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literally-12 · 3 months ago

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DPxDC Summoning Gone Wrong

Hi! Long time reader, first time writer. Please don't hate me if it's not super in character. Also I know this trope is overdone but oh well. I was inspired by a text post by @phiniusandjelly

Constantine felt the shift in power instantaneously and all at once. It manifested itself in the form of a cold shiver that started at his hairline and seeped throughout his body bringing with it goosebumps and a cold sweat. Something was deeply wrong. No. Something had changed and unfortunately, as the Justice Leagues’ resident expert on the supernatural, he felt as though somehow he was going to be responsible for getting to the bottom of it.

Getting all the right information and sigils took longer than he wanted and convincing the rest of the Earth’s mightiest that he hadn’t finally slipped and cracked the fragile state of his already questionable mind took nearly as long. Luckily, Constantine knew if he needed to, he could get tall, dark, and spooky to back him.

“I’m telling you, Bats, there has been a very large and significant shift in the forgotten realms and it is in your best interest that we follow up with all the gravity that this situation requires”. Constantine took a deep drag of his cigarette, pointedly ignoring Bruce’s scowl as the tip flared in front of him. Magically stepping into the Bat Cave was not something any wise man would consider doing on even their worst days, but Constantine had never claimed to be wise.

“Explain”. Grunted Bruce, never one to put too much stock in the occult.

“Here’s the thing, Brucie, we’re talking a massive shift in power, like king of the infinite realms being dethroned type of power. The forgotten realms operate on a combat inheritance and I had the misfortune of meeting Pariah Dark once and he was about as unpleasant and violent of a bloke as they come” he flicked the ash onto the cave floor, beginning to pace, he hoped his unsettled demeanor would enforce the severity of the situation. “The one good thing about Dark was that he tended to mind his own business and stick to his dimension but now we’re dealing with an unknown. An unknown and immensely powerful being who could, if they wanted to, unravel the threads of our very reality”. He sensed more than saw Bruce’s eyebrows furrow, just a fraction of a centimeter, he was sure, but that was enough to let Constantine know that he was being taken seriously now.

“I propose we bring this new king in and figure out their whole schtick. It’s going to be dangerous but it’s better to know what we’re dealing with in this sort of situation, maybe we can even make a deal, plead for our continued existence and all that.”

“You want to bring an exceedingly powerful, extra dimensional being into our universe and trap them to try and make a deal?” Batman grunted, his mind already racing through the many, many ways that this plan could go incredibly sideways.

“Think of the children, Bruce, that’s your whole thing, right? You don’t want your gaggle of deplorable orphans growing up and adopting even more sad and blue eyed children in a world that no longer exists”.

“What’s the probability that you can actually contain this all powerful being?” Constantine tossed the butt of his cigarette on the ground and crushed it under his heel, pulling out a second and bringing it to his lips. One look from the Bats and he sighed, putting it back in the carton.

“Optimistically? Eighty percent”.

“Realistically?”

“You’re such a buzzkill. Sixty five at best”. The dead-pan he received in lieu of a reply told him that even though the plan would be going forward, Bruce was anything but happy.

When the summoning came about, it was an all hands on deck situation. The sigils were drawn and checked and rechecked and then checked a third time just for giggles. The writing was done in some viscous red liquid that Bruce was hoping was paint. The red circle was about five feet in diameter and smack in the middle of the conference room at the watchtower. The symbols were not in any language that Bruce could recognize but even without a magical bone in his body, he could feel the power radiating from them.

“Everybody ready?” Asked Constantine, gesturing for them to stand back, he held a thick, weathered tome in his left hand, flipped to a seemingly random page. At confirmation from the gathered heroes, he began to chant.

The atmosphere changed immediately. The first thing that Bruce noticed was the sudden drop in temperature. Ice crystals began to form in the center of the now glowing circle, snaking their way lazily out towards the perimeter in hypnotizing patterns, the very air in the room also changed dramatically, becoming charged with the smell of ozone and the feeling of lightning about to strike. Every hair on his body stood at rigid attention. He looked at Constantine who now sported a grimace but did not halt his chanting, his tone began to take on an echo, seeming to come from all around him, words overlapping as his face was lit up by an eerie red glow. Bruce had half a mind to call the whole endeavor off as all their shadows began to defy logic and stretch towards the glowing sigils. His teeth gritted, he tried to move, tried to say anything but found himself powerless to move, beginning to drastically regret his choice of allowing Constantine to invite this being into their universe, he debated closing his eyes as a sense of unease washed over him and with the electricity in the room seeming to reach a breaking point, with a loud pop, suddenly everything stopped.

The quiet and the light that returned to the room was almost as jarring as the whole summoning ritual and when Bruce’s eyes refocused on the circle in the center of the room, he was shocked to see a teenage boy floating there. He had snow white hair that seemed like it couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to gravity, floating as though he was underwater and being pulled by a gentle current. His glowing green eyes were wide and he looked almost as shocked as the team by him appearing in the room.

“Who are you?” demanded Constantine, never once putting down his thick book. The teen tilted his head, seeming to consider the question.

“Shouldn’t you know that? Considering you’re the one who called me here and all that. These sigils don’t just say 1-800-dial-a-ghost, you know” his voice further enunciated his youth, however it had a weird, echoey quality, sounding almost as if he was talking directly into Bruce’s ear. He pulled his legs up underneath him, sitting criss crossed midair, looking entirely too relaxed at the situation.

“Answer the question, specter” Constantine demanded, “we’re not fooled by this guise you put on”. To this, the being frowned and flipped upside down.

“You mean my outfit? I thought it was pretty chic but then again, I wasn’t necessarily given the opportunity to pick out my death day fit, it was just sort of chosen for me”. He gestured at the black and silver jumpsuit he was wearing that betrayed his slight frame.

“Constantine…” Superman spoke up for the first time, taking a step closer to the man. “He’s just a kid”.

“That’s what the bugger wants you to think.” the man grit out “you think a being this powerful can’t do something as minute as changing his appearance to try to get us to drop our guards?” Clark looked torn but resumed his place in the line of heroes behind the occultist.

“Listen to big blue, I’m just a harmless kid!” said the floating being, flashing a pearly white set of teeth that were just on the wrong side of being too sharp.

“Bullshit! We know you’re the new king of the infinite realms. Play nice and we’ll let you go back to doing whatever it is you do in your dimension. We just want to know what the terms of your rule are.”

“Oh, that” he flipped himself back upright and floated closer to Constantine, as he approached the perimeter of the trap, the sigils on the floor glowed brighter at his presence. Hesitantly, with one hand he reached out a finger, jerking it back a red spark zapped the tip. Sticking it in his mouth, in pain, he managed to talk around the digit saying “you know, this meeting could’ve been an email” pulling his finger out and giving his hand a test shake, he narrowed his eyes at the man in front of him. “Plus, isn’t it only polite that you introduce yourself first? I am a guest.”

“While you are here, you are our guest,” said Batman diplomatically, “we intend to extend all proper grace to you while you are in our presence. They call me Batman”.

The teen snorted.

“Yeah, I sort of gathered that by the whole bat symbol and pointy ears thing you’ve got going on”. He held his fingers up on either side of his head in a mimicry of Batman’s cowl. “I was talking about Mr. all powerful British magic man over here”. He stuck his hand out again, clearly not having learned his lesson, he withdrew it with a hiss as the invisible barrier sparked again.

“There’s no escape for you, your highness, these sigils are specially made to contain any ghost within them” Constantine sounded smug. “You’re just going to hurt yourself by trying”.

The child in the circle mouthed ‘any ghost’ mockingly, but floated backwards towards the center of the circle. Batman sighed, seems like he’s going to have to have all the manners around here.

“John Constantine, Superman, Wonder Woman” he pointed at each of his teammates as he went. “And what name should we refer to you with?”

Without moving his eyes from the man in the trenchcoat, the kid began to smile, just a little too widely for Bruce to feel comforted.

“They call me Phantom”, he said off handedly, “Constantine, you say?” The man in question narrowed his eyes. “You know I have a full file cabinet stuffed with paperwork for you, I was hoping we would get the pleasure of meeting. I would’ve gotten it to you sooner but there's surprisingly a lot of work that has to happen in the first few days of a new reign”. He put his feet back firmly on the conference room floor. “If you’ll just allow me to go grab that, we can get started post haste!” He was way too chipper for anyone to be talking about paperwork.

“So you are the new ghost king then” Constantine said accusationally, narrowing his eyes. “And we’re not letting you leave until we know what your intentions are with this dimension”

“Yeah, yeah” said Phantom. “You don’t have to ‘let’ me do anything. I know how you occultists work. You made one mistake though in this whole summoning slash kidnapping scheme”. With that, a blinding white light overtook the teen, forcing everyone to look aside to save their sight. When they looked back, Phantom had changed his appearance, gone was the ethereal floating white hair, replaced with normal, albeit messy black. His jumpsuit was also gone, replaced by a deceptively normal looking NASA hoodie and jeans with tears in the knees.

Constantine’s eyes widened as he took in this new sight, he began to flip rapidly through his spell book, as Bruce watched the boy take one step forward, and then two, and then with a graceful hop, he was outside of the circle.

“This circle only holds in ghosts” and with a devilish smile and another flash of brillant light, he was gone. On the floor where he had been standing only moments before, was a thick stack of loose leaf papers written in a language Bruce couldn’t decipher, text glowing an eerie green. On top of the stack was a post it note with messily scrawled handwriting. ‘Please return completed paperwork to the infinite realms ℅ Phantom at your earliest convenience’ another flash and another post it note ‘also I come in peace- Phantom’.

Batman, as well as the others turned to Constantine to watch him drop his head into his hands, his large book tumbling to the side. He didn’t even protest when the man pulled out and lit another cigarette.

“You have a lot of explaining to do” was all he said.

#dpxdc #dc x dp #danny phantom #dp fanfic #dp x dc crossover #batman crossover #john constantine #fanfic #my writing

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luvergirl-535 · 5 months ago

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that’s so true

word count - 8.3k

pairing - paige bueckers x azzi fudd

c/w - language, toxic p/toxic relationship (situationship) (kinda toxic a too)? i guess you could call it angst? but it’s very unserious bc i’ve been doing too much serious stuff. fluff and happy ending. very dialogue heavy

a/n - i don’t usually like to incorporate music into my fics but the anon who gave this prompt specifically recommended it so i hope i did it justice! also, this takes place azzi’s freshman year so like 2021/2022, and i know this song didn’t exist then but this is fiction so i can do what i want 😛. hope yall enjoy!!!

They only have five minutes before they’re supposed to leave with everybody else to Ted’s. Unfortunately for Azzi, Paige Bueckers is very hot and also very much on top of her, and both of these things coincide to create quite the predicament: they can’t stop kissing.

It’s normal for them, lately. Kissing is easier than talking, considering talking has gotten harder since they started—whatever this is. Or maybe restarted is a better word, considering they did this same thing in high school. But back then, the kissing was a little clumsier, often fast and desperate, whereas now they’re older, mature (yeah, right) and they take their time with these things, often just making out for hours before they move on to other things, relishing in not having to worry about either of their parents or siblings barging in on them like they used to.

There’s also another difference—back then, they were dating. Like, introducing each other as their girlfriends, going on dates, holding-hands-in-public dating.

That’s different because today—and for the past six months—they’ve been decidedly not dating.

“We don’t need distractions,” Paige had said after they’d fucked, only a month after Azzi came to UConn. (They had both agreed to stay just friends—best friends—but nothing more. But then they had to live in the same building and watch each other get all hot and sweaty at practice and see each other in skimpy pajamas and who were they to blame, really, when they fucked in that club bathroom one heated but sober night? They had spent a year broken up, a year of being long-distance besties, FaceTiming and texting and posting each other on socials with captions like “happy birthday i miss you” and “come see me”. It honestly would’ve been wrong for them to not fuck.)

“Mm—Paige, wait,” Azzi whispers when they finally separate for air.

“What’s up,” Paige says, eyes roving over every inch of Azzi’s face. Her voice is a little raspy from lack of use and it does things to Azzi’s tummy.

“I��you don’t—we need to go,” Azzi urges, pushing at Paige’s shoulders. Paige, of course, just smiles at that, pressing her knee up in between Azzi’s legs. It’s really not her fault when she gasps a little.

Paige chuckles, leaning down to kiss her forehead, then between her eyebrows. “Do we?” she mumbles, pecking the tip of Azzi’s nose and the corner of her mouth. “Like, do we really?”

“Yes, Paige, we do.” Azzi moves one of her hands down to Paige’s occupied thigh, trying desperately to separate the toned muscle from her aching core. “C’mon, it’ll be fun.”

“Definitely not as much fun as this is.”

“Well, we can continue later, when we get home.” That gets Paige to move her knee back, offering Azzi both relief and leaving an ache between her legs. She does her best to flash a sultry smile. “It’s a weekend. We can stay up all night if we want.”

Paige looks at her skeptically. “I thought you were stayin’ sober?”

Azzi moves her head back and forth. “Might not.”

“For real?”

“Uh-huh.” Azzi winds her arms around Paige’s shoulders, then scratches a little roughly down the length of her back, something Paige has always been into. It works, Paige’s jaw dropping just enough to show the pink of her tongue. “I want it, too, P. We just can’t ditch the team again. I think they already suspect us.”

“What?” Paige makes a face and scoffs. “Nah, we’re sneaky.”

“You called me babe in front of everyone at practice.”

“That’s a friend thing.” Paige waggles her eyebrows and plants a kiss on her lips, as if to prove just how friendly they are.

“Nika saw you basically groping me the other day, too.”

“I never did that.”

“My apartment, the kitchen. Movie night. I was making popcorn and you came up behind me and grabbed my tits.”

“Hm. Don’t remember that.”

“You said ‘I wanna fuck you from behind right now,’ and poor Nika walked in and stared at us and said, ‘This doesn’t look like you’re making popcorn’.”

Paige groans, dropping her head into Azzi’s shoulder and effectively laying the entire length of her body on Azzi’s. “I did wanna fuck you from behind. You were wearing those jeans…”

“Paige!”

“Okay, whatever.” Paige is a little muffled now, buried in the crook of Azzi’s neck. Her breath tingles, sending hot shivers up the length of her arm. “I do that to everyone, Nika won’t think anything of it.”

“Oh, really,” Azzi says, tone dropping into something utterly unamused, and Paige’s head pops up when she hears it. “So you say things like that to every bitch?”

Paige’s eyes widen. “No!” she grapples for something to say, and Azzi just raises an eyebrow at her. “I don’t—I meant—I just didn’t wanna admit you’re right, I wasn’t—baby.” Paige juts out her bottom lip. It kinda works. “You know I wasn’t thinkin’.”

This is another interesting thing about their current situation: because they’re not dating, they’ve never discussed where they stand in terms of other people. Sure, at the very beginning, they agreed since it was just casual sex, there was no reason for them to be exclusive. They didn’t want to get anywhere near that line of the all-consuming, intense relationship they had in high school, and they figured seeing other people—or at least having the option to do so—would steer them clear of that. And it worked for about…two seconds.

But then somewhere down the line things got a little blurry and slowly but surely Azzi stopped thinking of them as friends with benefits and as more of a slightly complicated but also fun situationship. Because at some point they started kissing without the goal of sex or even third base, just little pecks here and there when they had a second alone. And then they started staying a little longer each time after they’d fuck—at first, they’d leave directly after. But then they would stay for some basic aftercare, and then it got to full-on snuggling, and then it got to their clothes in each other’s apartments from how often they’d stay the night with each other. And the most recent development which really cemented things for Azzi: Paige has started using pet names outside the bedroom, something she only ever did while they were girlfriends. It’s only been a few weeks since this started and Azzi was absolutely floored when Paige had picked up her phone call with a, “Hey, baby.”

And now here they are, late for yet another night out because Paige is very clearly scandalized at the mere notion of her seeing another girl—even though it’s supposed to be allowed—and Azzi has to be honest, she doesn’t love the idea, either.

“Aw, c’mon,” Paige says when Azzi doesn’t reply. “Don’t be mad at me, mama.”

Azzi blinks up at her, officially not jealous and not overthinking about their complicated situation any longer. “You’re stupid,” she teases, scooting back and sitting up.

Paige follows closely, so that by the time Azzi is propped up against the headboard she’s on her lap. “You’re really stopping us?” she asks.

“We’re already late, I’m sure everybody left without us,” Azzi says, tapping Paige encouragingly on the hip, “so yes.”

Paige doesn’t yet move and doesn’t look like she’s going to until a sharp knock at the door makes both of them jolt. “Hey!” It’s Aaliyah’s voice. “Y’all cannot be taking this long to get ready.”

“I don’t…we just…” Azzi stammers as Paige scrambles off her, and they both get quickly to their feet, making as little noise as possible, “our hair wasn’t cooperating,” she says, reaching up to fix Paige’s tousled hair. “We’ll be right out!”

“You better be, we’re all waiting outside and it’s fucking cold.”

“Coming!” Azzi calls, letting Paige wipe some of her smudged lip gloss, rolling her eyes when Paige smirks at her and says, “Oh, you will be.”

She has no idea what Paige Bueckers is to her, but an annoyance will always take the top spot.

————————————————

When Azzi had claimed she’d stay sober with the other freshmen, she hadn’t accounted for the fact that she has a best friend who loves to party and who loves peer pressuring even more.

“C’mon, just a few shots,” Paige pouts, leaning in too close to her. Azzi glances around the bar, trying to see if anybody is watching them, but she can’t tell. There’s too many people.

“Nobody can hear us,” Paige assures her, placing her hands low on Azzi’s hips, pressing her into the wall of the corner they’re semi-hidden in.

Azzi swears this girl is horrible for her blood pressure. “Paige,” she hisses, removing Paige’s hands, “not here.”

“You shoulda let us stay home,” Paige says, and now that her hands are placed firmly at her sides her eyes do all the wandering for them, raking slowly down Azzi’s body and back up. “I woulda had you fucked out by now, I swear.”

“Oh, I believe you,” Azzi mumbles.

“You seem anxious, baby.” Bravely, Paige holds her again, though this time it’s at a more friendly place, higher up on her waist. Azzi tries to meet her eyes but they’re held firmly on her lips. “Fuck. I wanna kiss you so bad.”

“No, Paige,” Azzi says, as sternly as possible. She would rather like to kiss her too, but not here, not now, not when Paige is tipsy and Azzi is horrendously sober.

“Okay, I’ma go get me another dirty shirley.” Azzi swears she would marry that drink if she could. “And I’ma grab a couple shots for you while I’m at it. And then we’re gonna fuck in the bathroom.”

Azzi smacks Paige on the arm. “I’m done with public restrooms. Once was enough.”

Paige, still sober enough to have some sort of common sense, wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, you’re right. But I’m still grabbing shots.” She smacks a wet kiss onto her forehead and with that, turns around to head toward the bar.

Azzi doesn’t get a second of peace before someone else is sidling up to her. Though when she looks over she sighs with relief when it’s just Caroline. “Hey, Carol.”

“You’re so lucky you have a girlfriend who’ll buy you shots,” Caroline says, looking wistfully in Paige’s direction.

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

Caroline side-eyes her. “Uh-huh.”

“She’s not. We broke up.”

“And then got back together.”

Azzi shoves her away before pulling her back, linking their arms together as she leads them towards their team’s section of seats. “Nope. We’re still exes.”

“Exes who are romantically involved.”

“Carol,” Azzi groans, urging her to shut up as they approach the rest of the girls. “We’re just friends.”

It used to leave a bitter taste in her mouth, lying to her closest friend, the one whose shoulder she cried on when she and Paige broke up. But after six months of doing it, she’s used to it. And it’s not like Caroline believes her, anyway.

“Okay,” Caroline says skeptically. “So if the guy that’s been looking at you since we got here asked for your number, you’d give it to him?”

They’re at the team’s booth now, and Amari perks up at the mention of the slightest possibility of drama. “What guy?”

“I haven’t noticed a guy,” Azzi says, which is the truth. As it usually goes, she’s only had eyes for Paige tonight.

“Over there,” Carol says, leaning against the table and gesturing subtly across the bar. “Muscle shirt.”

“Immediately no,” Azzi replies, not even looking for him in the group of guys across the room. But he must be actively searching her out because just as she’s about to look away she catches his eye, and even though she immediately looks away, she can still see him grin out of the corner of her eye.

“Uh-oh,” Amari mutters. “You engaged him.”

“Don’t make eye contact,” Azzi says, turning away from him to face her friends. “Make yourself unapproachable.”

Caroline turns away, too, and the two of them lean over the table.

Aaliyah looks up from the conversation she was having. “What’re you guys doing?”

“Hiding,” Azzi hisses.

Amari peeks around Azzi’s shoulder, then settles back in her seat. “He’s coming over.”

“What?” Azzi wants to look at him but doesn’t, instead inching herself closer to Caroline. “Save me.”

“Who is that?” Aaliyah asks, not-so-subtly staring at the guy.

“A man about to flirt with Azzi,” Caroline says, nudging her away.

“Oh, Paige is gonna be maddd,” Aaliyah sing-songs, and they all giggle like this is funny and not absolutely awkward and stress-inducing.

Azzi glares at them. “She has no reason to be mad.” And it’s true, she kind of doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean she won’t.

“Oh, yeah?” Caroline asks, glancing behind them just as Azzi feels the man come up behind her. “We’ll see about that.”

And then there’s a tap on her shoulder, and Azzi takes a deep breath before turning around with a strained smile on her face.

“Hey.” Muscle shirt is standing a little too close for comfort, which she’s sure he’ll excuse by the crowded bar but is obviously just him being weird. “You’re Azzi, right?”

“Uh-huh,” Azzi says, leaning back against the table.

“I’ve seen you around,” he continues, smiling cockily, obviously very proud of himself for being brave enough to approach her. “You come here a lot, right? To Ted’s?”

Azzi shrugs, looking casually to her side in the hopes that Caroline will rescue her, but to her astonishment she has slid into the booth next to Aaliyah and is now chatting happily with the rest of the team. “I guess.”

“Noticed you weren’t with Bueckers,” he says, and she winces. Not five sentences into the conversation and he’s already brought up her current situationship. “Thought it was a good opening.” He laughs. She doesn’t.

“How so?” she asks, a little nervously.

“I mean, she obviously doesn’t want anybody coming near you.” A girl squeezes past behind him and he takes it as an excuse to inch even closer to her. Azzi presses herself further back into the table. “Can’t even look your way without her looking like she’s gonna fight someone.”

“She’s just protective,” Azzi says. As if Paige would do that for any of their friends, as if that level of pure possessiveness is normal.

“Right.” He doesn’t sound fully convinced. “You didn’t ask my name.”

God. Why are men so…gross? “My bad.” He stares at her expectantly. “Uh…so…?”

“I’m Elliot,” he says, grinning at her. That muscle shirt is really not doing good things for him. “You want me to buy you a drink?”

“Um, actually—“

“She’s good.”

Azzi’s shoulders sag at the mere sound of Paige’s voice. She can’t help but smile when Paige approaches them, moving roughly past Elliot to sidle up next to her. She hands her two brightly colored shots before slinging an arm around her, firmly ignoring Elliot. “Gotchu these. Lemme know if you don’t like ‘em.”

Azzi nods, and usually she’d shy away from the physical contact, especially right in front of their friends, but now she leans into it, safe under Paige’s arm. “Thanks.”

“Sorry I took so long.” As if sensing her discomfort—which she probably can—she rubs her thumb soothingly over her shoulder. “They’re super busy up there. You okay?”

Azzi opens her mouth to respond, but Elliot interrupts her. “She’s fine, dude. We’re just talking.”

Paige looks at him. “Aight. Well, you can be done talking now.”

Their teammates have gone mostly quiet behind them, and Azzi rolls her eyes when she hears them snickering.

Elliot scoffs, but he’s skinny and a little shorter than Paige, and when her arm tightens around Azzi’s shoulder he puts his hands up. “Damn, okay.”

Azzi breathes a sigh of relief when he’s gone. “Thank god. That was so awkward.”

“You shoulda called me,” Paige says, dropping her arm to turn around and face their teammates. “And y’all shoulda helped her out.”

The girls look up at them innocently. Amari smiles charmingly at Paige and says, “We knew you were gonna do it soon enough.”

Azzi shakes her head and downs one of the shots. It is as disgusting as it looks.

“You guys suck,” Paige says, pulling Azzi into her side once again. “Leaving my girl in the trenches like that.”

Dozens of eyebrows raise at that, and it’s then that Azzi smells the booze on Paige’s breath. She flushes, trying to pull away. “P,” she mutters.

“I know,” Paige says, holding fast to Azzi’s waist, setting her shirley on the table so she can wrap the other around her, too.

“Paige,” Azzi urges, pressed completely now into Paige’s chest and trying desperately to ignore the scrutinizing looks from her teammates. She hopes they’re all too drunk to think hard about Paige’s behavior.

“Yeah,” Paige says, her hand creeping slowly down Azzi’s back.

“Did you have another drink?” Azzi asks, trying to walk them away from the booth, but Paige keeps her feet planted.

“I might’ve had another shot.” Paige grins, and Azzi would easily admit she likes it a lot more than muscle shirt’s. “Missed you, baby.”

The girls are pretending not to eavesdrop, but they’re clearly listening, sharing furtive glances with each other. Which is just—great. Because tomorrow the girls are going to have questions and Paige will be sober enough for that to stress her out, which will in turn stress Azzi out, and there will be no saving face if she lets Paige continue on like this.

“Not now, Paige,” she hisses, trying desperately to push her back.

Paige pouts. Their faces are far too close together. “What, you wanna go back to that guy or sum’?”

Azzi knows she’s not serious, but it still annoys her, and she doesn’t feel quite as comforted in Paige’s arms anymore. “Seriously, I’m not in the mood.”

Paige scoffs, maybe a little more serious now. “Course you aren’t.”

Azzi blinks at her, and when Paige’s hands drop to her sides she takes a step back. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I dunno.” Paige gestured between them. “Just that you never wanna be around me unless we’re fu—“

Azzi’s overstimulated and irritated, but she still has enough common sense to shove Paige hard enough to shut her up. “Don’t.”

Paige watches as Azzi drinks her other shot. “What? You really don’t want anybody to know, huh? You that embarrassed or something?”

Azzi shakes her head in disbelief, stepping back towards Paige so they can at least have this conversation too quiet for anybody to hear. “Are you dumb? You’re the one who wanted to keep this secret.”

“Because I didn’t want my teammates thinking I was distracted!”

“Our teammates, Paige.” Azzi gives her another little shove for good measure, and then she steps away again. “You’re acting stupid. Go chill out and come back when you wanna be normal.”

“Fine. I will.” With that, she turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd. Azzi rolls her eyes at her hot-headedness. They’re both too stubborn for their own good, but Paige is ten times worse when she’s drunk and Azzi has always been more logical. Little, senseless arguments like this never happened when they were dating—or even when they were broken up—but now that they’re at this weird in-between, they’re becoming more frequent.

Hence why they prefer to kiss instead of talk.

Azzi plops down beside Amari, grateful when nobody questions her, and feels a little better when she thinks about how good the make-up sex will be later.

—————————————

There will be no make-up sex tonight. Or ever, Azzi thinks bitterly, glaring daggers at the girl Paige is currently feeling up.

Okay, feeling up might be an overstatement. She has a hand on her arm. But Azzi knows better than anyone that for Paige, hand-on-arm action might as well be foreplay. And the girl seems to sense it, too, if her batting eyelashes and twinkling smile have anything to show for it.

“She’s just doing it to make you jealous.” Once again, it’s Caroline, sidling up next to Azzi to study the tall blonde across the bar.

“I have no reason to be jealous,” Azzi all but spits out, and Caroline smirks.

“Pretend all you want, Az. But it’s impossible to not see what’s going on with you and her.”

“There’s nothing.” Paige’s fingers trail down the length of the girl’s arm and it’s almost like Azzi can feel it, too.

“Are you guys exclusive?”

“No,” Azzi responds immediately, too tipsy to be thinking straight, and when Caroline smiles proudly to herself, she backtracks. “I mean, obviously not. We’re not anything.”

“Well, if you’re not exclusive, she’s not doing anything wrong.”

Azzi hates this bitter reminder and turns her anger onto her best friend. “Shut up, Carol.”

“You two should probably talk about not seeing other people,” Caroline says, as wise and perceptive as ever. (She is also significantly more sober than Azzi is.)

“She can see whoever she wants,” Azzi seethes, stirring the ice in her drink. “I don’t care.”

Paige’s eyes flit from the girl’s face to Azzi. And then, with a little smirk, she leans in to whisper something in her ear, blue eyes never leaving brown as the girl giggles and grabs onto her arm. She smiles, too, and Azzi takes some satisfaction in the fact the girl has no idea she’s not the one Paige is doing this for.

She’s always been good at putting up a show. And Azzi has always been her captive audience.

Not tonight, Azzi decides as she looks firmly away. It’s about time Paige learns to behave herself.

—————————————-

It’s been a long night of drinking and trying not to watch Paige attach herself to this random girl’s hip when Azzi is approached by none other than random girl herself.

She’s gorgeous up close, but Azzi can’t help but notice her brown curls and crescent dimples, the way they’re the exact same height. It nearly makes her laugh.

“Hey,” the girl says, dropping into the bar seat next to Azzi.

“Uh,” Azzi says, vey tipsy and very irate. “Hey.”

“What’s that? It looks so good,” the girl asks, pointing to her drink. Her voice is soft and kind, nothing malicious gleaming in her eyes. Azzi hates it.

“Just a mango daiquiri,” Azzi responds, kind of unable to be snarky about it with the wide-eyed way the girl is looking at her.

“Oh, fancy! I’m definitely gonna cop that.” She smiles conspiratorially at her. Azzi can’t help but smile back. Okay, now she just kind of hates herself. She’s never been one to be rude to girls she’s jealous of. Especially not harmless, sweet ones.

“It’s so good,” she’s saying before she can help it. “And they come in all different flavors so there’s like, endless possibilities.”

“Stop,” the girl gasps.

“I know!” and then they both giggle like the tipsy college students they are. This is possibly even better than hating her, because it’s almost like a smack in the face: look at me, Paige, being the bigger person. Making best friends with your target of the night. How’s that feel?

“Hey,” the girl giggles, leaning her elbows on the bar. “You’re Azzi, yeah? You play so good.”

“Thank you!” Azzi gushes, flashing her dimples as the girl does just the same. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Haven,” she replies. Even her name is nice. Azzi thinks about how Paige must’ve thought the same thing when they met a few hours ago, but she doesn’t like the thought, so she pushes it firmly away.

“Hey,” Haven says, sounding suddenly hesitant. “Um, I actually wanted to ask you something. About…Paige?”

Azzi’s eyes snap to where the blonde sits at the team’s booth—she always seems to know where Paige is in a room, though she never remembers tracking her movements—before she quickly looks back to Haven. “What about her?”

“Well…that,” she says.

“What?” Azzi asks, stirring her drink casually.

“The reaction you just had to me saying her name.”

Okay, so Azzi apparently does not appear as cool and collected as she thought. “Oh, that was just—I mean, she’s my best friend.”

“Yeah?” Haven asks. “Because I kinda got the impression y’all were…”

“No,” Azzi says, trying to contort her features into something like disgust. “Ew. Never.”

Haven raises her eyebrows. “Never?”

Why is everybody deciding to clock Paige and Azzi’s shit tonight? “Okay, like, maybe at one point. But it’s over.”

“Really.” She does not sound convinced at all. Glancing over at Paige, Haven leans forward, as if she’s afraid they’ll be heard. “It’s just, she keeps looking at you and you keep looking back and she was all over you earlier, so like—“

“I wouldn’t say she was all over me.”

“She totally was.” Haven’s looking at her like she’s clueless. “I just…listen, Paige invited me over tonight.” Azzi’s stomach drops. So definitely no make-up sex then. In fact, Azzi might as well pack up her vagina right now because Paige has ruined everybody else for her, too. “And I don’t wanna get in the middle of anything,” Haven continues, completely oblivious to Azzi’s internal vow of celibacy, “especially nothing messy.”

“Yeah, no, I totally get that.” Azzi sighs heavily; considering their situation is exactly what one might describe as messy, Azzi figures it’s probably the right thing to do to tell this poor girl the truth. “To be honest, we kinda are…I dunno. I mean, we fuck.”

“Okay,” Haven nods, sounding not at all surprised.

“She stays over most of the time. I stay at her’s sometimes, but she mostly stays at mine.”

“Spare toothbrushes in each other’s bathroom?”

Azzi winces. “Possibly.”

“Yeow.”

“And, like, generally, we don’t see other people. We used to, at the beginning, but not anymore. We were just talking about it today, actually. Well, not talking about it—we don’t talk about stuff. We’re not serious enough for Paige to wanna talk about stuff.” Azzi is rambling now, and Haven is hanging onto her every word, and Azzi thinks she loves making fast friends with other girls then realizes this is the exact thing that happens every time she gets drunk. Perhaps she crossed over that line awhile ago.

The two of them have their heads close together now, the rest of the bar completely shut out. “But anyway, she said something and I was like, what, you say that to all your bitches? You know, mostly joking but not.”

“Of course.”

“And she was all, no, baby, I would never ever have other bitches, don’t be mad,” Azzi says, deepening her tone in a stupid caricature of Paige’s voice.

Haven gasps. “That was today?”

“Like ten minutes before we came here.”

“And then she was all up on me tonight.” Haven glares in Paige’s direction. “Damn.”

“I know. But like, yeah, we’re not exclusive or anything so it’s fine. But it’s not, you know?”

“Oh, for sure. That’s fucked up,” Haven says haughtily. “So, wait, how long has this been going on for?”

“Uh…six months?” but no, that doesn’t feel right. “Well, I guess, like, four years? But six months.”

Haven blinks at her.

Azzi sighs. “We were super serious in high school.”

Haven nearly screams, slamming her hand on the bar. “She’s your ex?”

“Yes!” Azzi cries, and it feels so, so good for someone to understand her situation. “We were so in love and shit! And then things started feeling weird the summer before she came here—because, like, I’m a year younger than her so she was gonna be in college while I was still in high school and I—I could tell she didn’t wanna be tied down by her lame hometown girlfriend so I ended things.”

“Girl!” Haven yells.

“I had no other choiceeee,” Azzi groans. “She woulda broken up with me if I hadn’t broken up with her.”

“You’re crazy,” Haven says, shaking her head. “That girl is down bad.”

“Stop,” Azzi says, waving her off.

“She is, horrendously.” Haven gestures over to Paige. “As soon as you got to UConn she wanted to start something with you, right? And then y’all have a little tiff and she’s doing the most with another girl just to get your attention?”

“She asked you to go home with her,” Azzi points out. “That definitely wasn’t for my benefit.”

“Um, I’m sorry, have you not noticed how scary alike we look?” Haven asks, and Azzi flushes. “She was definitely gonna pretend I was you. Which I’m not down for, like, at all.”

“She’s such a dick,” Azzi says. Because she may have been in love with Paige Bueckers since high school, but yeah, she’s still kinda a dick.

“Totally,” Haven agrees. “But…

“Don’t tell me you’re about to defend her.”

“Listen!” Haven places her hands on Azzi’s shoulder. “I think her heart’s in the right place. She wants you. She’s just a little…misguided.”

Azzi shakes her head. “She was the one who said we couldn’t be serious. She said we couldn’t have ‘distractions’.”

“And you didn’t stop to think that maybe she was still insecure and hurt by the fact you broke up with her and was protecting herself from getting hurt again?”

Azzi blinks at this drunk, genius girl in front of her. “Whoa.”

“Yeah. You know what, I’m starting to think maybe you’re both a little stupid.”

Azzi shoves her. “Don’t get so cocky, you could be wrong!”

“I could,” Haven admits. “But where would that leave you? With an asshole ex-girlfriend who messes with your head for fun?”

Azzi thinks maybe, if they didn’t look so uncannily alike, she could kiss this girl. “I love you.”

“Girl, I love you more.” Haven pats her arm and leans back on her barstool. “Now take Auntie Haven’s advice and give her the silent treatment for a few days. She’ll realize her mistakes and come running back real quick.”

“What if I don’t wanna take her back?” Azzi says, already knowing it’s bullshit.

“You do. But you gotta make her work for it. And then you have to communicate with her.”

Azzi makes a face. “Didn’t I already tell you we don’t like talking?”

Haven rubs her temples. “There’s your main fucking problem, Azzi.”

It’s then that Haven’s eyes trail to something over her shoulder and before Azzi can ask there’s a large, warm, all-too-familiar ringed hand on her shoulder. “What’re you two talking about over here?”

Azzi looks first at the hand on her shoulder, then slowly up to Paige’s face. Paige raises her eyebrows, waiting for an answer, and then Azzi looks back at Haven, meeting her eyes.

And then they laugh.

“What?” Paige nearly demands.

Azzi brushes her hand off, still giggling. “Leave us alone, Paige.”

“I just didn’t know y’all knew each other,” Paige says, and Azzi delights at how confused she sounds. “Because you two seem pretty buddy-buddy over here.”

“Didn’t realize you were watching so closely,” Haven quips. Azzi giggles.

“Never said I was.” Paige moves from behind Azzi, going to stand beside them, studying them closely. “You two are drunk as hell.”

“So are you!” Haven and Azzi both say at the same time, and tears are forming at this point. Azzi holds on to Haven’s knee to keep herself from falling off her chair.

“Aight, yeah, I’m getting you an Uber,” Paige says to Haven, before touching Azzi’s arm, “And I’ma walk you home.”

“I can get my own Uber,” Haven says haughtily, but Paige already has her phone out.

Once again, Azzi bats Paige’s hand away. “I don’t wanna go home with you.”

Paige rolls her eyes, still navigating through her phone. “I figured, Az. But we live in the same building. Just lemme walk you.”

“You’re not sober enough to walk me.”

“I’ve been drinking water for the past hour, I’m pretty much good.” Paige shuts her phone off and looks at Haven. “You car’ll be here in fifteen.”

“Wish you were pretty much good a couple hours ago,” Azzi grumbles.

Paige’s expression becomes a little less nonchalant at that. “I know, mama, we can talk about it tomorrow.”

And that almost works. But then Haven sends her a warning glare and she straightens up. “No, thanks.”

Paige’s face scrunches up like it always done when she’s shocked, and Azzi hates that it’s still the cutest thing in the world. “Whatchu mean?”

“Exactly that,” Azzi says, standing from her barstool. Her butt is sore from sitting for so long. “And I’ll walk home with the rest of the team, thanks.”

Paige splutters. Haven gives her the middle finger.

—————————————

Later, when they are walking home—stumbling, more accurately—Azzi is leaning against Aubrey when she hears familiar footfalls coming up behind them and braces herself.

“Hey, Azzi,” Paige calls, catching her arm as she catches up. “Come walk with me.”

“I wanna walk with Aubrey,” Azzi says petulantly.

Aubrey looks awkwardly between the two of them.

“Bro, just—“ Paige stops, mindful of their audience. “Let’s just talk, okay?”

“No, thanks.”

“Azzi, c’mon.”

“I’m drunk and I’m cold and I’m mad at you. Leave me alone.”

Paige looks desperately to Aubrey for help. Aubrey just shrugs and says, “What’m I supposed to do? She said what she said.”

“Thank you,” Azzi huffs.

“Man, fuck this,” Paige says. Azzi feels very satisfied when Paige falls back, leaving her alone. But her arm also tingles where Paige had caught it.

Oh, yeah. This makeup sex had better be good for the trouble she’s going through.

—————————————

It isn’t until the next day that, during a car ride with Caroline, Azzi disovers it.

The two of them have always had similar music tastes, so when an unfamiliar song comes on over the speaker, she’s a little surprised. However, as she listens to the lyrics, she finds herself even more surprised at how much they resonate with her.

I could go and read your mind

Think about your dumb face all the time

Living in your glass house I’m outside

“Hey,” she says, “what song is this?”

“That’s So True,” Caroline answers, still staring ahead at the road. “By Gracie Abrams. Why?”

Looking into big blue eyes

Did it just to hurt me, make me cry

Smiling through it all, yeah, that’s my life

“Oh,” Azzi says casually, “no reason.”

——————————————

It becomes very apparent there is a reason when, over the next week, the song becomes everyone else’s problem.

So apparent, in fact, that the team actually starts to worry about her.

“What did you do to her?” Aaliyah asks as soon as Paige walks into the apartment.

“You broke her,” Amari says.

“That stupid song kept me up all night and it’s your fault,” Aubrey continues, pointing menacingly at Paige.

“I didn’t do nothing!” Paige says, backing away from her angry friends.

“You better fix it,” Amari says. “Like, now.”

“Fix what?”

Oddly, they all go quiet at this. Paige is about to ask what’s up with them when music begins blasting from somewhere in the dorm.

“That,” Aaliyah says.

Paige scrunches her nose. “Bad pop music?”

“It is not bad,” Caroline says defensively, joining them in the entryway. When she gets judgmental looks from the other girls, she sighs. “Okay, it wasn’t bad. But Azzi’s been listening to it nonstop for a week and it used to be my favorite song and now I’m sick of it.”

“We’re all sick of it,” Amari adds unhelpfully.

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with me,” Paige says, but of course she’s lying. From what she can make out the lyrics are about a break up, maybe, something to do with jealousy and anger. With the way Azzi’s been dodging her this week (calls sent straight to voicemail, texts left on read, not even a hint of eye contact when they see each other) she knows she fucked up at the party.

It’s not like them to fight—really, it’s not. They’ve gotten into more arguments this year than they have in their entire friendship. Obviously, there’s a correlation there, something major signaling that this whole friends-with-benefits thing doesn’t work for them. Or maybe it does. Maybe it’s the whole best-friends-who-dated-then-became-exes-then-friends-with-benefits thing that they can’t do.

But either way—fights? Like, actual fights that Paige can’t talk (or kiss) their way out of? Those are rare.

She didn’t think their argument at the bar was that big a deal. Didn’t even think her flirting with another girl would make Azzi mad. (She’d been hoping for jealousy because dysfunctional as they may be, the sex is really good and it’s even better when one of them is all riled up).

She has a sneaky feeling this all has to do with that girl at the bar. Haven. The cute one who looked a lot like Azzi and seemed super into Paige until she turned around and became best friends with none other than Azzi herself. She should’ve known that would happen. Azzi always makes friends when she gets drunk.

She just wishes this bout of silence (and celibacy) between them would end already.

“You can’t be serious,” Amari says.

Paige shrugs.

“We all know you two are fucking, Paige,” Caroline says quite bluntly.

And, okay, the sheer panic that Paige feels at this is maybe a little ridiculous.

She never wanted the team—anyone, really—to know she and Azzi were back together. Because, well, they weren’t, for one, and there’s no good way to tell your parents, “Hey, you know how I was super emo about how the love of my life broke up with me before college? Yeah, well, it’s been a year and I’m not totally over it but I fucked her in the bathroom at a club and we’re going steady—as in, fucking—now!”

But the main reason she didn’t want anybody to know is because she was—is—so afraid of having her heart broken again. And if she keeps this to herself, then she gets to act like she doesn’t care if history repeats itself. Gets to move on and not think about it and use other people as rebounds without anybody batting an eye.

But it’s been six months of them going from friends with benefits to best friends who also kiss and have sex to best friends who kiss and have sex exclusively with each other. She may have gotten a little too cocky, may have thought they were finding solid ground, and may have not put so much effort into hiding it.

But Azzi hasn’t spoken to her for a week and she doesn’t even remember what solid ground feels like anymore so yeah, the notion of her friends knowing about them when they may be on the brink of ending is a little scary.

“Okay,” Amari says tentatively when Paige stares blankly at them, “don’t freak. It’s not a big deal. We don’t care.”

“No, I—I know,” Paige stutters.

“Seriously, P, it’s cool,” Aubrey says, patting her shoulder. “Just, you know, go fix it.”

That song has played three consecutive times since this conversation started. They may be right. Paige might’ve broken her.

Might’ve broken them.

“And while you’re at it,” Caroline adds, giving her a little push in the direction of Azzi’s room, “make sure you guys are official so we don’t have to deal with this again.”

Paige tries to plant her feet to prevent her advance towards Azzi, but Aubrey rounds to her front and starts pulling at her arms while Amari pushes and then she’s directly in front of a door with a pink ‘welcome’ sign hanging off the front. As that song thuds accusingly through the door, Paige doesn’t feel very welcome.

“Okay, stop being a pussy,” Aaliyah pipes up from behind them, “and go in there. Please.”

“Make it stop,” Aubrey says. She almost sounds like she’s about to cry.

Paige stares at them, wondering if they’re really going to make her do this. But they all nod at her before disappearing down the hall so it’s just Paige in front of Azzi’s door and she could leave, could just go back home but she’d never hear the end of it from her teammates. (And she might end up hating herself if she does that, too.)

So, with a deep, steadying breath, Paige lifts her fist and knocks.

“Coming,” Azzi calls. Blessedly, the song turns off and there’s some rustling inside before the door creaks open.

Paige expects a lot of things when Azzi first sees her—anger, upset, a door slamming in her face.

What she doesn’t expect is the satisfied smile that flits across Azzi’s face before she carefully fixes her expression into something more somber.

“Uh, hey,” Paige says. “Can I—“

“Come in,” Azzi says gravely, opening the door all the way to let her through.

“Uh, aight.” Nervously, Paige walks past Azzi, a little afraid that is some sort of trap based off the strange way she’s acting. Once she’s inside and the door’s shut, she faces the younger girl, though doesn’t quite look her in the eye. “So, I just…you know, about the other night. At Ted’s.”

Azzi nods. “Go on.”

“Well, I know I started that lil argument and I feel bad.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I was just drunk and I wanted your attention so I acted stupid.”

Azzi crosses her arms impatiently. Paige wishes she had written this down and practiced beforehand or something.

“And with that other girl—“

“Her name’s Haven,” Azzi says sharply.

Paige blinks at her, surprised. “Yeah. Her. Well—“

“She’s actually really nice. We’ve been texting.”

Paige can’t help but scoff a little at that. “What, you gonna leave me for her or sum’?”

“We look related, so no,” Azzi says, raising an eyebrow. “And if I remember right, I thought it was you asking her to come to your place that night.”

Shit. So the two of them really did talk about everything. That’s not great for her.

“I didn’t mean it,” Paige says, which is very much true—she doesn’t know what she would’ve done if Haven had agreed to come over that night, but she certainly wouldn’t have kissed her. “I just, we were arguing and I wanted to make you jealous so we could, like, kiss and make up.”

Azzi crosses the room to sit on her bed, and Paige hovers awkwardly, wondering if she should follow. She decides on staying put. “I was jealous,” Azzi says. “But it just pissed me off.”

“I know, and it was a stupid thing to do.”

“I just—I thought we weren’t really, like, seeing other people.”

Paige freezes. This is completely outside of argument-at-Ted’s territory and it seems a little more like serious-talk-about-us time. Which Paige is just not prepared for at all. She should’ve made notecards for this.

“I mean—we aren’t—but, like…” Paige trails off, and she knows it’s bad how uncertain she sounds when hurt flashes over Azzi’s expression.

“Have you? Been seeing other people,” she asks, and Paige can tell she’s trying to sound nonchalant, putting on a brave face, but in reality she’s terrified of the answer.

Paige rushes to reassure her. “No, Az, no. Not a—seriously, not a single person. Not since that day at the club.” Not since the day Azzi came to UConn, if she’s being a little more accurate. But Azzi doesn’t need to know that.

Again, Azzi tries to act like it doesn’t affect her. But Paige knows her far too well—far too intimately—to miss the way her features relax, her shoulders lowering just a little bit. “Me neither,” she says softly.

Paige lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding at that. “Okay.”

“So…what does that mean?” Azzi asks tentatively.

Now that Azzi seems a little less guarded, Paige takes her chance to sit beside her on the bed, though not too close. “I dunno,” she says lamely, but when she’s met with a heavily annoyed silence, she sighs and tries desperately to think something up. “I mean. We can’t really be casual and exclusive. That’s not really how that works.”

“Yeah,” Azzi says.

Paige waits for her to pick up the conversation at least a little, but she doesn’t, and Paige is forced to go on. “I don’t—I think it’s not even something I want anymore. The whole casual thing.”

It’s hard, getting the words out, like each syllable is a barrier being broken, and maybe it is. Paige looks down at her hands, fiddles with them, anything so she doesn’t have to watch Azzi’s reaction.

“Paige,” Azzi says quietly.

And when Paige catches the hesitancy in her tone—the fear—she is suddenly too desperate and maybe even too in love to keep quiet just because it’s hard. Because she can’t do this, not again. She can’t watch Azzi walk away without at least putting up a fight.

“I know what I did was wrong,” Paige blurts out before Azzi can say anything else. She looks up, stares at the wall ahead, before turning to Azzi. She tries to detect the look in her eyes and what it may mean, but can’t. “At Ted’s. And I’m sorry. I guess I just—these past six months have been so—I mean, they’ve been good, but they’ve also been super fucking confusing and kinda scary, too. It’s like I’m always on edge waiting for you to end things, so whenever we get too close to how we were—before, in high school—I back out, no matter how hard it is. No matter how good it feels to have you again.”

Azzi opens her mouth, the beginning of a word escaping, but Paige’s heart races and she stands, stopping her. “But I’m realizing that I don’t think I can do that with you. I don’t think I can be just friends with you, or friends with benefits, or even whatever the hell it is we’ve been doing. Every day since you ended things I’ve been a fucking wreck, Azzi.” And it’s true. Her freshmen year had been hard, spent sleeping with random caramel-skinned, dimpled girls to try and fill the Azzi-shaped void in her heart. And the summer after was hell, too, reconnecting with Azzi long-distance and trying to become friends again, acting like they were never anything more. And the past six months has been the worst of it all, because having Azzi but not really having her, keeping her at an arm’s length and teetering on this edge of will she do it again and when will it happen proving almost painful.

Azzi stands, too, stepping in front of her, tilting her chin just slightly up to make eye contact like she’s always had to do. “I didn’t want that, Paige,” she says, almost as if she’s pleading. “I wanted—I thought you’d have more fun if you were single. I thought you’d resent me for, like, tying you down.”

Paige looks at Azzi for a solid few seconds, trying to discern whether she’s fucking with her. And when Azzi doesn’t laugh or tell her this was all a stupid prank she turns around, pushes her hand through her hair, and then faces her again. “Are you fucking for real?”

“Yeah,” Azzi says sheepishly. “I thought—I don’t know. I was also sixteen and stupid and insecure, and I just wanted to make you happy. I didn’t think about what I wanted.” She looks down at her feet. “Didn’t realize how hard it’d be.”

“Yeah, you were stupid,” Paige snaps, and when Azzi flinches, she takes a step towards her. “You really thought that I’d—what, not want you? Want to fucking break up so I could hoe around?”

“Kind of!” Azzi says, throwing her hands in the air. “Things already felt off that summer before you left—“

“Because I didn’t want to leave you!” Paige practically shouts, and she wonders briefly why they never bothered to discuss this before. “I had no idea what I was gonna do when we were so far apart, but you know what? We could have handled it. We could’ve handled a year. I wanted to handle it, if it meant we could stay together.” She takes another step closer, so they’re face-to-face now. “I thought you were bored of me or sum’, you know? I was so fucking hurt.”

“I wasn’t trying to hurt you!” Azzi cries. “Obviously I wasn’t bored, Paige, or I wouldn’t have jumped your fucking bones the minute I got to school.”

“And obviously I didn’t wanna be single or I wouldn’t have let you!”

Silence washes over them, and Paige is sure she could hear a pin drop, almost as sure as she is that their teammates are thoroughly listening to this argument outside the door. But she doesn’t care. Not when she’s looking close-up at the girl she’s loved forever and seeing her for the first time in almost two years—inches apart without hidden hurt or secret regrets tucked between them.

They’re both breathing heavy, both affected by everything they’ve just said and everything that still needs to be said but it’s not a surprise that they hold each other’s gazes, both too stubborn to be the first to look away.

And when the eye contact becomes too much for Paige to bear, she decides she will not chicken out, will not let her trepidations hold her back this time. And she leans forward and kisses her.

They’ve kissed—a million times, probably. Maybe more. At this point, they’ve learned each other down to the last breath, the last hair on their heads. They know exactly where to put their hands, exactly how to tell what the other is feeling based off the way they move their lips, exactly what things to say in between kisses. But despite all that, this—this feels brand new. Gentle, and tentative, but excited, too, like they know it’s the mark of something different. Something better.

———————————-

A week later, when Paige appears at her doorstep with a nervous little smile and flowers to take her on their second-first date, Paige asks her about the ‘lame girly song’ she’d been playing on repeat. Azzi tells her the song is not, in fact, lame, and is actually really quite good. She doesn’t admit that she can’t listen to it anymore.

(And, because I know you’re all wondering—yes, the makeup sex was as good as Azzi’d hoped.)

#lilah’s works #this is so stupid #but i kinda love it #this was so fun to writeeee #can’t wait to write the smut scene 😈#hope yall like #pazzi #paige bueckers #azzi fudd #pazzi fics

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clanwarrior-tumbly · 1 month ago

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Hello again. I have another idea that occurred to me during class. Does ENA know what a birthday is? It's been so long since I watched the series. If she does know, she's probably never had one for herself (definitely not a good one). What if reader found out and was like "no, you're existence is worth celebrating and I'm glad you are in my life. I'm gonna do something to prove it." I feel like this idea fits more with Series!ENA, but I think BBQ!ENA would also benefit from not having her point of existence for someone be just endless tasks for once. Thoughts on this? Don't worry if you have too many requests to do right now, I just wanted to once again throw my thoughts out there. Please have a good day/night!

It's okay! I love all these ideas ya'll are giving me. I'd like to think she does, but she's never had a good one nor one worth remembering.

But I'll do both girlies justice bc I want them to be happy <3

......

Series!Ena

It's just a normal rainy day, where you and Ena were taking shelter inside your home. You were watching a show on the 32-Bit television while she was staring at your calendar like it was the morning paper.

"[Y/n], it's come to my attention that you have a specific date marked here that is rapidly approaching."

"Um..I have several things marked on that calendar, Ena." You pause the episode to look at her. "You're gonna have to be more specific than that."

"Why, I'm referring to your birthday, of course!" Her feminine voice giggles, before switching back to her more masculine tone. "Got any special plans? Are you ready for the ritualistic songs and rites of gift-exchanges?"

"Erm...ready as I'll ever be, sweetheart."

"That's wonderful! But hmm....what day should my birthday be on this year?" She holds a marker up, looking over several dates with a quizzical expression. "June? October? February 29th? Or maybe---" You see her violently glitch into her sad form. "--nevewr! Because everyone threw my invitations away LAST yeawr!! All that time and effowt...GONE!! Just like I should be!" She slams her head down onto the table and sobs, tears and marker bleeding into the paper.

Once again, you were forced to learn something truly and utterly devastating about your girlfriend: she's never had a good birthday celebration.

Before meeting you, she was vaguely aware of the "tradition". And one random day last year, she declared it to be her birthday, simply because it felt very "birthdayish", and sent out as many invitations as she could.

Nobody else showed up, except Moony and a small hourglass dog that she kept hostage in her pocket dimension--both of whom stayed for merely five minutes before leaving her in front of a burnt turron, depressed beyond measure.

Ena told you offhand that people seemingly laughed at her invitations and rolled their eyes, claiming that her "annoying" existence wasn't worth any kind of celebration......but she acted like it didn't bother her until now.

She assumed it's because she got the day "wrong" and tried aiming for a different one this time, one that both you and her could agree upon.

But given her current wailing and the fact that you'll definitely have to order a new calendar soon....she was feeling pretty hopeless.

Luckily you're quick to come up with an idea, as you hated seeing your girlfriend like this. "Hey, how about we make it for tomorrow? I have something good planned."

"No, just fowget it. I-I'm not in the mood anymowe." She sniffles, looking at you. "M-My existence is worthless-"

"No, it may not mean a lot to some people...but it means a lot to me. More than you could possibly know." You insist, rubbing her back. "I want to celebrate you, Ena, because I love you and I'm so happy that you exist. I'm glad you're part of my life."

"...you're just saying thaaaat."

"No. I'll prove it to you. Let's just mark it down for tomorrow, okay? I promise you won't regret it." You give her a kiss, and for a moment, you see the white half of her face smile. Just barely.

"O...Okay.."

Tomorrow comes, and Ena expects nothing...yet you surprise her with turron, made from a recipe you acquired from a shady stall, decorated with blue and yellow candies and adorned with a pick featuring a popup ad that said "Happy Existence Day, ENA".

Since she's not a big fan of parties, it was just you two spending the day together and her getting calls from the few entities who tolerated her (Moony, Merci, Phindoll, etc.).

It's a great day, and you two end it going out for drinks, where she's switching between her drunk forms while ranting about how much she appreciated you (which is the most you've understood her while she was in that state), and giving you a lot of hugs and slurred words of affirmation.

But you know she means them with all her heart and soul, even if she forgets the next day.

She's so happy that her entire body stays yellow even as you both come home, and she hugs you and sincerely thanks you for proving her wrong.

BBQ!Ena

It started off as a harmless and innocent inquiry, not giving it much thought. "Weird question, Ena...but have you ever celebrated a birthday before?"

"Pfffft, have I ever taken a vacation?" Her Meanie side bluntly sneers back, staring at you as though she gave you a riddle to solve.

"Uh..not that I can-"

"CONGRATS!! You've just answered yourself! Want a gold star for that?!" She goes back to admiring the png of some unidentified organ floating between her hands, trying to determine its market value.

Although her face eventually flickers back to its Salesperson side, who appears a little guilty for her outburst. Her gaze lingers, eyes buzzing with curiosity and....a hint of longing and want.

"Apologies." She suddenly claps her hands, the organ turning into nothing but bloody ooze that dissolves into the soil. "What I meant to say was....no. I'm not familiar with such a tradition. Is the commemoration of one's existence a common practice in your workplace?"

If you're human, this is yet another simple question you could answer. But even if you weren't, you fully knew about birthdays and have celebrated some yourself, or other friends'.

Apparently, Ena doesn't even know what that entails, and/or believed hers was simply not recognized by others since her species isn't well-liked around here.

All her life, she's only ever known how to carry out endless tasks and never doubt the assignment. That was her M.O, and to take some random day off would make her Meanie side break out into a cold sweat.

But ever since that conversation, you've heard her uttering a specific date that seemed important. One that was coming up soon. She spoke of it in various ways: through her business cards she hands to clients who didn't wanna take them in the first place. Through graphs she sketches of your probabilities of success in a job, hidden in plot points. And even through hushed whispers when you're both cuddling, but she refused to elaborate further.

Either something really good or really horrible occurred on that date. It was 50/50 guess, but from what you've gathered, it was the day she broke free of her mannequin husk and formulated her own identity.

It seemed close enough to a birthday, so you rolled with it and began planning something for her behind the scenes (with Froggy's reluctant assistance).

You wanted her to know that you appreciated her existence. Meanie sometimes found it hard to see that, and Salesperson, while she understands and appreciates your appreciation, thinks you're mainly with her for the "business" and "workplace benefits"--so you had to prove both sides of her wrong.

You loved her for her, not for what she was capable of.

When that fated date arrived, you sent her an S.O.S, and she rendezvous at the scene (your house) asap, wondering what the emergency was.

Instead, she finds you and a simple surprise on the table. And for once...this talkative entity has no words.

While you weren't sure if turrons were an ENA's universal favorite, you took a shot in the dark and baked one with fluffy white powder and red candy sprinkles on top, adorning it with a pick that had a star that simply looked cool. It was small, as you didn't wanna risk messing up a big cake.

Froggy criticized your entire baking process, but you were proud of its result, and even prouder when your girlfriend took one bite, and her eyes lit up like the fourth of july.

Not only that, but you also gifted her a laminated photograph of your first assignment with Ena. It stood the test of time, covered in a few scratches here and there. She didn't even know you had a camera.

"Oh, I stole it actually. But I promised to pay them...........woah, are you crying??" You see her static tears getting on the turron, desaturating its vibrant color.

She still hasn't said a word, but she can't stop crying silently and trembling. And it scares you at first. You're convinced that you royally screwed this up and today was actually the worst day of her life--

Until her head floats a little more away from her body than usual to kiss you on the cheek.

Before Meanie takes over and lightly headbutts you. "Now look what you've done, you idiot! Getting me all sappy like this on my Existence Day is gonna cost you!" She snaps, even though she's fighting back a smile and more tears.

".....what's it gonna cost me?"

"C-Calculating........one hug will suffice." Salesperson mutters, sniffling.

"Oh! Alright. You had me worried there." You cradle her head in your arms, petting her hair. "So...I was right. Today's the day you, the love of my life, came into existence. I'm glad you were born, and I'm not listening to anyone--Genie or not--who says you should be punished for that."

Once again, you've managed to silence her, through words this time instead of actions. There's no back sass from Meanie. No business offers or quips from Salesperson.

All she does is close her eyes and allow herself this moment of joy.

You proved a big point: She is worth celebrating, and you made damn sure she knew that this was gonna become a yearly occurrence.

She won't use it as an excuse to slack off of work, but she's always curious as to what surprises you'll have waiting for her next time.

#clanask #anonymous #ena x reader #ena dream bbq x reader #dream bbq x reader #webseries ena x reader #headcanons #fluff #birthday headcanons

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sleeplessdreamer14 · 1 month ago

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𝓦𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷’𝓽 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓢𝓽𝓪𝓻𝓼 𝓘𝓷 𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓐𝓤: 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓻𝓵𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓗𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓵 𝓻𝓮𝓲𝓶𝓪𝓰𝓲𝓷𝓮𝓭

special mention to @cosmiiwrites for inspiring this AU in the first place :}

I’m going to preface this by saying this version of Charlie is quite different from her canon counterpart; much more mature and emotionally intelligent and not as naive. (I gave her critical thinking skills and empathy) Still very bubbly and friendly, but not so childish.

Despite knowing that sinners are in Hell for a reason, the exterminations are still kind of a rough time for her, what with all the bloodshed. But she understands why it has to happen and that it ultimately puts these souls out of their misery.

Much more proactive concerning the lives of hellborn demons, doing her best to make existence easy for them. It is their native home after all.

The hotel isn’t for redemption, it’s just something she likes doing, especially after Lilith left.

Charlie was close with her dad, but definitely a mama’s girl growing up. Once the idealistic lense she viewed her mother through was cracked, she needed something to fill her days. Besides, she’s always had an affinity for taking care of people.

She also has made jobs for hellborn demons who need them, and pays wonderfully. Housekeeping, cooking, bartending, etc. and they all get their own quarters.

Charlie and Ronnie (I renamed her Veronica, and I still have yet to flesh out her role in this AU) aren’t dating yet, as much as she would like to. She just has a lot on her plate and knows she’s just not yet ready to get back on the dating scene, especially after her last relationship.

As busy as the hotel keeps her, she makes sure to call Lucifer at least a few times a week.

Looooves 20th century stuff, just something about it sparks joy in her. She’s about 200 years old, so the fashion, films, and music of that era hold a special place in her heart. She has all the Don Bluth and Steven Spielberg movies, and Thumbelina is her favorite.

She has a genuinely good heart, of course, but can be impatient sometimes, which leads to her slipping up and making a wrong turn every so often. But despite all that, she’s mature enough to admit when something is her fault and owns up to her mistakes.

Her passion bubble isn’t as near the surface as it was several decades ago, but she still gets riled up sometimes. (I’ll do her Big Scary™️ design if this gets enough notes)

also yes she has a Customer Service Voice, and it gave the others some major whiplash the first time they heard the difference.

Now regarding her design

I wanted to give her some actual body mass so she doesn’t look like she might break if you hug her too hard. I know Viv designed her after a porcelain doll, but her skin being just straight up white never really sat right with me, so I give her some pink undertones and red accents in her ears.

For her horns, I really just changed the position and shape, and they’re out 24/7.

The inconsistency of her face spots in the show bothered me a tiny bit so I replaced them with the little hearts on the apples of her cheeks. (hehe lol)

I took away the red in her bangs because I wanted her hair to actually make sense. Both her bubble braid in the series and her hair in the pilot bugged me in some way, so I found a middle ground. Seriously, I feel like they were really just trying to rip off series Rapunzel with her, so I did her a proper justice.

As stated in this post here, her tux in the series really grins my gears, so I fixed that :>

I imagine that after a long day of running the hotel, Charlie would change into something a little more loose fitting than her work uniform, and I wanted to see her wearing something other than red so I tried out some cooler tones for her leisure outfit.

If I had a quarter for every time a character in this show wore a bow tie, I could probably get myself a diet soda, so I replaced hers with a garnet heart bolo tie, which doubles as the pendant of the choker necklace she wears off the clock.

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imjustdelusionalok · 7 months ago

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yandere!dc: goddess! darling

ⁱⁿᶠᵒ ᵃᵇᵗ ᵗʰⁱˢ ᵈᵃʳˡⁱⁿᵍ۫ ꣑ৎ

darling is a god from another world who just so happens to immigrate into the dc universe after a very long time of probably embodying... well, everything.

firstly having to live for love as a human, and then ending it all to fight for the beauty of life as god.

she is the reason for existence, from the big to the miniscule.

(so basically op goddess reader who has wayyyy too much power in their hands-- ex: nothing can kill them, nothing can put an end to them, etc--)

the least you could do is seal away her powers, but even that would truly not be enough because your only sealing away 0.000000000000001%. (i mean that 💀)

*cough* anyway... aside from goddess reader backstory, lets go to the inspiration <33

she's a mix of Madokami from Puella Magi, HoF Kiana Kaslana from Honkai Impact, and mostly of Ishtar Ashtart/Space Ishtar from Fate Grand Order <3

originally kind and lighthearted after becoming 'God', but as time passes and stars dimmed, she has become... well... neutral. not good, but DEFINITELY not bad. like this!

"let me help you :)" to "...From the dawn of creation. Man has come from the ground not by his hand but mine. go back to the land and return to dust."

summary: lawful, void, alien... yet beautiful, destructive, human.

sooooo. yup.

ʰᵉᵃᵈᶜᵃⁿᵒⁿˢ ᵗⁱᵐᵉ۫ ꣑ৎ

...she has met the justice league before. because, who in their right minds would ignore the giant falling 'star' that came out of a very visible tear in the sky caused by said celestial body???

dramatically crashing down the surface like a meteorite, you lowkey may have destroyed a 'few' buildings... whoopsies :p

they are surprised. this... girl, no- alien, exudes endless quantity of power, leaking from every blurred pore. it also seems like they might be power themselves...

batman goes bazingas at the amount of destruction caused by your fall leading to an airheaded you getting towed to the JL headquarters and any sort of refusal or fighting back is unallowed. (even tho your more than capable of destroying anything AND everything you still oblige)

though cool as ice, you are so confused deep down. head tilted, vacant expression, the usual from the emotionally detached goddess albeit with a little change. 'what are these humans talking about?' you think, 'what threat?' you think again, unaware that you are the threat being spoken of.

the white slits of the vigilante's mask narrows at your disposition. everything about you seems... off. from your oppressing aura, to the... heavenly allure your blankness brings.

"more alien than the actual alien," a familiar scarlet speedster jokes, in an attempt to lighten the heavy mood. (he failed horribly btw) said alien rolls their eyes and sighs. though he has to admit, you lowkey look kind of cute... but he stops, remembering lois.

once you say your side of the story, they go all shocked pikachu faces again. your a god from another seperate world??? i mean dont get them wrong though, they had their fair share of situations like these, as some dc villains and heroes they know arent even from here originally. but they cant help but feel a bit different about you, something about you makes their soul writhe... and its not in a bad way.

so once B confirms your not a threat despite your extreme potential to act like one, everybody is relieved. you just need a littleeeeeee supervision, thats all :3

and oh look at that, your actually not that bad. your cold demeanor fades once they got to know you, and that void in your eyes is filled with a light comparable to the twilight star's soothing glow— pure, tranquil, and ever so mystifying.

every step you take, life seems to exist and flourish all around you. life heals around you. not only that, but also... them. the dead part of them actually, that died from complications now too complicated to be retold and remembered.

you fill the void they never knew they had, and all their aching scars were no longer painful but tolerable. bearable even, and its all because of you.

at this point, everybody knows how this all plays out. this ordinary tune, twisted into a fanatic's song.

their once innocent admiration has now spoiled into something darker, the more you stay in this world. holy eyes peeked at it, not at them but at the abyss that is their 'love.'

...you were starting to get aware. and a rarity occurred, you were... 'saddened'. for eternities you lived alone, and in an attempt to reconnect with that sliver of humanity you hid and kept, you went here to feel something again. and you did, and you were so successful.

too successful, in fact.

they loved you; so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so, sooooo much. without you, they would die! :(

and that, in your eyes, is what makes you 'sad'. if your presence drives your beloved mortals to insanity's grip, then you must fly.

fly away from this despair, fly away from this madness.

your 'love' is your undoing, and ultimately also theirs.

their eyes widen as the sky is torn once again, and a familiar star flies back into it, meaning that you--- left. left? left. left? left... left.

something inside them breaks. both hearts any sense of rationality and morality left.

there is no reason to exist without you it seems, and they will do everything just to see you once more, even a second's glimpse.

˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

...you can't help but feel something you havent felt for a very long time. what was it again, sadness? anxiety? fear? you dont know. the endless rows of your ivory silks flutter even in the slightest movement. something tugs at you, your mind and heart. something tugs at you, telling... that it is far from over.

they call for you, their cries drowned in obsession masquerading as love.

you never answer, as your supposed concern and care for them lessens and your patience dwindles. reality is cruel, but never crueler than you. and that's when you realized it.

...they make your skin crawl. they make you want to vomit. they make you want to scream and cry. they make your ichor run cold. and if they touch you again, you'll--

...huh. who would have thought that was how you truly felt, goddess.

#yandere dc #yandere bruce wayne #yandere clark kent #yandere barry allen #yandere justice league #dark dc #dc comics #yandere batman #yandere superman #yandere flash #yandere #yandere x reader

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burningcheese-merchant · 1 month ago

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I think more ppl need to see this

Yeah for real lol. That's exactly what it is with him. Not to toot my own horn too much but I believe this post I made ages ago hits the nail on the head haha

"I'm bored" is... technically true. In a sense. Personally, I think it's a very simple and vague allusion to the real problem. That thin sheet of snow coating a massive, freezing cold iceberg. Just barely obscuring it from proper view.

imo it's been a bit disappointing seeing people take to extremes with Burning Spice's character. I've seen people either woobify him, downplay or excuse his actions by saying "he's not evil! He's hurting! He's depressed! He doesn't hate people, he's lashing out because he can't internalize his pain anymore!", or just demand he be put to death immediately on sight without trial. You can like a morally repulsive character and sympathize with their issues while also acknowledging that they're repulsive and need to face justice for their crimes. Burning Spice is one of my favorite characters, I love everything about him, he's sexy as fuck, I understand why he's the way he is, I'm still happy to see his ass beat because he's a piece of shit and he deserves it lol.

Not to throw shade at "simpler" villains ofc. I love me some assholes that are assholes just because they can be. Like Jack Horner in Puss in Boots 2. But Burning Spice isn't Jack Horner and he honestly shouldn't be. The deeper, sadder, more complex reasons governing his actions suit him better than just "I'm bored fuck this shit" and nothing else ykwim

and of course, he's still wrong. Burning Spice's view of the world is wrong. Does a book begin just to end? Does a song play just to finish in a few minutes' time? No. They begin so that we may read, listen, and enjoy. So that they may make us laugh, or have us shake our heads in disappointment, or tell us some hidden truth. Make our days and lives a little more interesting than they were before. Life is beautiful BECAUSE it is fleeting. Born, grow, wither, born, grow, wither. Yes, that's how it goes. But there's so much more to those things than just what we can gather from those three words. Every day is different. Though the sun rises every morning without fail, it's never quite the same color, is it? Always a bit of a different shade of yellow, orange, red, bleeding into the sky a little differently each time. There are so many things to see and do, games to play, people to meet and love and cherish. Maybe some of those things and those people won't be here someday but that doesn't mean their existence never meant anything. We are not born to die, we are born to live. We must die for those who are to live, and live for those who have died. Regardless, we must never lose sight of the intrinsic value of all that surrounds us. Burning Spice very much did. Underneath his bitterness and anger and (not unfounded, to be fair) lamentation for the unstoppable cycle of life and death is a deep-rooted selfishness and fundamental lack of understanding and appreciation for life and other people. In the face of despair, he gave in and chose evil. He was and is wrong for doing so, regardless of why he did it. He could've stepped down. He could've just admitted he didn't have what it took to be the Herald of Change. Hell, if he really hates being alive so much, he would've committed suicide a LONG time ago. But he never did any of that; instead he chose to inflict an equal or greater suffering on everything and everyone else, even the undeserving. And for that he MUST pay. And Golden Cheese, with her personality and her experiences and the wisdom she came to attain when faced with the exact same despair as Burning Spice, is exactly the right person to make him do that

#i remember a long while ago in a post i made talking abt BS and his worldview...#...I made it sound like I actually did buy the “I'm just doing this because I was bored” thing #in hindsight i should've made it clear that i was entertaining that concept just because. just for the sake of a made up argument #i never actually believed he was just bored and nothing else lol that analysis post I made 100 years ago should be proof enough #I'm not about to go digging for it but I'm a little worried i accidentally gave the wrong impression to people now 😅#i know who BS is you guys I know why he's who he is I played the game i understand the assignment i swear #cookie run kingdom #burning spice cookie #burning spice crk #merchant asks #also fuck nihilism all my homies hate nihilism #life has meaning. life has worth. always no matter what #my parents are going to die someday does that mean i shouldn't care about them? just as a random example #life is beautiful no matter what ofc but death being a constant factor that determines its end makes it even more so #we have a duty to understand and cherish what we have because someday we won't have it anymore #and then when we don't. we have to accept that. and continue our way forward. try to find happiness again #“don't cry because it's over. smile because it happened” that kind of mindset

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astra-ravana · 4 months ago

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The Necessity Of Baneful Witchcraft

Baneful magick refers to any spellwork intended to harm, manipulate, or obstruct a target, whether for justice, retribution, or personal defense. While some witches avoid it due to ethical concerns or spiritual beliefs, others see it as a natural and necessary aspect of the craft. Baneful magick has existed in various cultures for centuries, from the hexes of European cunning folk to the protective bindings of African diasporic traditions. It is neither inherently good nor evil; rather, its morality depends on intent, consequences, and perspective.

There are several schools of thought regarding baneful magick. Practitioners who follow the Wiccan Rede (“An it harm none, do what ye will”) generally avoid baneful magick, believing in karmic consequences or the Threefold Law, which states that any energy sent out returns threefold. Some witches believe baneful magick is justified when used to restore balance, enforce justice, or protect the vulnerable. In these traditions, curses and hexes are seen as rightful retribution rather than malicious acts. Many practitioners see magick as a tool, neither good nor bad. They believe in personal responsibility, understanding that every action carries consequences, but do not impose rigid moral codes on their spellwork.

Examples of Baneful Magick

• Binding Spells – Used to restrict an individual’s actions, preventing them from causing harm.

• Reversal Spells – Sending negative energy or a curse back to its sender.

• Curses & Hexes – Magick designed to inflict misfortune, pain, or long-term suffering.

• Jinxes – Short-term spells that cause minor inconveniences or bad luck.

• Poppet Magick – Using a doll or effigy to influence or harm a target.

• Gazes – Using a method such as the Evil Eye or overlooking to curse with the eyes.

Why is it Needed?

The necessity of baneful magick in witchcraft is a topic of debate among practitioners, but those who advocate for it argue that it serves several essential functions within a balanced magical practice. Here are some key reasons why baneful magick is considered necessary by some witches:

• Protection and Self-Defense: Baneful magick is often used as a form of spiritual, energetic, or even physical protection. Many practitioners believe that not all threats can be dealt with through passive means, and sometimes, direct action is necessary to deter harm or prevent further attacks. This can include curses, bindings, and hexes against those who pose a danger.

• Justice and Retribution: Some witches view baneful magick as a means of enforcing justice when mundane methods fail. If someone has committed harm without consequence, certain magical traditions believe that spells can be used to balance the scales, ensuring that the wrongdoer faces the repercussions of their actions.

• Maintaining Balance: Witchcraft, like nature, operates on the principle of balance—both creation and destruction. Baneful magick is seen as part of the natural cycle, ensuring that energies remain in harmony rather than allowing unchecked positivity to enable harm. Just as nature has predators to maintain ecosystems, some believe magick must include baneful aspects to keep equilibrium.

• Empowerment and Boundaries: Engaging in baneful magick can be an assertion of personal power and boundaries. It allows practitioners to reclaim control over their lives, particularly when they have been wronged or oppressed. It can serve as a psychological and magical declaration of sovereignty.

• Shadow Work and Personal Growth: Baneful magick forces practitioners to confront their own darkness, ethics, and the consequences of their actions. It requires deep self-awareness, ensuring that spells are cast with full knowledge of their impact. Many believe that working with darker aspects of magick leads to a more complete and mature understanding of power and responsibility.

• Dealing with Persistent Negative Forces: Some believe that certain entities, people, or energies simply will not respond to healing or banishing techniques. In such cases, baneful magick may be seen as the only viable solution for neutralizing a persistent threat or malevolent force.

While baneful magick is not necessary for every practitioner, those who incorporate it into their craft see it as a tool—one that, like any tool, should be used responsibly, ethically, and with careful consideration of its consequences. Just like nature, magick is neither black or white, it just is. As a witch, it is your right to use your magick to defend yourself, and then some.

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uglypastels · 10 months ago

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omg what about Logan being like the softest with a sensitive/shy reader. Idk in what context like maybe she’s just overwhelmed with life and kinda closed off in terms of voicing what’s wrong and you know he’s usually very stoic but he’s the BIGGEST softy. Totally not projecting btw.

YEsss Logan is such a fucking softie, no matter how hard he'd want to try and hide it. thank you for being my first request for this fandom i hope i can do it some justice 🫶 and pleeease, we love to project here so please, go right ahead.

warnings: darkness. anxiety. loneliness. alcohol. fem!reader. reader's mutation specified. mentions of past [implied toxic] relationship. so some angst but also bunch of fluff at the end. also please don't come for me if he's a bit out of character. this is my first time writing Logan so it will be trial and error.

~ X-Men Requests Open ~ Masterlist ~

It was the dead of the night. Quite literally. All around you was so quiet and dark that the rest of the world might as well have ceased to exist. All you heard was the floorboards creaking under your footsteps as slivers of moonlight illuminated your path through the corridors of the mansion. It was the rare instance that you felt at peace.

Yes, you knew almost as soon as you stepped inside the large building and saw all these mutants walking around happily and carelessly that you had found a true safe haven, and yet, months later, you still had not found your bearings. It did not help that you were not exactly in the age bracket of most of the residents here. Having the mansion double as a school meant most of the mutants were in that school-going age range, and while they were lovely (for the most part), you had no desire to befriend children. Then, those who you felt more drawn to socially, like Storm or Jean, were all apart of that special ops team, which always left them busy, if not completely absent, while away on missions.

Thus, most of your days went by in solitude. Something you had gotten used to throughout your life. Over the years it had become natural for you to simply disappear into your surroundings. Wether you wanted to or not, people simply overlooked you. In hindsight, it explained your mutation perfectly… or was that just an aftereffect of it? You had always wondered if it was one’s personality that influenced the mutation or the other way around.

Either way, for you, it all merged into one dark abyss.

By now, you had gotten a hang of all the floor plans of the giant building, especially the route between your room and the kitchens.

You hadn’t checked the clock when you got out of bed, but it must have been around 2 am, if not later. You didn’t expect anyone to be up at this ungodly hour. Especially not walking out of the dark kitchen exactly as you were coming through the threshold. The two of you bump, chest to chest, and the contact immediately made you burst out in a high-pitched scream. From the other side of the impact, you heard a muffled grunt and the sound of a blade being pulled. That was enough for your flight or fight mode to activate. You almost choked on the deep breath you took. The blade swung in your direction, but it only slashed the air where you once stood.

‘Who’s there?’ it was a male voice. Hard and deep, almost wild. In your other form, your eyes adapted much better to the dark, and so you could see him looking around himself wildly. You counted the sharp appendages in his hands— no, they were coming out of his arms— six long claw-like blades ready to impale the very first thing that’d move.

There was no doubt about it that this must have been the infamous Logan everyone around the mansion talked about. From what you had heard, he had been away for almost a year on some top-secret assignment for the Professor, but now he had apparently returned.

And what a comeback he has made, nearly stabbing you in the hallway.

‘Who’s there?’ he repeated his question louder, still looking around.

‘Just me.’ Your voice came out as the exact opposite of his, soft and weak, and you immediately regretted your words. Just me, as if he was supposed to know what that meant.

But it must have done the trick, as Logan retracted his claws. His shoulders visibly slacked at the lack of imminent danger.

‘Well, Me, you can come out of hiding. I’m not gonna hurt ya,’ he grumbled, ‘let me just turn the light on–’

‘Wait!’ You squeezed your eyes shut and let the cool air of the night brush over your bare arms. When you opened them again, all you could see was Logan’s large frame standing inside the kitchen, most likely hovering over the light switch, surprised at your sudden call.

‘Sorry, you can uhm– turn the lights on now.’ And like that, with a quiet flick, the kitchen illuminated with a soft orange glow.

Logan’s eyes were immediately on you, scanning you up and down for any sign of recognition, but you already knew there would be none. Even if he had ever seen you before, there never was.

‘Do I know you?’ he cocked his head with the question, and all you could do was shake your head.

‘I doubt it.’ No one knew you, but that didn’t feel like a smart response.

‘Care to introduce yourself, Bub?’ He leaned against the wall with the light switch, and maybe it was his overall greatness as he practically towered over you, but you felt a rush of heat fall over your face as he looked down at you in expectance. Awkwardly, you pushed out the sounds that formed your name, with a bonus of an extended hand for him to shake.

‘And you must be Logan, right?’

He confirmed your suspicion with a grunt as he took your hand, squeezed firmly, but not painfully, and shook it once. Then, silence fell between you.

Two strangers who met in a complete, nearly fatal accident. It was only to be expected you would have nothing to say to one another. But you were, after all both awake this late in the night, and that was enough to compel you to talk.

‘Couldn’t sleep?’

‘Just got back, actually.’ His eyes glanced to your side and that is when you noticed the duffel bag that lay in the corridor. Then, only when you looked back at him did you take in what he was wearing. Not the expected gym shorts or sweatpants with an old shirt. Instead, Logan was dressed in a black button-up under a dark motorcycle jacket. With that, he had a boot cut-jeans and the boots to match. From the tiny dark dotted pattern on his shoulders and the light pitter-pattering that was occurring outside, it was visible he had just come from out of the rain.

Immediately, a parade of questions entered your mind. Where had he been? Why did he come back so late? What was he doing in the kitchen? And so much more, though none of it would leave your mouth as you doubted he would talk to you about his secret mission.

‘You alright?’ His brows furrowed as he looked down at you, and you realised how you must have looked. Staring up at him with wide eyes, not saying a single thing. Another heat flare hit your cheeks.

‘Yeah, I’m fine.’

He cocked his head in an examinatory fashion. The disbelief evident in his eyes.

‘You’re new here, aren’t you?’

‘Relatively,’ you shrugged. ‘Got here a few months ago.’

‘Parents kicked you out?’ He assumed the most common backstory that comes with the residents of the mansion.

‘Not exactly,’ you kept your response short. After all, you could hardly tell a stranger you just met that your boyfriend had kicked you out of your shared apartment when he found out about your genetic abnormality. You had never been sure how he would have reacted, but the events that unfolded were even beyond your imagination. But the past was the past, and you didn’t want to dwell on it. The important part was that not a day after this conversation, you were crying in your car with nowhere to go. It was by chance that weeks after your break-up/eviction, you stumbled into some other mutants who told you about the Professor. You weren’t too sure about going to seek shelter at a school of all places, but in reality, the Academy was much more than that. Though it did give you the perfect opportunity to safely train your abilities.

That and so much more was what went through your head, but you didn’t say any of that to Logan. Why would you? He didn’t know you. He didn’t care about your problems, and you didn’t blame him for it.

On the contrary, you appreciated that he didn’t press you for more details. When you answered the way you did, he simply nodded in understanding and made his way over to the fridge. The blue glow illuminated his tense features. Strange, for a man who had been a year on the go on some secret spy adventure, you would have expected him to return at least a bit beaten up. But besides maybe some signs of a bad sleep schedule, no form of strain was visible on his face.

‘You want something?’ he looked over at you, making you realise you had been, in fact, staring and not very subtly either.

‘I’m good, thanks.’

‘Suit yourself,’ he went back to inspecting the contents of the fridge before sighing with disappointment. ‘They still don’t have anything stronger around here?’

‘Oh, if you’re looking for beer–’ you walked over to a cabinet at the other end of the kitchen. You tapped a corner, and a small code pad appeared. You tapped in the code, and the cabinet opened to reveal a fully stocked mini-bar. ‘Scott had it installed over the summer,’ you explained when you saw Logan’s confused expression.

‘Explains the babyproofing.’ He walked over, and you handed him a cool bottle of beer.

‘Well, it is a school after all.’ You held in a smile as the thought occurred to you that the kids might not have been the only ones who weren’t supposed to know about the secret compartment. The rivalry between Cyclops and the Wolverine was known all too well around the whole campus, even for newcomers such as yourself.

Logan smirked, taking his beer. You were about to offer a bottle opener, but he hit the neck of the bottle against the edge of the table and with a pop and a clink, the cap came right off.

‘Here,’ he exchanged your bottles, giving you the open one. You watched him repeat his actions with the second drink. Your eyes were still on him as he chugged down half of the beer in one go. He probably could have downed the whole thing if it wasn’t for his look down at you, most likely noticing your entranced look.

‘That staring a part of your powers, too, then?’ he commented, and the acknowledgement immediately made you turn your head in the direction of the window.

‘Sorry. I just— I tend to do that, I guess.’ You wrinkled your nose. Being on your own around so many people, you had gotten used to people watching, observing them from a distance like a show on TV that you kept on for the background noise.

‘What do you do, anyway?’ He asked bluntly, ‘I thought I had done you in good back there.’

‘You would have,’ you chuckled, remembering just how close his claws had come into contact with you. ‘It’s hard to explain. I just kind of—’ You noticed the shadow that fell over the floor from the table and lightly grazed it with the tip of your toe. With a deep breath, the world in front of you changed. Except the exact opposite was the truth. ‘Disappear.’ You finished the sentence, punctuated by your new state.

Logan’s eyes widened as you disappeared in front of his eyes. Where the shock came from, he couldn’t explain. He had encountered these sorts of mutants before. But this felt different than regular invisibility or teleportation. With his heightened senses, he could always detect those sorts of hijinks. No one ever disappeared to him. But you— as soon as you had faded away, it was as if you had completely fallen off the face of the earth. Not a single trace of you lingered behind. When you spoke, just as you had in the hallway, your voice didn’t seem to be coming from one place. It was all around him, almost like a whisper, a voice inside his own head.

With a blink of an eye, you reappeared before him. Just as you had stood there moments before.

‘There’s not really a name for this, I think; at least no one around here could come up with anything that made sense.’ Not that you had any conversations that made people interested enough to do the research. ‘But from my own understanding, I kind of become one with the shadows.’

‘And what about the light?’ he recalled your yelp when he had tried to turn on the light.

‘I merge with the dark, and so when new light sources interfere… it’s not pretty.’

Logan simply nodded as he took the last swig of his beer.

For a moment, the two of you stood there in silence, you leaning against the counter and he against the large table.

‘You’re doing it again, Bub.’ He smirked, calling out your lost stare.

‘Sorry,’ you hadn’t even realised you were doing it. You had just been looking around the room and may have, perhaps, accidentally lingered a look at his frame for a few seconds. And then you caught sight of his hands. More specifically, his knuckles. There was a faint pink glow on the skin, but besides that, you would never be able to tell that deadly claws could grow out from there. You blinked. ‘Sorry.’ You were doing it again. Quickly, you drank the rest of your beer. The bitter taste lingered in your throat, suffocating the burning questions that you wanted to ask.

‘Spill it out.’ He hit you by surprise with the command.

‘Uh–what?’

You knew there were plenty of mindreaders around, but you had not thought it was one of Logan’s abilities. ‘How did you–’

‘It’s all in your face, sweetheart. You think just ‘cause you’re quiet, you’re hard to read, don’t you.’ His assumption left you a bit stunned. It wasn’t that you had thought exactly that, but more so that you never considered that you were making any expressions that were that easy to interpret, as you never really had anyone pay that much attention to you to point it out.

‘If you want to say something, just say it.’ Logan said the corner of his lips lifted in a small smile. ‘If you’re wondering if it hurts,’ he looked down at his knuckles, ‘it hurts just as any other one-foot-long knife cutting through skin.’

‘That’s awful.’ You gasped, considering what it must be like to have such a mutation that inadvertently harmed you any time you used it.

‘You get used to it after a while.’

Another round of silence. This time, the longer it went on, the more you started thinking how you must be inconveniencing him. With the beers drank, there was little for you both to still be doing here, but also didn’t want to be rude by just up and leaving. After all, you didn’t know Logan very well.

‘You sure you’re alright?’ He asked, coming out from behind the table.

‘Yeah.’ You tried to smile but could tell it probably did not reach your eyes. Logan moved with a sense of apprehension, unsure of how to approach you. Being a year on the road, not to mention the years of solitude before he had joined the Professor’s team, had not exactly prepared him for these kinds of situations. He didn’t know the right things to do or to say. But to you, just his presence was enough. Just him being there, talking, or in this case, just seeing you, was more than you could have asked for. ‘I’m good.’

And yet, ironically, though you had actually meant it for once, you really did feel alright, but something about the situation caused tears to prickle in the corners of your eyes. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation that made you overly sensitive. Or the alcohol.

You blinked the tears away and smiled awkwardly. ‘It’s just been a long day.’ or week. Month. Year. How about your entire life?

‘Yeah, tell me about it.’ There was that quirk in his lip again, that ghost of a smile. And you couldn’t figure out if his response was just a sarcastic quip, understandably referring to his past days, which you were sure did not consist of a walk in the park. Or did he actually mean it, and he did want you to tell him more? Well, your moment of contemplation brought on another wave of silence, and the heavier it fell, the worse you felt to go back to your problems.

The sudden sound of footsteps pulled you back into your world. People must be slowly waking up; meanwhile, you hadn’t had an hour of sleep yet, and the effect of that started to hit.

‘I should— should probably go.’ You muttered, taking small steps in the direction of the door.

‘Well, the offer always stands.’ Logan followed you with his eyes, turning in his spot as you passed by him. See you around, Nightshade.’

‘What?’ the nickname caught you off-guard, stopping you in your tracks.

‘Sorry,’ Logan winced, ‘I don’t know—’ that’s what he gets for trying to be cute.

‘No, don’t apologise. I like it.’ Your smile finally found its full form. A “thank you” almost slipped past it, but you held yourself back. It felt too cheesy to get all sentimental about something as silly as a nickname. Especially since he didn’t know what it meant for you. He didn’t need to know didn’t think you’d ever belong amongst these people enough to get a moniker.

And maybe it didn’t mean anything at all, maybe he had just said it as a mindless comment on your powers. Or maybe not. Maybe he had really tried hard to put that smile on your face.

You would never know.

Unless you took that one small step. Because, of course, all you had to do was ask, just like he had told you, but maybe another time. For now, you just bid him farewell, hoping for that next opportunity to certainly come sooner than later.

the end.

thank you for reading 💗

if you enjoyed the fic, please consider reblogging and leaving a comment. or send a message via my inbox. requests are also more than welcome. 💗

#logan howlett #logan howlett fanfiction #wolverine x reader #wolverine x you #wolverine fanfiction #logan howlett x reader #x-men fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #imagine #request #logan howlett fanfic #wolverine #wolverine fanfic #x men #x men fanfiction

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darlingsblackbook · 4 months ago

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Between the lines - part 2

Gojo Satoru x Awkward!Reader

Summary : As the new teacher’s assistant at Jujutsu High, Y/N is used to being invisible—quiet, awkward, always on the outside looking in. She tells herself she prefers it that way, but when Gojo Satoru, the school’s most infuriatingly nosy teacher, starts noticing the cracks in her carefully built walls, she finds it harder to hide. He’s loud, he’s persistent, and worst of all… he might just see right through her.

Warnings : feelings.

English is not my first language, I apologize in advance for any grammatical or spelling mistakes. Feel free to point them out to me, but please, be kind with it♡

♡♡♡

Being at Jujutsu High felt… different now.

Not in a sudden, life altering way but there were just small shifts, subtle changes in the air, in the way people looked at me, in the way I existed within these walls.

At first, I hadn’t noticed.

I had been so used to lingering at the edges, to keeping to myself, that it didn’t occur to me when the distance started to close. It wasn’t anything drastic; just little things.

A small conversation here.

A casual greeting there.

Still, there was change.

°•♡•°

The lounge was comfortably warm, filled with the soft hum of conversation, the occasional burst of laughter, and the rhythmic tapping of rain against the windows. The heavy clouds outside had darkened the sky, casting a muted gray glow over the room, but inside, the atmosphere was bright, buzzing with the easy energy of people who had known each other long enough to abandon formalities.

“You can’t just let me die like this!”

“Then dodge, dumbass.”

The sound of arguing pulled my attention from my book.

Yuji and Nobara were pressed together on the couch, nearly headbutting each other as they bickered over their phones, the screen flashing rapidly between them.

“Sensei,” Yuji groaned, twisting around dramatically to face me. “Tell her she’s being mean.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden plea for help. “Oh, um—”

“She’s bullying me,” Yuji continued, tone exaggerated, hands clasped together as if pleading for justice. “And I’m just a poor, innocent boy who wants to live.”

Nobara scoffed. “Innocent? Yeah, righ!”

On the other side of the room, Megumi let out a quiet sigh. “Yuji, you literally threw her off the map five seconds ago.”

“That was an accident.”

A small, breathy laugh slipped from my lips before I could stop it.

Yuji gasped and pointed at me. “She laughed! I heard it!”

Nobara turned to me immediately, her eyes alight with amusement. “Oh, she’s got a cute laugh too.”

Heat crept up my neck. “I—”

“See?” Yuji grinned, leaning forward like he had uncovered some grand secret. “She likes us. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

I opened my mouth to argue—but stopped.

Because I didn’t actually want to.

Because I did like them.

°•♡•°

And then there was Gojo.

If I had thought he was persistent before, I had been absolutely wrong.

Gojo Satoru did not believe in personal space.

He did not believe in subtlety.

And he definitely did not believe in leaving me alone.

The first time he disrupted my peace, I had been sitting in my usual spot, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, the low murmur of the ceiling fan filling the silence.

And then—

SLAM-

A hand landed on my desk, loud and jarring.

I yelped and flinched so violently that my pen flew from my grip. My heart beat into my throat as I looked up

Straight into the too-bright, too-knowing eyes of Gojo Satoru.

“Let’s get lunch,” he declared.

I blinked at him, still trying to regulate my breathing. “What?”

He leaned down slightly, an easy grin tugging at his lips. “Lunch. Food. You know, the thing humans eat?”

“I know what lunch is.” I frowned. “I just—”

“You’re gonna sit here all alone and work again?” He sighed dramatically, tilting his head. “Live a little.”

“I like working.”

Gojo gave me a look of pure disbelief. “Yeah, yeah. Nerd stuff. Let’s go.”

And before I could protest, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet, effortlessly dragging me along like I weighed nothing.

And that was how it started.

Lunches. Walks. Interrogations disguised as casual conversations.

That overgrown paintbrush was everywhere.

He had for some reason made it his mission to pull me into his world, to chip away at the walls I had carefully built, to make me talk.

It was annoying.

It was exhausting.

And...

It was nice.

He was patient. He did not push me to talk and gave me the time if I needed to gather my words. I never felt like I had to hurry and say something before the conversation moved to another subject because he always paused to give room for my input.

And if I really did not feel like talking, it was never a problem because Gojo could effortlessly yap for a whole group of people 💀

And bit by bit, he succeeded in his mission.

°•♡•°

Weeks passed.

And something inside me started to shift.

I felt different.

Lighter.

Like maybe, just maybe, I was not as alone as I had always thought.

And there was a free space that I could occupy without a worry.

I could not remember when that shift had happened. Was it overnight? Probably not. In a few days? Debatable. Over the course of a few weeks? Mhmm

As I was thinking back, trying to pinpoint the time where that shift inside of me had happened there was one thing that kept popping up in my mind.

Well, one person.

Because really, it had all started with him. The lunches, the walks, the banter. It had all helped.

My heart skipped a beat.

My heart skipped a beat?

Why would my he-

It hit me.

There was more than just one shift that had happened. Somewhere along the way, I had gained feelings for Gojo Satoru.

I had a crush on Gojo Satoru.

The realization struck like a physical blow, knocking the air from my lungs.

At first, I tried to deny it. There was no way but I could not help but think back.

Think back to how my heart would stutter when he leaned in too close.

Think back to the warmth in my chest when he looked at me like I was interesting.

With that realization, I did what I had always done best.

I withdrew.

I went back to avoiding eye contact. Went back to sitting alone. Went back to keeping my distance from everyone.

It wasn’t intentional at first—just small things. Skipping out on conversations, leaving rooms before Gojo could drag me into another one of his ridiculous antics. But once I noticed it, I doubled down.

Because this feeling was dangerous. And I was scared. I had gone so long living like a ghost and now I had a taste what it was like to be visible to someone- What if he found out? What if he thought I was digusting for having these feelings for him? Would he ridicule me? Would he laugh in my face? Would he tell everyone at this school? Would I be known as the weird girl who was so lonely she started crushing on the teacher she assist? What if-

Gojo noticed.

Of course he did.

The afternoon air hung heavy, thick with the remnants of summer as cicadas droned outside the open window. A warm breeze drifted in, ruffling the edge of the papers on my desk, carrying the faint scent of cut grass and lingering rain from the earlier downpour. The sky outside was still overcast, streaks of gold trying to push through the dense clouds, casting a dim, muted light into the quiet classroom.

It had been an unusually slow day. Most of the students had gone to their dorms early, leaving the rest of the school eerily silent, save for the occasional footsteps echoing down the halls.

I should have left too, but I didn’t want to go back to my empty apartment, to another evening of nothingness, staring at my phone, waiting for notifications that never came.

So I stayed.

I had been reviewing lesson plans, forcing myself to focus, but my mind kept drifting. Kept wandering. Kept returning to him.

To Gojo.

I squeezed my pen a little tighter.

It was ridiculous. I had spent weeks trying to push the thought away, to shove the feeling deep enough that it wouldn’t reach the surface. But it was there, clawing at the back of my mind, refusing to be ignored.

I liked him.

Too much.

And now all of my progress-every bit of confidence I had slowly built-was unraveling at the seams. I had been doing so well, learning how to talk, how to exist in a world filled with people who laughed and loved and lived so effortlessly.

But the moment I realized my feelings, it was like something inside me had frozen. Like I had regressed into the girl I had always been-quiet, withdrawn, stuck on the outside looking in.

Because how could I act normal around Gojo when everything about him made my heart ache?

His presence was impossible to ignore. The way he moved, so effortlessly graceful despite his ridiculous height, the way his voice always carried that teasing lilt, never fully serious, yet somehow always watching, always noticing. And those eyes-those endless, shifting blues-so sharp, so knowing.

I hated that he had become my favorite color.

I was so lost in thought that I didn’t hear him enter.

Didn’t notice his presence until a voice, warm and amused, broke through the silence.

“You’re acting weird.”

I jolted, heart leaping into my throat as my pen slipped from my fingers, clattering against the desk.

Gojo leaned against the doorway, arms crossed lazily over his chest. The dim light from the windows caught the edges of his hair, making the strands almost silver against the shadowed backdrop of the hall. His blindfold was gone, and those striking, inhumanly bright eyes were fixed directly on me.

I forced myself to breathe.

“I—” My voice caught, too dry, too stiff. I swallowed. “I’m not acting weird.”

Gojo tilted his head, his smile widening ever so slightly. “That’s exactly what someone acting weird would say.”

I didn’t respond.

Because he was right.

Instead, I lowered my gaze, focusing on the scattered papers in front of me, willing my pulse to settle down to its usual rythm.

Gojo sighed dramatically, stepping fully into the room. “You used to laugh at my jokes.”

I glanced up. “I never laughed at your jokes.”

He placed a hand over his heart, feigning a wounded expression. “Ouch. That’s just cruel.”

I bit the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to smile.

Gojo studied me for a moment longer before moving toward my desk, leaning down just enough to invade my space, his voice dropping to something quieter.

“You’ve been avoiding me.”

I froze.

The words weren’t a question.

I didn’t know what to say, how to refute something so painfully true.

“I haven’t—”

Gojo raised an eyebrow.

I sighed, “I really have not. Not intentionally.”

Lie.

For a moment, he didn’t speak.

The weight of his gaze lingered, steady and unyielding, as if he was trying to peel back my layers, trying to see something I wasn’t willing to show.

And then-

“If someone’s been bothering you, you know I can deal with them, right?”

I startled, blinking up at him. “What?”

Gojo’s voice was light, but there was something underneath it. He was serious. “I’m just saying. If someone’s making you uncomfortable, I could ruin their life. Legally or illegally. Dealer’s choice.”

I let out a surprised laugh, too caught off guard to stop it.

Gojo grinned. “There it is.”

My cheeks flushed.

I turned away, pretending to fix my papers, pretending that my heart wasn’t trying to break through my ribs.

Because this was exactly why I had been avoiding him.

Because even when he was joking, even when he was being utterly ridiculous- there was genuine care beneath it.

And it was dangerous.

Because it made me want to hope.

"Seriously, if you're in trouble, let me know. If someone here or outside of the school has b-"

I cut him off, "Thank you, really. But it's not that, I promise."

The room was quiet for a moment as Gojo studied my face. The way his eyes looked into mine, it was as if he was trying to see right through them and into my soul for answes

After a few seconds he let out a small hum, leaning against the desk. “Alright, fine. Be all mysterious and broody.”

I rolled my eyes, but my lips twitched upward.

Gojo smirked, pleased.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

The silence stretched between us, filled only by the rustling of the wind and the distant sound of cicadas outside.

And I could only think about how I was supposed to get myself out of this mess.

#gojo satoru x reader #gojou satoru x reader #jjk gojo #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #jjk angst #jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen angst #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo fluff

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queenvhagar · 1 year ago

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My perhaps controversial take on the HOTD characters, the GOT characters the writers are trying to mold them into, and the GOT characters they actually most resemble in the books (in my opinion - feel free to disagree).

Disclaimer: these are entirely disconnected series with unique characters, so it's impossible to do what the writers of HOTD seemed to be trying to do in season 1 i.e. mold the characters from Fire and Blood to fit the characters of GOT to try to recreate the success of the early seasons. Given this, I tried to choose one single character analogue from GOT that each HOTD/FB character is most like, but oftentimes the reality is that if any single character from Fire and Blood resembles a Game of Thrones character it is likely that they are a combination of more than one. All of this said, here is who I think the writers are trying to fit certain HOTD characters into vs the character they are actually most like (according to Fire and Blood):

Rhaenyra Targaryen: obviously the show wants her to be the new and improved Daenerys, a protagonist everyone can root for who wants to revolutionize the existing order. In reality, Rhaenyra is most like Cersei: a woman who seeks to use her three bastards to usurp thrones and gain even more power than she already has, all while committing incest with a family member and using her power to punish and silence her enemies. She uses the existing system to raise herself up and keep others below her. She does reach her goal of ultimate power but ultimately she is unable to hold it. In pursuit of holding onto power or gaining more of it, she watches as her children die early deaths. The smallfolk despise her for her methods of ruling. Eventually, she will cause her own downfall and die before her time.

Alicent Hightower: the show wants her to be Cersei, a mean-spirited, jealous woman protecting her problematic children and using her status as queen to put others in their place (they even used Cersei scenes as audition material for the role). In reality, I see Alicent as most like Catelyn - a flawed woman, mother to a king, seeking to further the rights of her son in the hopes of protecting her family from those who would harm them, guided by her own sense of justice, honor, and understanding of the laws of the land (and of course, hyper aware of the bastards in the room). All she wants is her and her children's safety, and she is willing to go to war for it. In the end, however, she watches as every last child is taken from her before she herself dies alone.

Viserys I Targaryen: the show wants us to see him as the ultimate father who loves his child unconditionally and always supports her, and that his view of right and wrong should be what guides the world. In reality, he is most like Robert Baratheon: a weak king unsuitable for rule whose mistakes and complacency lead to civil war after his death. His preoccupation with past events and people, and his role in a former love's demise, leads him to neglect his current wife and their children and make decisions that create long-term issues for his family and the realm.

Criston Cole: as soon as Criston turns away from Rhaenyra, the show wants you to view him as a Meryn Trant type of Kingsguard - a man unconcerned with honor and violently anti-women, more than willing to carry out terrible acts commanded of him. In reality, Criston is like more like Jaime: he seeks to make a name for himself as a knight, guided by his own sense of honor and justice, though he is judged by others as lacking such principles. His devotion to his position on the Kingsguard and his love for the royal family motivates him. Occasionally his self-confidence and delight in goading his enemies can make him appear callous and proud. Although he is not officially the royal children's "father," he has guided and protected them and their mother from early on in the absence of their official father.

Daemon Targaryen: the show wants you to both love and hate Daemon. It seems he should fill many roles that Jaime did - a sword fighter whose swagger and danger mix together, whose dishonorable acts follow him through the world. He acts primarily out of love or his pursuit of it, whether for his brother or his lover and her children. The viewer is supposed to see that deep down he is a good guy, no matter how many characters say that he's not. In reality, I see Daemon as a more capable Viserys III: a man adamant in his family's racial superiority, who believes he and his loved ones should have access to unchecked power because they're better than everyone else. A man who enjoys exercising his power over others and demanding obedience out of fear of his wrath. A man who uses his younger family member to further his own interests without much thought to her own wishes or agency and willing to hurt her if she doesn't act the way he wants her to.

Otto Hightower: the show wants you to view Otto as a new Littlefinger, someone sly about his intentions who uses spies, information, and unsavory methods to take advantage of the ruling family and further his own interests and increase his own power. I see him instead as more similar to Tywin: a Hand of the King seeking to put his family close to the throne in pursuit of legacy and advancing his family's station, a man who arranged for his daughter to marry the king so his blood would sit the Iron Throne and bring his family power for generations, a man acutely aware of the political world and how the game is played and willing to get his hands dirty to play it.

The Strong boys: the show wants you to root for Rhaenyra's perfect, good natured and pure intentioned sons as if they were the Stark boys (mixed with Jon Snow). Raised in a good family, these boys know right from wrong and love each other. Yet some people unfairly think less of them for their birth. In reality, the Strong boys are closest to Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella. Bastards set to inherit positions they have no claim to, they are coddled by their mother and protected from any consequences to their actions. When one attacks another child, their mother demands that the other child's family is punished for their actions (and doesn't even reprimand the child for his role in the conflict). The result is the child has no remorse for the harm done, and the other child's family festers resentment against the child. Some people uncover the truth of their birth and object to their place in the line of succession, and these people are killed for speaking the truth. Eventually, a war is fought to keep them and their mother away from the throne, resulting in all of them being killed.

Aegon II Targaryen: the show wants you to see him as Joffrey 2.0. A man interested in viewing sadistic acts for his own pleasure, who abuses women for his own enjoyment, and who is unfit to rule. In reality I see Aegon as closest to Robb: a first born son reluctant to rule as king once his father dies but who rises to the occasion to try to keep his remaining family safe. A king willing to fight his battles alongside his men, no matter the risk it might pose to him. A king who tries his best to rule but makes mistakes along the way that cost him dearly. In the end, he watches as he loses everything, and he dies young.

#admittedly I am #pro team green #in my take of the story and show #and I'm also #anti team black #so if this bothers you block the tag and dni #anyway just my take!#feel free to discuss or add more #these were just some of the obvious ones I came up with #hotd critical

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drdemonprince · 3 months ago

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Read the cop post you reblogged. Apologies if I’m being too literal. I’ve had ppl break into my house before. What am I supposed to do in that situation? Shoot the person? Let them shoot me? Genuinely asking for an alternative bc I don’t want to call the cops ever. It just feels like it’s often ppl who don’t live in areas with higher crime who post stuff like that and it feels out of touch with the reality some are living in. Most ppl in my neighborhood don’t want to abolish the police. It’s white liberals, leftists, anarchists who get to live that out more. Idk if this makes sense, but would love to hear others thoughts.

I have also had people break into my home, I've heard drills run on my block multiple times in just the past year, I've witnessed multiple shootings, violent domestic assault outside my home, etc. I also live in a racially diverse area and speak regularly with my neighbors and yeah, a 70-year-old Black grandmother in Chicago is far more likely to be a pro-cop Trump supporter than she is to be a radical anarchist. Your average person of any identity group is unlikely to be an abolitionist or anarchist... because those are still extremely fringe political positions in this world. Now it is also experience that the majority of actually committed abolitionists are Black & brown people, but that doesn't mean a majority of people from those identity groups in general are abolitionists at all. The white leftie abolitionists...mostly aren't actually abolitionists in practice from all that I've seen. Give them a roommate who doesn't pay the bills and has a mental health episode and they'll wield the tools of the state just as readily as anybody.

And that kinda brings me to one of my questions. Has calling the cops worked for you when you have had to deal with a home invasion, robbery, attack, etc? I just mentioned this in another post, but in my case *threatening* to call the cops has helped sometimes. The existence of the police state as a threat did help keep my stalker from going further when he broke into my apartment. But when a person (especially a person in a non-wealthy, majority-nonwhite area) calls the cops, how often do they show up soon enough to be helpful? How often do they confuse the attacker and the victim? How often do they blame the victim and refuse to file a report? How often do they attack or kill the wrong person? How often does their presence escalate things and cause people to panic, causing more violence?

I'm not trying to be a little shit here, I know that the answer is not "100% of the time". Sometimes, in the present world, a person is overpowered and in danger and they have no support network around them and they call the cops and the sirens or the sight of big dudes with guns scares their attacker away. I have, once or twice, witnessed some version of that too. It didn't do anything to get the victim away from their abuser or prevent harm from happening in the long term, but it did cause people to scatter.

Of course the long term abolitionist answer is that we need community networks of support to keep one another safe, to prevent crimes motivated by need, to deescalate conflict, and maybe even to secure justice and safety by scaring abusers and rapists etc off. In the absence of those things formally existing, I think we should all do what we can to build those networks of support in our communities, and thinking about how we can address problems without using the police. I wrote about some examples of that I witnessed and lived through here:

I don't think there are many great options right now if a person is attacked. I know that I minimize my involvement with the police as much as I humanly can. Again, only you can decide for yourself what you believe, what you can do, what you need, what you think is right.

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huxhsz · 2 months ago

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— weightless paradise

transmigrated non-mc!reader x caleb

prev ch: 10 - playtime┆series masterlist ┆next ch: 12 - aftermath

This isn’t how the game was supposed to go. You're not supposed to be here. You're an anomaly. But if you’re already here, then… can’t you just enjoy it for now? Just for a little while? Before the main story begins? Before everything inevitably falls into place? ...Right?

cross-posted on ao3! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و ♡

CH. 011 — HIDE'N'SEEK

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the backyard as laughter rings out between the trees. The four of you—Zayne, Eden, Caleb, and you—have spent the afternoon in a world of your own making, lost in the kind of childhood that never felt real until now.

“Not it!” Eden exclaims, slapping a hand to her chest as she steps back, a victorious grin spreading across her face.

“Not it,” you echo, glancing at the boys.

“Not it,” Zayne adds smoothly, tucking his hands into his pockets.

Caleb gapes. “You—wait—”

“You hesitated,” Eden sing-songs, already backing away toward the trees.

Caleb groans. “This is a conspiracy.”

“It’s justice,” you correct, nudging his arm before sprinting into the woods, your laughter tangled in the wind.

The trees stand tall and endless, the sky a burst of dying sunlight peeking through the canopy. The air is thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, a contrast to the warm grass of Gran’s backyard. You press deeper into the woods, weaving between trunks, searching for the perfect hiding spot.

The thrill of the game hums in your veins, the rush of something light and untethered. It feels good—too good. Like something you shouldn’t hold onto too tightly.

You slow your pace, crouching behind a fallen log. Caleb’s counting fades into the distance.

Eden used to forget things all the time in the lab. You and Caleb didn’t. Not the same way. You remember whispering stories to her in the dark, Caleb’s warmth pressed against your side, promising that one day, you’d all be free.

You’re free now.

So why does it still feel like you’re running?

A snap.

You freeze.

A branch cracks behind you. Your breath catches in your throat, heart hammering. Caleb? Zayne? Maybe Eden doubled back?

The air shifts. Something isn’t right.

Slowly, you turn your head.

A shape stands in the distance, half-shrouded by shadow. It doesn’t move like a person—too still, too hollow. A sickly hum vibrates in the air, like static on an old radio. Your stomach turns.

A Wanderer.

Your limbs lock. Your mind blanks.

No.

No, this isn’t—this can’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

It steps forward. Its form flickers, edges warping like something barely clinging to existence. You know what Wanderers are, of course—terrible monsters, creatures who came from the Deepspace Tunnel. You remember fighting them in the game while farming, yet, why now— Why can't your body muster the will to—

Run.

But your feet won’t move.

The world slows.

Not in the way people describe fear—not in the way time stretches in panic. No, it slows in a way that feels wrong. Unnatural. The Wanderer’s shape shifts like ink dissolving in water, the edges of reality bending.

And then—

You see.

Not just the present. But the before and after. The countless versions of this moment, unraveling before your eyes like a fractured film reel.

One version where you run, but it catches you.

One where you scream, but no one hears you in time.

One where you don’t move at all—where it reaches you first.

You see your own death so many times that it feels inevitable.

A sob lodges itself in your throat. No, no, no—your Evol. This is your Evol, isn’t it? Chronosight. It’s finally activating after so long.

But what good is it now?

What good is seeing your fate if you can’t stop it?

Something slams into you from the side.

The impact sends you sprawling, breath knocked from your lungs as warmth engulfs you. Caleb. Caleb.

“Run!” His voice is raw, panicked. He grips your wrist and hauls you up, eyes dark with something you can’t name.

The Wanderer screeches. A sound that shreds through the air, rattling in your bones.

And then everything moves at once.

Ice spreads across the ground—Zayne, sharp and cold, his Evol activating as jagged spikes of frost erupt between you and the creature. Eden stumbles into view, hands trembling, her resonance amplifying his Evol.

Caleb is still holding onto you, fingers digging into your wrist. He’s breathing hard, his free hand clenched tight—gravity distorting around him, pulling at the ground beneath his feet, an instinctive reaction to danger.

But you—you can’t move.

Your Evol is still flickering, showing you possibility after possibility, and every single one ends in you being the weakest link.

You see it—Caleb throwing himself in front of you.

You see it—Zayne’s ice shattering as the Wanderer breaks through.

You see it—Eden screaming your name as it reaches you.

You should be the responsible one. You should be protecting Eden, not freezing up, not falling apart.

You’re supposed to be stronger than this.

But you’re not.

Caleb’s voice cuts through the chaos. “Eyes on me.”

Your vision blurs, snapping back into the present. Caleb’s gaze burns into yours, fierce and unrelenting.

He looks... scared.

Not the loud kind of fear. Not panic or recklessness. Something quieter, sharper, curling at the edges of his expression, pressing into the way he grips you like he’s afraid to let go.

The gravity around you shifts, pressing down like an unseen force. Caleb lifts a hand—and then everything collapses inward.

The air distorts. The Wanderer screeches as Caleb’s power slams into it, dragging it back—forcing it away from you. The moment stretches impossibly long, until the creature finally tears apart, dissolving into the void from where it came.

Silence.

Your knees give out. Caleb catches you before you hit the ground.

His arms are tight, too tight, like he’s making sure you’re still here, still solid, still breathing. His breath is warm against your temple, voice barely above a whisper.

“You scared me.”

You squeeze your eyes shut. You scared yourself, too.

#lads #lnds #love and deepspace #caleb x you #caleb x mc #love and deepspace caleb #caleb xia #lads caleb #caleb x reader #lnds caleb

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sanakimohara · 5 months ago

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[ MURDER HOUSE ] PT. 1 - H. H.

pairing: Hyunjin x fem! virgin reader

summary: he's dead and gone but you're bound to keep him feeling alive

playlist:

warnings: MDNI + NSFW + SMUT + DUBCON + MEMTIONS OF DEATH + MENTIONS OF MENTAL ILLNESS + MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE + SMOKING + HORROR + BREATH DEPRIVATION KINK + SLIGHT BDSM

Hyunjin had watched you from the moment you arrived, an unbidden spark of curiosity in his otherwise colorless existence. He hadn’t felt anything in years, perhaps decades, and thought he’d made peace with the emptiness.

Yet here you were.

Y/n Harmon, a girl not much younger than himself, is alive and well but swept up in a family plagued with misdeeds.

A father obsessed with infidelity who seemingly dedicated himself to righting his wrongs to your mother, who’d caught him in the act and drove herself deeper into instability trying to forgive him for it.

You’d trudged in behind the strained couple with a glimmer of hope dancing through your eyes as the realtor showed off the home’s exterior on a crisp October morning, and suddenly Hyunjin felt everything all over again—confusion, desire, even a strange hope.

Emotions the dead and gone had no claim to, especially in houses dredged in bloody histories, but you were something new, something strange, and evidently in need of someone to see you.

A girl in desperate need of companionship…

Hyunjin caught your desperation for it in the minor expressions you made, wholly fixated on you while your parents looked right past. In an instant, he wanted to be that very someone despite the ulterior motives that other spirits in the house insisted he pursue rather than become obsessed with you.

Hyunjin tried.

He did…

He stayed in the shadows, blending into the corners of rooms, his gaze fixed on your every movement. You were soft and warm, contrasting starkly against the cold walls of the house as if you brought a light with you that cast all his hidden parts into sharper relief. You moved through the house as if it were your ages ago, filling it with life, sound, and warmth he thought he’d forgotten how to crave. But more than that, you made him feel real again.

Alive.

From the soft laughter, you let out when coming across a particularly amusing line in a book you read while lying alone in bed to the sharp remarks you made when your parents failed to conceal their bitterness for one another….

That slight eye roll you gave when something annoyed you to your random curiosity when a new area of the house caught your attention…

Everything you did made him feel feverishly undead in ways that should’ve alarmed him but became a comfort instead.

Still, Hyunjin knew he had to tread carefully. You would never understand the things he had done, the way he carried out his version of justice in this house, even after death. He didn’t hurt people without reason. In life, he had only ever wanted to punish those who deserved it—the liars, the abusers, those who twisted love into something dark and monstrous. In his mind, he was righting the world’s wrongs, ensuring people paid for their sins. But to you, his hands would be bloody, his methods incomprehensible.

He was so sure of it…

You looked the type to shut someone out at the slightest implication of fear or mention of blood, and Hyunjin refused to taint you with the knowledge of his misdeeds for as long as possible.

So, he held back. He waited, studying you, letting your presence anchor him in a way he hadn’t expected. You became a tether, a reason to stay sane, a flickering flame he felt compelled to protect. Your laugh, your quiet moments in the dimly lit rooms, even the way you wandered the house as if sensing his presence—all of it tied him to this world with a fervor he’d almost forgotten.

Hyunjin couldn’t stop himself from wanting more. Every night, he edged closer, lingering by your bedroom door, memorizing the sound of your breath as you slept.

Listening in on your quiet moans on the nights you touched yourself in hopes of relieving stress and earning some gratification without being smothered with lonely thoughts. Hyunjin liked those nights the most, feeling selfish and far more demented for enjoying them but addicted to the quivering whines and soft, elated gasps you let out in the dead of night when you thought no one could hear you.

He could, and not a soul else knew it.

Not even you…

He was bound to break his binds to morality at some point, led on by your constant strives for pleasure becoming more frequent and driven mad by the annoyance of himself not being the sole cause of it.

It took one whisper from the pure evil lurking in every corner of the half-sized mansion to convince him that one overstep would surely not spiral into another.

It started as a whisper of movement. One shudder to the next, passing down your spine as your heavy and lust-filled eyes shifted around the room.

Searching.

Wandering.

Finding.

If he had any left to breathe, Hyunjin’s breath could’ve stopped right then and there. You stared through a half-focused gaze, slightly startled but too far gone on the antidepressants your father prescribed you behind your mother's back to care that a figment of a man you’d never seen before lying in the shadows of your new bedroom.

He had dark hair, dark eyes, and porcelain-cut skin that stood out against the pigment-devoid clothing he wore.

He looked lost, found all at once, and assured and unsure while staring you down from across the room. A familiar imbalance you’d felt following around day and night through the croaking house.

You recognized him—those fleeting moments when your eyes met across a shadowed room when your gaze held questions he wanted so badly to answer. The first time you spoke to him, his heart clenched in a way he hadn’t known was possible anymore.

“Who are you?” You asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if afraid to shatter the illusion. Your eyes were searching, curious but cautious. Your hand slipped away from the space between your legs, covered in a sticky slick that dripped onto the bed as you shifted underneath the warm duvets -acting as if touching yourself was a secret you poorly kept from him and other specters who roamed the house as much as he does.

In that moment, he nearly faltered. He wanted to tell you everything, to lay bare every dark truth, every crime and secret he’d carried. But he knew he couldn’t. You were purity and light, and he was the ghost bound to the house’s sins. Instead, he merely offered a small smile, a mystery for you to ponder. “Someone who’s watched out for you.”

He didn’t need to explain it for you to feel the weight of his words. You thought it, too; he could see how your breath quickened, the slight flush that crept up your neck. He didn’t deserve you, didn’t deserve even the few glances you had spared him, but he was too far gone to turn back now. He was addicted to the way you looked at him, a look that told him maybe, just maybe, he could be someone worth loving.

In the days that followed, he started to reveal himself more, testing the waters, seeing if you could ever accept him for what he was. He would appear in your room, close enough to feel your warmth but careful to keep a respectful distance, as if afraid he’d taint you with his presence. He watched as you moved through his world, sometimes almost brushing against him, your heart beating wildly, your breaths shallow. And with every brush, every whispered exchange, he felt a flicker of hope.

It was only a matter of time before All Hallows Eve arrived. Letting spirits loose and secrets unfold into dire situations. Hyunjin had planned the night out from start to finish, looking forward to walking the mortal plane for a night weeks before he uttered the desire to spend it with you in your ear, and he was modestly elated that you agreed to the idea. To some degree, he was in disbelief that you found him that trustworthy -abandoning the tradition of celebrating the holiday with your family to be with him in the hours he existed again. Yet, he saw no reason to complain and made the very best of the time from the moment he swept you up in a tight hug and a quick smothering kiss on the haunted doorstep you walked onto to greet him down to the moment you rushed back into the house to outrun the group of enraged peers he helped you taunt during your time at the Night Carnival.

Hyunjin snickered as the shouting gaggle of briskly dressed girls tried to push the stream of trick-or-treaters to and from the house's doorstep. A charming grin overtook his lips as they stumbled about and gave up just as they reached the porch's edge, unable to go any further with an invisible and haunting force deterring them elsewhere. Your knowing smile nearly mirrored his triumphant smirk, but it quickly dropped as the head of the drunken group shouted a sleazy and slurred insult at you before leading the pack off the ominous property. "Burn in Hell, Virgin Freak!"

Your mind reeled at the impulsive comment, echoing in your mind with their scathing and distancing laughter, and a remaining thought even the sound of Hyunjin's dismissive chuckling could silence.

There was truth to their insult, and it angered you beyond comprehension. In a fit of anger, you stomped off the porch and into the looming house, slamming the door shut behind you with no intention of waiting for him to walk through it. Hyunjin frowned, spawning past the closed doorway with ease and following you up the winding staircase as you stalked up to your room. "Y/n, it's not that big of a deal-" he started, gently encouraging you to forget about what had been said in hopes of raising your mood again, but you scoffed as you reached your bedroom.

"Maybe to you it is, but to me, those bitches have a point."

You inwardly winced at admitting their observations held some truth, convinced you'd never outrun their scrutiny, and slightly ashamed Hyunjin had heard them say it in person. You presumed he feigned indifference to hearing it for your sake, but in truth, he fed off the knowledge that no other soul -alive or dead- had laid a hand on what he now knew to be his in death and life for one night a year.

"Don't let those assholes get to you, sweetheart. They're idiots, alright?" Hyunjin gazed at you, spilling brisk reassurance off his tongue like clockwork, but instead of instantly shifting your mindset, it only made you angrier. "What would you know? You're dead..." The comment is easy enough to say without thinking, but the subtle guilt you feel as the room goes silent is humbling. You steal a glance, hoping to apologize, but he's gone and completely vanished. You chew your bottom lip, glancing around, and prepared to call out an apology to him on instinct, but you're stopped short by your sharp gasp, feeling deathly cold hands reach for your breasts from behind.

"Fuck! Hy-Hyunjin, dont do that...." you whined, mildly annoyed he didn't dare to trail his hands underneath the hem of your black lacey dress. He stayed completely still, merely shifting his head to rest on your shoulder at the sound of your strained voice. "Do I feel dead to you now?" You freeze at his mumbled question, coming to terms with the heat from his slender fingers and palms. Tension pulsed through him, thriving through his chest into your backside, all the way down to his pelvis, gingerly pressing up against your ass. Hyunjin steadied himself, letting your rock into his weight and masking a coy smile as a soft and delighted sigh slipped past your lips easier than your sudden insult to his existence had.

"Do I...." he repeated in a lowered huff, kneading your breaths with heavy-handed grasps, enjoying the warmth of your living muscle in his own palm. You shudder, back arching to press your chest further into his wandering grip and hips rolling into his as he voices the rest of his previous question. "Feel dead to you..." He paused, groaning loudly into the crook of your neck, briefly stalled by the sound of your sudden whines for him and the feeling of your hands reaching to run through his dark, soot hair, and scratch at his right wrist while his fingers twisted and swirled your hardening nipples through black fabric

Your hips buckled at the tension he was inflicting on you, braced by the shift of his hands to your waist to hold you still as he caught a sharp breath of confidence. A brief pass of silence hung in the damp air, only interrupted by your shared heady breathing and dissolved by Hyunjin's direct assumption that rolled off his tongue like the devil's most accurate secret being muttered into your ear/ "Let's prove them wrong...let me give you something to keep living for." You leered into him at the offer, meeting his dark, hooded eyes through the mirror. You stood before for a long moment before offering him a small charming smile of agreeance.

"Alright.."

A/N: I got a JOB

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