settled into the chair across from him. Simultaneously, they reached for their cups and drank. The coffee was black as night. Just how he liked it. Apparently how she liked it too. 

After a moment’s quiet, Grace said softly, “I feel like I’m the one who should apologize.”

David sat up straighter. “No, Grace, I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s alright, really. I don’t know why I reacted that way.” She lifted the mug to her lips again, but paused before taking another drink. “I mean that was one of the reasons I left,” she took a sip and continued. “...And didn’t come back. Some people, that’s all they want to talk about. Martin never seemed to mind it but...I couldn’t stand it. Being the dead woman’s daughter. All that pity and nosiness...disguised as niceness. People I never knew would approach us about it. As if they had any right or reason other than morbid curiosity.”

David understood the feeling. It wasn’t often that he dated. Or even met with friends. They all wanted to talk about his work. Especially after the Dover case. He could sense when they were about to bring it up. Their eyes would take on a strange light. He could practically see the gear in their heads twisting and turning, trying to find a way to steer the conversation towards the case. 

Grace set her mug down, exhaling. Her shoulder dipped down as if they had been pushed by some invisible weight. “I’m sorry, you don’t need to hear all of this. Hell, I don’t have time for it. The junk company is coming tomorrow and then the realtor and-”

“I can help.” David said. 

Grace stopped, fixing him with a look of confusion. “What? No, I can’t ask you to do that.”

“No, really.” David said, leaning forward. He thought of his empty home across the road. The lack of errands. He thought of his desk at work and how he had been more or less banned from returning to it until the following Monday. “I know it won’t make sense, but...you’d be doing me a favor.” 

-

It didn’t take much convincing, despite the oddity of the request. Once he was able to convince her that he wasn’t aiming to help simply out of guilt, they began to rifle through each room of the house. Boxes were filled, piles of papers tagged for lawyers, furniture pushed towards the center to account for the painters coming later in the week. To David’s relief, the day didn’t drag and before they knew it, the evening had home. Endlessly grateful and thoroughly exhausted, Grace put in an order for pizza. At David’s suggestion they crossed the street over to his house, where a refrigerator stocked with cold beer and a welcoming deck were waiting to be taken advantage of. They sat outside, watching a thin bank of clouds drift slowly over the lake, their colors shifting from a soft white to a pastel yellow to an alarmingly vivid shade of orange as the sun drifted further and further down. 

“I wouldn’t have been able to do this all without you.” Grace said, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. “But...I have good news and bad news.”

“Bad news?” David asked, reaching for his beer. 

Grace squeezed her eyes shut, the corners wrinkling as she indulged in a playful wince. With a shake of her head, she buried her face into her knees for a moment before continuing bashfully, “There’s a basement.”

He smiled. It was small and fleeting. He wasn’t sure if she had seen it. They remained outside, talking softly and long into the night, until the all manner of sunlight dipped down below the treeline and the sky above became an inky blue sea of stars. As though they were, and always had been, old friends. 

-

Wednesday.

David wandered over to her house at 12:15, after he saw the realtor pull out of the drive and drift down the road, out of sight. She opened the door at first knock, wearing a smile that was quickly becoming familiar to him.

“Afternoon,” She said breathlessly. She hitched one arm against the door, her hip jutting out in the opposite direction. A large box, filled with books and bearing the label Goodwill sat at her feet. Her hair was piled up on the top of her head, wisps and strings falling loosely around her face. 

“Look at that, you have arms.” She joked, with a nod of her head. David looked down, feigning a laugh. The day was uncharacteristically warm and humid. A silver sun glared down through a layer of paper thin cloud cover, coating the land below with an odd, muted shadow. He left his jacket and button ups at home this time, instead sporting a jersey t-shirt and ravaged pair of jeans he pulled out when working on his own house. She was dressed similarly, wearing the same leggings as the day before and a cutoff shirt with thin, horizontal pinstripes. 

“How’d it go?” He asked, following her through the narrow front hall. 

“Oh, fine,” She said, making a hard left. “His dad was friend’s with Martin’s, so he’s going to cut me a deal which is nice. Now, I’m almost completely sure that everything down here can be trashed.”

She opened the door to the basement, absentmindedly pulling at a string of ribbon hanging just inside the doorway. A small bulb flickered on with a crackling snap, but it did little to properly light the wooden steps that led down. 

“I’ve been too scared to look, but hopefully there’s not too much do-Ah!!”

A creak and a crash, followed by several smaller thumps and finally a sickening shatter, sent David rushing around the corner after her. 

“Grace!?” He barked, bracings his hands against the frame of the door. 

“Fine! I’m-I’m fine.” Came a garbled response from the shadowy depths below. David reached for the handrail. 

“Wait! Stop!” She called, halting him in his tracks. “There’s a faulty step. I...forgot.”

“Are you alright?”

“-fourth one down, be careful.” She continued. “Ouch. Fuck me.”

He leapt passed it, taking the next few two at a time until he reached the bottom. 

“There’s a switch. On the wall.” She mumbled, looking more like a mass of black shadow as David’s eyes attempted to adjust. He pressed his hand to the wall, flicking it on. A bank of old fluorescents buzzed to life. Grace was hunched over on her knees, her hair having fallen loose from the scrunchie. 

He tried again. “Are you hurt?”

“Uff,” She breathed, pushing her hair away from her face. “I mean, my pride is yeah...and maybe my knee. Ow!”

She hissed, drawing her hand away. The tips of her fingers were coated in blood. 

“God...dammit.” She said, shifting up so that she could sit on the last step. The unmistakable sound of glass scraping against concrete filled the room. David knelt down in front of her. 

“Language, Abbott, please.” He tutted, with a wry smile. Grace huffed a laughed, her teeth gnawing on her lower lip as she tried to shake off the shock and the embarrassment. God, I hope he didn’t see. She thought, as the fall played back through her mind. She was fairly certain she had looked as graceful as a penguin tottering off to sea. She watched as he assessed the damage, trying to push the image far away. 

“Looks like you landed on something.” He said, finally, his fingers gingerly pushing at the now flattened box that sat where she had fallen. It felt necessary, if not useless to state the obvious. 

“Looks like it.” Grace said, her hands hovering over her knee. Sure enough, a few bits of grainy glass had torn through her leggings and looked to be embedded in her skin. 

David stood, offering her his hand. “Here.”

She looked up, her face flushed red. She took it and he pulled her up, winding her arm around his neck so that he could better help her hobble up the stairs.

-

Grace sat atop the kitchen counter next to the sink, situated so that David could tend to her knee. He pulled a chair in from the living room and set it in front of her. She watched quietly as he rifled through a first aid kit. Where he’d managed to find it, she didn’t know. It must have been older than the pair of them. He still looks so young though. She thought, her eyes drifting down past his face to his neck. Except for the tattoos. Did he have those in high school? I can’t remember. That she recognized him, or anyone, was a surprise to her. Her senior year and been a blur of grief and determination. Conyers felt more like a prison then. A barrage of whispers and glance she was desperate to escape. When she couldn’t sleep she studied, earning herself valedictorian status and a full ride ticket out of town. She promised herself she would never look back. It meant losing touch with long kept friendships and starting from scratch. But it felt worth it. Now it seemed a little dramatic, but she was a teenager then.

Maybe it’s because he seems...the same, in some ways, She thought. Quiet and sedate. Many girls in her grade had spent some time nursing a crush on David Loki. He was the ‘new kid’ after all. A broody boy from the outskirts of town. No one had known him before he showed up on the first day of school. He was a loner. A mystery. Grace understood the appeal then, but never enough to act on it. Very few of them had. Even then, as an underweight, seemingly insomniatic teen, he had a strange air about him. As if he were haunted. Or the one doing the haunting. Grace had never been sure which. He had filled out since those high school days, but he still looked saturnine, as if a good day’s rest eluded him entirely. 

She leaned back, her head hitting the cabinetry behind her. She looked around the room, feeling suddenly impolite for staring. The kitchen felt so small, smaller than she remembered. Her legs dangled off the edge of the counter, her feet swaying gently from side to side, as if caught in a breeze. She felt very much like a child, having tripped in the backyard and come bursting through the door with tears streaming down her face and crying for a parent. She could practically feel the heat of the tears, the wobbly path they would make before drying against her skin. She had been holding them back. Fighting them really. Since entering the house after so long. Despite her best efforts, there were still memories here. Small signs of her mother that Martin hadn’t willed away. 

“Grace? Do you mind if I-?”

“Oh! No, I can-” Her hands went to her leg, fingers pulling at the torn fabric of her leggings, until she gathered all of it above the knee. She winced as she could now clearly see the bits of glass, tinged scarlet. 

“This might sting,” David said softly. With surprising tenderness, her carefully pulled loose the pieces of glass, before pressing a damp cloth to the torn skin. Grace’s hands balled into fists as the antiseptic sunk into the shallow wounds. He let it sit for several seconds, before pulling it away and letting it fall into the sink at his right side. 

“You seem to know what you’re doing,” Grace said, trying to fill the silence. 

“We all go through some basic training at the academy.” He explained as he began to wrap her knee with a thin layer of bandage. She felt his finger brush the back of her leg and deftly lift it slightly. Quite strangely, she thought of Cinderella with her leg poised to receive the infamous glass slipper. 

Christ Grace! She thought to herself, feeling her neck grow warm. You are no put upon damsel and he’s no...daring prince…

She looked down at him again, her eye catching sight of a small divot just above his left temple. Were it not for the closeness of his cut, she may not have noticed it at all. 

That must be...She thought. “The bullet wound.”

“What?”

Oh shit. Grace thought. Did I...say that out loud? 

With a heavy sigh, she shook her head. I just keep digging myself deeper. Well...what is it they say? In for a penny... 

“I may have, um,” She flushed, leaning her head back against the cabinet again and gazing up and away. “-looked you up. Last night.”

He didn’t seem surprised.

She shrugged her shoulders. “The Dover-Birch case? That’s...quite a story.”

Dammit. She thought, eyes flicking shut as she prepared for the backlash. Why’d I say that?! I’m going to scare him off. As if he wasn’t wary already. Being a cop and all. She had seen the way he’d blanched at the bar. It wasn’t much more than a blink but it was all she needed to draw the proper conclusions. She had enough dealings with cops to know how they felt about her work. It didn’t bother her if they despised her. But David was...well, not a friend but...he was something. 

He exhaled, long and low, but the breath didn’t carry the disdain or annoyance she expected. He almost sounded amused. That can’t be right. She looked back down at him. Surprisingly, a wry shadow of a smile ghosted across his face. 

“Force of habit?” He said, almost teasingly as he tucked the remaining wrappings back into the kit before snapping it shut. 

“I guess, yeah.” She said, sheepishly, feeling well and truly chastised. 

He paused a moment, a far away look in his eye before standing up. Instead of moving away, he leaned towards her, bracing his hands on the edge of the counter, each one positioned a respectful distance from her legs. His face was level with hers now. And close. Almost uncomfortably so. At least it should have been. But it wasn’t. 

His eyes. She thought, pressing her lips together in a thin line she could only hope was unreadable. They were deep and dark, as blue as oceans. She could see fleck of brown in the irises. He was close. So close. But not close enough. She swallowed hard as the realization came slowly. She wanted him closer. Needed it. 

“Your exposé on the DWP was good.” He said, finally. “Really something,”

Her brow shot up. 

“I...looked you up, too.” He said, a knowing smile flashing across his face. 

Grace reciprocated. “Really?”

“Really.” The smile remained, tugging at one side of his mouth. Grace felt the yearning in her chest begin to churn and warm. 

“Guess we’re both a little too curious, huh?” She said, lifting her hand up. “...May I?”

He tipped his head down. Ever gently, her fingers brushed the longer lengths of his hair up and back so she could better see the scar. Instinctively, he drew closer as her legs slid further apart. She could feel his breath, slow and warm against her neck. Her own breath hitched as she took in the angry, craggy line. It had mostly healed over, but she knew enough about these sorts of wounds to imagine what it had been. He tilted his head up again. She could feel his hands dragging across the counter, drifting closer and closer to touching her. Almost. But not quite. She let her fingers slide through the tendrils of his hair. Back and down until they could more easily cup the back of his neck. It was all the encouragement he needed. He leaned in, his lips pressing against hers. Softly at first. Her fingers tangled in the hair and pulled. Closer. They thought, almost in unison. She could feel his hands on her thighs now, clamping down and drifting upwards. Her hips rocked against him. Once. Twice. The next thing she knew she his hands were underneath her, pulling her up easily. Her legs wrapped around him tightly. Her arms reached around his shoulders and pulled at his shirt. His lips pulled away from her mouth for only a second. Enough time for her to whisper the question they both knew the answer to. 

“Bedroom?”

He drew her off the counter and her legs unhooked, but his arm stayed tight around her waist, keeping her mouth in line with his. Her toes barely made contact with the floor as they moved down the hall. He paused just before the doorway, spinning her round. Her back hit the wall. He muttered an apology as he peppered kisses up her jawline. His hands were splayed on either side of her shoulders, his body pressing up against hers. She could feel the hardness of his form, from his chest all the way down. 

“Don’t be-” She heard herself whisper, her breath ragged and raw. “Just keep going-”

She fumbled with her shirt, trying to loose her arm free. He was there, his hands pulling it up over her head. She followed suit, gripping the hem of his shirt and pulling it over. 

They disappeared through the door, unable to wait any longer, the basement well as truly forgotten. 

-

Just a little tease this time around, but there will be more soon! It’s been a while since I’ve written these kinds of scenes. I feel out of practice. >.< Thanks for reading! Hope to update very soon. 

[clairekatswritingcorner]

Flustered Flirtation

Word Count: 1,273

Summary: He may always seem to be one step ahead of her, but sometimes even the suave self-assured cyborg gets tripped up by his adorable, devious wife.

*Author’s Note*: Final commission of the month for @robotarmjokes! I know I say it every time, but I really can’t stress enough how much I love writing for D and this ship, it just always makes me feel so warm and fuzzy inside. I hope you enjoy!

If you enjoyed reading this piece, please consider leaving a tip or commissioning me!

“You’re a genius.”

The words slid off her tongue like butter, catching him off guard as they haphazardly drifted through the air. Wow. It was the type of phrase he least expected to hear from her, even on the days when they couldn’t seem to stop showering one another in boundless gestures of affection. Rhys crossed his arms and observed his wife with cautious curiosity, leaning against the wall behind him as casually as he could. She’d failed to stop the words from escaping, barely overcoming the urge to slap her hand over her mouth immediately following her impulsive outburst. His eyes were laser focused on her now, which wasn’t always a bad thing, but in the moment it just made her want to curl up in a ball and roll away. If things were going to turn out this way, why had she bothered provoking this kind of situation at all? To be honest, even she didn’t really have all the answers to that mystery…that’s how things practically always were when it came to anything involving him.

“How so?” If she was going to open this particular can of worms, he figured she may as well go all out. What had inspired her to offer him such rare praise; why had she chosen to voice her opinion in the first place? She didn’t have to have a definitive reason, he supposed, but the question of whether or not she did wouldn’t stop nagging him until he’d satisfied his hunch. Had he done something especially noteworthy or admirable lately that he just wasn’t aware of? He knew he had a certain propensity for being dense, as much as he outwardly denied it. Her cheeks had turned cherry red and her eyes darted about the room, trying to pinpoint anything that could serve as a reasonable distraction and give her an excuse not to look at him. It appeared that she’d spent all of her nerve on that one verbal bid of courage, and now she was back to panicking at the very thought of confronting him while he still had that smug look plastered on his stupid pretty face.  

If she revealed the source of her motivation, she knew she’d regret it even more than she already lamented her vague confession. Part of her had started this conversation for the sole purpose of communicating a risky second half, one that was far more embarrassing and flamboyant than its predecessor. Struggling to reinvigorate herself just enough to accomplish the goal she’d originally set out to achieve, she took one of his hands in both of hers and examined it with surprising intensity. He didn’t mind what she was doing—on the contrary, he greatly enjoyed any opportunity he was presented to hold her or be close to her in any way—but she wasn’t going to divert his focus that easily. Opening his mouth to pose his question in a slightly different way, her interruption indicated she wasn’t going to make him waste his words a second time.  

Taking a deep breath, she unleashed the collective force of the anxiety and hesitation that’d been swelling up inside her with the words she knew were better left unsaid. She almost wished she could physically reach out and grasp them, that she could cram them back in before he had a chance to register their cursed existence. But she’d made her choice, and now that they were free, any kind of damage control she’d hoped to fall back on was rendered woefully obsolete. “No one else seems to have figured out how to be so hot and cute at the same time.”

Now it was his turn to blush. Unable to disguise the eruption of scarlet that seized his features the moment he processed her words, he did cover his mouth slightly in an attempt to obscure the flush that’d abruptly overwhelmed him. Such admissions were so infrequent on her part that he’d never really had a chance to learn the proper way to respond. In the wake of her strike the strength and sincerity of both her words and their fervent delivery simultaneously pierced and stirred his heart. He was overcome with a wealth of the same love he felt every time he looked at her, touched her, heard her voice…even just hearing her name was enough to rouse such powerful emotions in him.

Her stomach twisted and heart ached as she scrambled to determine the best way to apologize, to fabricate some excuse for her unacceptable misconduct. But she also sensed she needed to stand her ground, and maybe even wanted to, as bizarre as that particular passing thought was. When was the last time she’d actually considered doing something radical like standing by her words; how had she dealt with the guilt in the aftermath? Because it almost always came, and it was almost always too devastating to bear. An invisible threat that she couldn’t seem to avoid no matter how hard she tried. Suffering under the crushing weight of mandatory remorse for so many years had had an unfortunate effect on the state of her mind and heart, but she was lucky to have people by her side now that wanted to help her dismantle that unsightly burden.

Laughter. Uninhibited laughter shattered the silence as D watched her husband fall to pieces right before her eyes. Not in any bad way, thankfully, but his reaction was still far from sensible to her. Clutching his sides as the blush expanded to his ears and neck, for a moment she thought she’d like to kiss that blush, just once. What an unsightly though to have, and perhaps she was just interpreting things all wrong. Surely he’d responded this way because he thought she was joking, or kidding, come to the conclusion that her words were absurd. This wouldn’t be the first time she’d had someone laugh in her face about something like this, although she tried to disguise the fact that when it came from someone like him, it hurt worse than she could have ever imagined.

“Hey, what’s with that look?” He regained enough composure and breath to notice her melancholy, promptly confronting it.

“It’s alright, I understand,” she replied in a voice so low it snagged him like an anchor. “I’m sorry for saying something so silly, so foolish—”

“What? That’s not what I meant by that at all,” he frantically explained, cradling her face and guiding her eyes to his. “It’s just that…you’re so amazing. You still do so many things to surprise me, to take my breath away, to knock me off my feet—”

“Hey, don’t turn this back around on me,” D retorted, his proximity and bluntness apparently restoring some of her resolve. “I’m the one who was trying to be flirty with you. You can’t steal my thunder!”

“Then how about I steal one of these instead?”

She didn’t have a chance to reply as he leaned in and captured her lips in a kiss, his skin still warm from the blush and fingers gentle as he continued holding her like she was a rare and precious treasure. As much as she wished she could one up him sometimes, at the end of the day she was fine with him being able to influence her like this. She was more than happy to be on the receiving end of any and all of his wonderful gestures and advances. Little did she know that for every time she willingly played along with his charades, she was the true mastermind that was manipulating his heart the entire time.

[vrylium]

Sig’s Anthem Review

Verdict

BioWare’s Anthem is a genuinely fun and engaging experience that sabotages itself with myriad design, balance, and technical oversights and issues. It is a delicious cake that has been prematurely removed from the developmental oven - full of potential but unfit for general consumption in this wobbly state. Anthem is not a messianic addition to the limited pantheon of looter shooters because it has somehow failed to learn from the well-publicized mistakes of its predecessors. 

Am I having fun playing Anthem? Absolutely. Does it deserve the industry’s lukewarm scores? Absolutely. But this is something of a special case. The live service model giveth and taketh away; we receive flexibility in exchange for certainty. Is Anthem going to be the same game six months from now? Its core DNA will always be the same, but we’ve already begun to see swift improvements that bode well for the future. 

Will my opinion matter to you? It depends. When I first got into looter shooters I was shocked at how much the genre clicked with me. They are a wonderful playground for theory crafters, min/maxers, and mathletes like myself who find incomparable joy in optimizing builds both conventional and experimental by pushing the limits of obtainable resources ad infinitum. The end game grind is long and at times challenging as you make the jump to Grandmaster 1+ difficulty in search of top-tier loot to perfect your build. This is what looter shooters are all about.

If you don’t like the sound of that, you’ll probably drop Anthem right after finishing its campaign. But if you do like the sound of that, you might find yourself playing this game for years.

TL;DR: This game is serious fun, but is also in need of some serious Game & UI Design 101. 

I wrote a lot more about individual aspects of the game beneath the read more, if you’re interested. I’ve decided not to give the game a score, I’m just here to discuss it after playing through the campaign and spending a few days grinding elder game activities. There are no spoilers here.

Gameplay

The Javelins are delightful. I’ve played all four of them extensively and despite identifying as a Colossus main I cannot definitively attach myself to one class of Javelin because they’re all so uniquely fun to play and master. Best of all, they’re miraculously balanced. I’ve been able to hold my own with every Javelin in Grandmaster 1+. Of course, some Javelins are harder to get the hang of than others. Storms don’t face the steep learning curve Interceptors do, but placed in the hands of someone who knows what they’re doing, both are equally as destructive on the battlefield. 

I love the combo system. It is viscerally satisfying to trigger a combo, hearing that sound effect ring, and seeing your enemy’s health bar melt. Gunplay finally gets fun and interesting when you start obtaining Masterworks, and from there, it’s like playing a whole new game. 

Mission objectives are fairly bland and repetitive, but the gameplay is so fun I don’t even mind. Collect this, find that, go here, whatever. I get to fly around and blow up enemies while doing it, and that’s what matters. Objectives could be better, certainly. Interesting objectives are vital in game design because they disguise the core repetitive gameplay loop as something fresh, but the loop on its own stays fresh long enough to break even, I feel.

The best part is build flexibility. Want to be a sniper build cutting boss health bars in half with one shot? I’ve seen it. Want to be a near-immortal Colossus wrecking ball who heals every time you mow down an enemy? You can. There are so many possibilities here. Every day I come across a new crazy idea someone’s come up with. This is an excellent game for build crafters. 

But... why in the world are there so few cosmetic choices? A single armor set for each Javelin outside the Vanity store? A core component of looter shooters has always been endgame fashion, and on this front, BioWare barely delivers and only evades the worst criticism by providing quality Javelin customization in the way of coloring, materials, and keeping power level and aesthetics divorced. We’re being drip-fed through the Vanity store, and while I like the Vanity store’s model, there should have been more things permanently available for purchase through the Forge. Everyone looks the same out there! Where’s the variety? 

Story, Characters, World

Anyone expecting a looter shooter like Anthem to feature a Mass Effect or Dragon Age -sized epic is out of their mind, but that doesn’t mean we have to judge the storytelling in a vacuum. This is BioWare after all. Even a campaign that flows more like a short story - as is the case with Anthem - should aspire to the quality of previous games from the studio. Unfortunately, it does not, but it comes close by merit of narrative ambience: the characters, the world’s lore, and their execution. 

(For a long time I’ve had a theory that world building is what made the original Mass Effect great, not its critical storyline, which was basically a Star Trek movie at best. Fans fell in love because there were interesting people to talk to, complicated politics to grasp, and moral decisions to make along the way.)

While the main storyline of Anthem is lackluster and makes one roll their eyes at certain moments or bad lines, the world is immediately intriguing. Within Fort Tarsis, sophisticated technology is readily available while society simultaneously feels antiquated, echoing a temporal purgatory consistent with the Anthem’s ability to alter space-time. Outside the fort, massive pieces of ancient machinery are embedded within dense jungles in a way that suggests the mechanical predates nature itself. The theme of sound is everywhere. Silencing relics, cyphers hearing the Anthem, delivering echoes to giant subwoofers… It’s a fun world, it really is. 

As for the characters… they might be some of the best from BioWare. They feel like real people. Rarely are they caricatures of one defining trait, but people with complex motives and emotions. Some conversations were boring, but the vast majority of the time I found myself racing off to talk to NPCs as soon as I saw yellow speech bubbles on the map after a mission. And don’t even get me started on the performances. They are golden.

The biggest issue with the story is that it’s not well integrated with missions. At times it feels like you’re playing two separate games: Fort Tarsis Walking/Talking Simulator and Anthem Looter Shooter. And the sole threads keeping these halves stitched together during missions - radio chatter - takes a back seat if you’re playing with randoms who rush ahead and cause dialogue to skip, or with friends who won’t shut the hell up so you can listen or read subtitles without distraction. I found it ironic that I soloed most of the critical story missions in a game that heavily encourages team play.

Technical Aspects: UI & Design 

This is where Anthem has some major problems. God, this category alone is probably what gained the ire of most reviewers. The UI is terrible and confusing. There are extra menu tabs where they aren’t needed. The placement of Settings is for some inane reason not located under the Options button (PS4). Excuse me? It’s so difficult to navigate and find what you’re looking for. It’s ridiculously unintuitive.  

Weapon inscriptions (stat bonuses) are vague and I’ve even seen double negatives once or twice. They come off as though no one bothered to proofread or edit anything for clarity. Just a bad job here all around. And to make matters worse, there is no character stat sheet to help us demystify any of the bizarre stat descriptions. We are currently using goddamn spreadsheets like animals. Just awful. 

The list goes on. No waypoints in Freeplay. Countless crashes, rubber banding, audio cutouts, player characters being invisible in vital cutscenes, tethering warnings completely obscuring the flight overheat meter… Fucking yikes. Wading through this swamp of bugs and poor design has been grueling to say the least. 

And now for the loot issues. Dead inscriptions on gear; and by dead I mean dead, as in “this pistol does +25% shotgun damage” dead (this has been recently patched but I still cannot believe this sort of thing made it to release). The entire concept of the Luck stat (chance to drop higher quality loot) resulting in Luck builds who drop like flies in combat and become a burden for the rest of the team. Diminishing returns in Grandmaster 2 and 3; it takes so long to clear missions on these difficulties without significant loot improvement, making GM2 and GM3 pointless when you could be grinding GM1 missions twice as fast. 

At level 30, any loot quality below Epic is literal trash. Delete Commons, Uncommons, and most Rares as soon as you get them because they’re virtually useless. I have hundreds of Common and Uncommon embers and nothing to do with them. Why can’t we convert 5 embers into 1 of the next higher tier? Other looters have already done things like this to make progression omnipresent. You don’t have to reinvent the wheel here, BioWare. It’s already been done for you. 

When you get a good roll on loot, the satisfaction is immense. But when you don’t, and you won’t 95% of the time, you’ll feel like you’ve wasted hours with nothing to show for it. We shouldn’t be spending so much time hunting for useful things, we should be trying to perfect what’s already useful.

It’s just baffling to think that Anthem had the luxury of watching the messy release of several other looter shooters during Anthem’s development, yet proceed to make the same mistakes, and some even worse. 

Nothing needs to be said about visuals. They are stunning, even from my perspective on a base PS4.

Sound design is the only other redeeming subcategory here. Sound design is amazing, like the OST. Traditional instrumentals meet alien synth seamlessly. Sarah Schachner is a seriously talented composer. 

I’m just relieved to see the development team hauling ass to make adjustments. They’ve really been on top of it - the speed and transparency of fixes has been top-notch. They’re even working on free DLC already! A new region, more performances from the actors... I’m excited and hopeful for the future.