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unfortunately-obsessed · 5 months

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My Love Will Never Die

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x fem!reader. Tags: emotional hurt/comfort, burnout, established relationship. Title based off a Hozier's song. Ao3 link.

Summary:

« You've done me wrong for a long, long time. But after all you've done, I never changed my mind. »

Behind you, you wonder if the chauffer it is still there, standing. You know he is, the manners making him wait until you enter the house to only then pull the car to the garage. Watching you frozen in place, bag lazily held in a hand, umbrella in another. Hair disheveled, clothes unruly. You wonder if you look pathetic on his eyes, just as much as you feel currently.

The truth is: you are utterly destroyed.

Not only mentally. Your muscles ache, pain spiking up on your lower back worse than any damage a sharpened knife could cause. Feet so thoroughly hurt by heels they're numb, if not for the casual sharp sting.

It is Gotham. The sky is grey, the city sucks up you out of life each passing moment.

Rain splatters against your umbrella. You stand just before the front door of Wayne Manor, mindlessly fidgeting with the wedding ring sitting pretty on your finger.

One year. You've been married with Bruce Wayne for one year already? Doesn't feel like it.

Time flew before your eyes, the start of it all just below your eyelids. Every first so toothachingly sweet, burned into your brain. Press nails against skin until it sharpens.

You wonder if you look pathetic on his eyes, just as much as you feel currently.

Not worthy of the surname Wayne, to be called “lady of the house”.

Time is a cruel kind of lesson.

"Ms. Wayne." Alfred's voice, invariably courteous, calls. You almost wince at the door opening. He stands before you, maybe a little unnerved by your state, but if it's displeasure or worry on his face, you can't tell.

He masks terrifically well. You're always alarmed by this.

"Are you alright, ma'am?"

At that, you do wince.

"Yes, Alfred." Your brain haven't even processed his presence yet when you walk past him. He takes your coat and bag. "Just got lost in thoughts for a moment."

"Pondering the mysteries of our universe at the front step?" Ah, you do love the edge of sass in his voice. You meet his eyes, a shy-like (unlike you) smile cursing your face. "Shall I fetch for tea? Supper will be served in one hour's time."

Some months ago, you might have looked forward for it. If Bruce couldn't welcome you after work, he at least would make sure to eat dinner with you.

Deep in your stomach, rot. You swallow dry.

"No, thanks," you say, taking a deep breath. Desperately– desperately talking through the knot in your throat. "I just want to hit the showers and sleep," you say, all sincerity.

You smile politely. He doesn't pushes you.

It is easy to backslide. To make oneself likeable, less volatile, more agreeable. Until you can earn love and care.

(Oh. It's getting bad again.)

"And Bruce?" You ask halfway through up the stairs, despite yourself. My love for you is bigger than words. I search for you everywhere.

The silence that hangs would be enough of an answer. Alfred is merciful, though. "Still working, ma'am."

Isn't it painful? Loving someone just from outside their life?

Wayne Manor is a haunted house. Constantly burning, touching the skies with horrible black smoke. Sculpted coffered ceilings, furniture of expensive dark wood. Bristol, yet you can see the city and all its skyscrapers by the right window.

Wayne Manor, aka Bruce Wayne's first grave.

Every corner, a memory.

"Of course," you mutter to yourself, emotion pooling in the eyes.

Love is about the failure of language, so you fall silent and disappear into the halls.

~*~*~

The sheets are clean like you know they would be.

Heels are the first to go. You kick them off, grumbling in satisfaction. Earrings next, then lipstick messily scrubbed off in any sheet of paper.

Hairpin and belt lost to the ground. Bra? Disappeared.

Yet, despite being absolutely exhausted, you stop just before the bed. Ice at the nape of your neck like a garrote, a promise. Knot in your throat to hang on.

King-sized, silk sheets, cloud soft. Each breath is a stutter of a muscle, the blood running in your veins a statement that you are, in fact, alive.

Isn't it such a lousy fear? The fear to sleep and have yet another nightmare. Oh, to be worn out mind and body and still unable to touch a bed.

The sheets are clean, white-pure. Sours you mouth.

Messy and childish fear. To see the future, where he dies by your feet using the damned cowl. Feats unnamed, life unhonoured.

Death smiles to Batman.

(Ah, Bruce. I would break my own fingers for you. Tear the tongue out of my mouth.

But there are limits.)

You can't even remember half those nightmares. Hands shaking, clattered flesh, de-boned corpses–

You don't want to ruin the sheets. You don't want to ruin your life.

~*~*~

It might be 5am.

He nuzzles against your neck, breath hot and exhausted, chest to your back. Skin painted with purple and red, scar-tissue mapping constellations, saying eat.

Eat you do. Bite one step removed, soft-mouthed kissing blue veins and rough hands. Until you lips become raw and numb.

His weight sinks the mattress, acting like a gravitational pull. Bruce's body, which furnaces can't compare, protectively embraces you.

He's so warm. It's 5am and you both are lying together, legs intertwined, his face buried on your shoulder. You listen to his breathing, slow and controlled, in the comforting quiet of unrealized-hours.

I wish the past had been kinder on you. How the world is cruel and how you refuse to be.

Soft sunlight hums through the damasked curtains, birds start to sing. You are wide awake, and he is too.

You'd seen him die down in your mind, every night. He lives your nightmares, putting on the suit. You're not bound to him by fate, not a soulmate, with no divine intervention; hallowed by gums aching and reverence– that is to say: the door is open, you can walk away.

Because one day, he won't come back.

You know it. He knows it. He has the arrangements prepared for the occasion.

And nowadays, he can't afford to leave the cave if not for going downtown.

The life of a hero is very unthankful.

"Do you hate me?" he asks you, voice rough to be an knife's edge. It's been long enough since you last felt him this close, low in your ear.

Bruce assures you through touch. Calloused thumb rubbing your wrist. Affections ebbs in his palms, love even. A work in progress.

In all your inner turmoil, you can see yourself getting quite tired of it all. The late nights crawling up walls, knowing he won't come back until morning– the stitching of wounds, his blood in the Persian rugs– but to imagine oneself as his enemy? As in, hating him?

"No," you murmur in a steady heartbeat. A detour cross your mind, of eustress: he gets tired too. And, then you say for good measure, "Never."

People don't really think how tiring tragic the life of a hero is. But there's this exhilarating moment where all that exists is Bruce's breath in your skin.

"Do you love me?" he asks because he can't take any chances. Oh, you can bet a kid that grew up traumatized will need reassurance. Constant, gentle reassurance.

White stripes of scars in his knuckles and forearms below your fingertips, drawing into your memory again and again.

The truth is: you are utterly destroyed.

Not only physically. But he tugs with your heartstrings everyday, bruised like he'd been squeezing it. The more it lingers more you realize you've been packing up emotions for weeks, now.

"What a silly thing to ask," you say. Not an answer. Neither are breathing for a second, there. You teeth clatter like a damn trying to bust.

Ah! There's a lot of messed up stuff happening all the time. You coil in yourself, perhaps considering. Bruce's touch shudders.

And there is something to realize. You'd rather die drowning for love than in thirst of it. Repeat to yourself, to him, I will never leave you. In healthiness and sickness–

"On purpose. Always–"

Love, who is brutal, who is stored in the viscera–

"–I love you."

A/N: If you like what I do, please consider supporting me and buying a coffee!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x fem!reader #bruce wayne x you #batman x you #batman x reader #bruce wayne #arwrites #me!batman

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prettyboykatsuki · 1 year

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not enough trust to believe (not enough feeling to care) | a. shinonome

✮ tags ; fem!reader (usage of she/her towards reader + mentioned to wear make-up), established relationship, making-up, jealousy, hurt/comfort, light angst / happy ending, aged-up characters (this is sfw), single suggestive comment at the end.

✮ wc ; 4k (how.. literally what happened.)

✮ a/n ; the minute i touch that app a demon takes over and i end up daydreaming about this mf and toya . peace and love i feel insane. also for what its worth i do think adult akito is very good at communicating his emotions in comparison to now so if u find him ooc my apologies.

title from rental by brockhampton. shoutout if u know what manga this panel is from lol. also if ur a minor please do not follow me. u r welcome to read.

"Y'know, Akito - you're being a bit of a hypocrite right now."

"Shut up, Toya." Akito grumbles, forcing himself to tear his eyes away from the bastard you're currently giggling with "I'm not."

An laughs from the other side of the room.

"You so are being a hypocrite right now," An threads her fingers through Kohanes hair, the other currently seated on the floor while she styles it "What was it you said? It's nothing to get jealous over so don't worry."

"Akito-kun, it's not good to be dishonest."

"Kohane-san, you're being corrupted. I can't believe you'd join these two on this."

Kohane shakes her head.

"I'm not being anything. It's just not right."

An wraps her arms around Kohane's shoulders from above, chin resting on her head. Akito sighs, leaning his head back on the wall behind him with his eyes still closed - only bothering to open them again when another giggle falls from your lips. This time it turns into full blown heart eyes from that corny bass-playing bastard.

Akito Shinonome is not jealous alright? He isn't. So, this reaction is not by any means hypocrisy.

VIVID BAD SQUAD has officially been on tour for 6 months. This is their first international tour of their career, after releasing their first studio album. It was received well in Japan but surprisingly had more of an audience overseas. So, they'd been performing all over North America with another band.

You've been apart of the VIVD BAD SQUAD team for quite some time before then, working as a roadie for tours back home. Akito has been dating you for well-over a year, and so far - its been great. He gets to see you often and manages to sneak you onto the performers tour bus sometimes. He likes not having to be apart, even if he is incredible busy. A little is better than nothing at least.

A few months ago, the two of you got into a bit of a spat. You'd told Akito that you think he gets a little too friendly when girls come to meet him backstage. Went on a whole spiel about understanding his career and persona, that he doesn't need to be cold but that you wish he put a little more distance between them.

Akito had retaliated with the fact it's nothing to worry about. He's loyal to you and him being friendly isn't anything meaningful. You were upset about this reply and the two of you got pretty intense.

It took Kohane and An's intervention and plenty of convincing to get you two back on good terms - with An promising that she'd keep and eye out and scold Akito properly. You started talking again after that at least, and things went back to normal.

But nothing had really gotten resolved. You still seemed to feel upset every time he'd act too familiar with fans and Akito still didn't see it as a problem. To him it was just a fake part of the persona, and he didn't think it was like you to get so jealous about something like that.

Then, a few months ago - word got out that the bassist of the band they're traveling with has a crush on you.

FLASHBANG, a smaller indie rock band that everyone on tour is very fond of and a perfect addition to their set list. Both bands are friendly with one another. He'd assumed the news of their bassist having a crush on you was nothing more than some rumor. He just couldn't believe it having met them.

Sure, not everyone knew you two were dating but surely Akito would've noticed that before. He just wanted to double check.

It's been weeks now, and he's sure. Hiroaki Miura, bassist pretty boy, has a fucking crush on you. It's so obvious he has no idea how he didn't pick up on it before. He has no idea how you haven't picked up on it either.

He'd mentioned it to you just last week, just to see. You laughed a bit, but asked if he wanted you to stop hanging out with him as much or if there was anything you could do - all while assuring you didn't think that was the case.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I can put some distance between us. Miura-kun isn't interested in me at all, though - I don't think. We're just good friends, we went to school together."

Ultimately he said that wasn't necessary. Akito stares at the two of you together now and scoffs. Haah. Good friends because you went to school together? He's practically making googly eyes at you.

"Looks like they're coming over here," Toya mumbles. Akito closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep, eye twitching when he hears Toya exhale.

"Hey, guys - great show! The duets today were just so vocally smooth and—oh shit, is he asleep?"

He hears An laugh and forces himself not to react. "Yeah. He was exhausted after today."

"Oh, really? Some sleep will be good then." The affection in your voice is so obvious he temporarily forgets whats happening until another, much more annoying voice comes through.

"You guys going straight back to the tour bus tonight?"

"Yeah, probably." Toya confirms.

"Ah, okay cool. We," He pauses, and Akito can only assume he's gesturing to you "Are gonna go check out a manga pop-up that's open here a few blocks down."

"Just the two of you?" An asks, very obviously barely holding in a laugh.

"Oh no, Eta-san is coming with us."

"Y'know, I wanted to go alone with you," Miura says, and Akito really thinks about waking up and hitting him "But Eta really wanted to come so I couldn't say no."

"I like how honest you are with your feelings, Miura-kun. Very refreshing."

"I don't have anything to hide," He insists, and Akito feels his hand clench "It was just nice we ended up tour together. We haven't seen each other since highschool so I thought I should make the most of our time together."

"I don't remember you being so sentimental. I actually remember you bullying me more than anything."

"Hey, quit it! I wasn't bullying you, i-it just came out wrong. I'm not good with my words and all."

"I know," You say completely good-naturedly. Akito knows objectively you're being friendly and thinking nothing of it. He knows that this is nothing to be bothered over and that you've been nothing but loyal. But god he’s annoyed."You would make fun of me then turn around and lend me your stuff. After I figured out you weren't a bad guy I wasn't scared of you."

"You guys have quite the history," Toya comments. You laugh.

"Yeah, I guess so. We lost touch after I moved for my internship so it feels like a big coincidence! Always good to see old friends."

Before any more conversation happens, another staff member calls Miura for whatever reason - leaving you alone. Akito keeps his eyes closed, hearing Toya sigh for a second time.

"Should I tell Akito where you went?"

"Oh, would you? That'd be great, thanks. I figure he wouldn't want to come, or else I'd invite him and go together."

"Why do you think that?" Kohane asks.

"I'm not blaming him or anything! I just don't think he'd be very enthusiastic about it, that's all. I don't want to force him. Me and Miura-kun bond over this stuff, Eta-san too."

"I'm sure he'd be happy to get to spend time with you," Toya assures. He can't see you but he can hear the insecurity seeping through your voice and something in him starts to bend.

"I know, but you know. It's weird lately with tour and all. I think getting my mind off it would help."

"Oh, no." An sighs. Akito's chest tightens "You poor thing."

"Oh stop that, I'm fine! Getting some air will be nice though, you know? For both of us maybe. I did want to tell him myself though."

"It'll be fine, I'll make sure."

"Thanks, Aoyagi-kun.

"And just so you know, Akito-kun really loves you!"

"Of course. I have no reason to feel stuffy about it. Just makes me wonder if I should still be apart of the picture if that's part of his career, no? Dating would hinder that."

"Don't think like that." Toya interjects. You laugh but even Akito can hear how sad you sound. He had no idea you'd even been thinking that.

"I'll try just for you. Now all of you, stop moping over my silly dating problems okay? It was an amazing show today!! Cheer up and I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going now?"

"Gonna wait backstage for Miura-kun."

"Have fun," Kohane says last. You laugh brightly and assure you will before your footsteps trail off and get lost in the music. When you're gone, Toya punches him in the shoulder - hard enough to hurt a little.

"Ow, what the fuck?"

"You're such a jackass," An says seriously, shaking her head.

"I told you that it was gonna be a problem that you acted like that when we're a duo," Toya reprimands seriously. Akito can't do much to counter it "You should talk to her properly."

"About what," Akito grumbles "It is part of the gig. It doesn't mean anything to me."

"Oh my god, you're so clueless!" An says, exasperated, startling him "It bothers you this much that she's talking to Miura-kun but she should just deal with it when random girls act like to you all the time?"

"An-chan, don't get too mad."

"If I don't no one will! Did you see how sad she looked! She was even trying to be all understanding. That's not fair to her at all."

"...I also understand Akito-kuns view. But if that's the case, then that doesn't mean that she needs to tolerate it, right?"

"What are you saying, Kohane-san?"

She shakes her head.

"I just mean she doesn't have to continue if it's hard for her. If it's not something you can change, then she shouldn't endure it forever, right?"

“What the hell? Are you saying we should break-up?”

“Maybe. If it can’t be resolved, then isn’t unfair to expect her to always endure it?”

“That’s a mature way of looking at, Kohane-san.” Toya comments. Akito shoots him a dirty look. Toya shrugs, unbothered.

“Her and Miura-kun are a good match. They have a good atmosphere and Miura-kun doesn’t care about things like that,”

Akito sits up in frustration, nearly grabbing Toya by the collar.

“Don’t fuck with me.”

“Think about whats best for her in the long run.”

Akito stands to his feet, glare hardened but Toya doesn’t budge at all. He doesn’t have to listen to this shit.

"This and that isn't the same. It's work to me, that's it."

"Everything that she and Miura-kun do is strictly platonic to her. She's not flirting with him, and it's not her fault if he has a crush on her. She even offered to stop seeing him if it made you uncomfortable."

Akito stays silent at that.

"But what about you? You just immediately dismissed it because it's part of her job and didn't even apologize to her later. You seriously think that's fair?"

He sighs at that, and shakes his head.

"I'm leaving."

Toya shakes his head once Akito is out of ear shot.

"So stubborn."

___

It’s close to midnight and you haven’t returned to the tour bus.

Akito knows its stupid to worry but knowing you were out with that goon all day is grating on his nerves. So he’s been waiting. Pacing around and smoking cigarettes, going in and out - he even texted you couple times to check in. You responded with pictures of your items, and selfies.

You had a long day, you drank a bit, you'd be back to the bus soon, you miss him. All in a row.

The longer the time goes on, the dumber Akito feels.

He leans on the bus as he waits on his phone, fingers growing cold. He hears you before he sees you, the sound of quiet giggling followed by a loud laugh. Akito's head snaps up almost immediately.

He hasn't seen you since the afternoon, but you changed. You're wearing your going-out outfit and it looks like you've put on some makeup too, smudged and worn. Eta is between you both as you carry her - Miura just has lovesick as when Akito saw him last. His stomach drops a little.

But the feeling is washed away when you brighten, eyes landing on him. You wave with a bag in your hand and Akito waves back. He waves to Miura too, if only to be polite.

"Akito-kun," Miura is the first talk as all three of you approach "What are you doing here?"

"There was some stuff about tomorrow set we needed to talk about," Akito says, gesturing to you. You blink owlishly.

"Just for you guys? Not FLASHBANG?"

Akito nods. You hum, then look over at Miura.

"Will you be okay taking Eta-san?"

Miura nods.

"Of course. I can't believe she drank so much in the first place, but I oughta to walk her back to our bus." Miura says as you off-load the weight on your shoulder "I'll see you again for tomorrow. Had a lot of fun today."

You giggle, clearly a little tipsy as you give Miura a thumbs-up. "Me too. See you tomorrow!"

Miura laughs a little before turning the corner, mumbling some light reprimanding to the drunk Eta before going on his way. Akito waits until both parties have disappeared - all the way out of ear shot before he looks at you with clear eyes.

If he's come to any conclusion it's this one - Akito doesn't want to break up with you.

He can't give up his career either, and maybe that's selfish. Maybe that's the whole problem. He can't pick. He thought about it, whether or not breaking up would be the right solution. He landed on maybe. Rationally he understands it. But it makes him angry just to think about it.

Akito stares at you as you hold your bag in comfortable silence and look at him. Wide, honest eyes - so dazzling he can hardly breathe. He reaches forward and cups your cheek in the palm of his hand, smoothing his thumb underneath your eye.

"You're back late," He murmurs, though it's not accusatory "What were you doing?"

"Well, a new store opened up at the mall in Tokushima, a bookstore that had a little pop-up for an anime Miura-kun likes. So we shopped around for a while, then stopped to see a movie, then went to an izakaya to drink a bit."

"Did you drink a lot?" He says, gentle as he holds you "You're gonna get a migraine."

"I had 2 mixed drinks. They had shochu in them but it wasn't very strong. Some water will sober me up." You pause inbetween your words, brows furrowing "What happened with the set list?"

"I was lying," Akito admits without thinking twice. You look surprised and he laughs "I just wanted us to be alone."

You tug on the lapel of his jacket weakly "I said I'd put some distance between us if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's not that," And it's true. Akito just really, really needed to be with you alone for a while "I was getting grilled earlier."

"From who?'

Akito rolls his eyes "Who else but Toya?"

You giggle.

"What was he grilling you about?"

"...You," Akito answers after some time "Us."

A beat of silence passes.

"Were you really thinking about breaking up?"

You look a little startled before looking away and something in him is crushed.

"Is that what he told you?"

"It's what it sounded like," Akito replies back. He reaches for your hand and squeezes it "Do you?"

"It's not that I want to,"

"Then what is it?"

'We're gonna go around in circles again," You say through a wet-laugh, like you're already gonna cry again. Akito fucked up bad. He brings your free hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently.

"We wont this time, swear."

"I know it's just work to you. It doesn't bother me all the time, either - like sometimes it doesn't bug me at all. But then, it's like, if I can't handle this much, maybe we should break up," You explain carefully and slowly, not trying to be too harsh at any point "I don't want to resent you or get in the way of your career, y'know. I know you're not gonna cheat on me. I'm a little insecure about it, but tough shit you know?"

"What do you mean?"

"It just...I dunno. It feels bad to watch you flirt with your fans, but if it's work for you than that makes it a me problem right?" You say thoughtfully, a sad but gentle look in your eyes "I don't know if I can handle that. So maybe, it's better to nip it in the bud now before things get serious."

"Aren't they serious already?"

"Yeah, but it's not like we're married. Or public. Like this, it's a normal break-up. It'll be awkward for a bit. But we get through it and things go back to how they were."

"It sounds like you don't take this seriously." Akito says, accusatory. You sigh and shake your head.

"That's not true at all. If you mattered to me in any less, it might be easier. Like if I loved you just a bit less, I could come up with a better solution," You hum. Akito believes it more than anything, that you love him. Even knowing doesn't make everything better "I love you and I know that your career is the most important thing to you. I would never want to make you choose."

"So what? You just cut yourself out of the equation so I don't have to?"

Where Akito expects you to disagree, you laugh and nod your head.

"Yeah. At least we'd be on good terms that way."

Akito stares at you in disbelief. He's partially angry, and partially devastated. He knows what you're saying, and it makes sense rationally. Logically at least. It's a problem with no good outcomes, like if there's already a stalemate - whose to say things will get better. It's in character for you to think like that. Where Akito is hard-headed and passionate, you're calm and analytical. To overthink to such an extent, to think so seriously about your futures. Both Akito's future and yours.

But it's not what he wants. His career is important, of course it is. What he's built is important. But does that mean he has to give up on you?

When Akito reflects on it, he doesn't think your original ask was that hard to fulfill. It hurts the worst to know that. Had he heard you out properly the first time, thought about it a little more - it'd be clear that it's nothing that serious.

Nothing worth making you worry over. Nothing worth making you question your entire relationship over.

But he didn't do that the first time, and now he's stuck listening to you think of all the ways things could go worse from here. It's his fault, really, for not thinking about it. He's always been this way about his career.

"You've been thinking about this a lot." He says first, almost paralyzed. You laugh humorlessly.

"I was going to wait until tour was over to talk about it."

"...Cause you were worried about how I'd perform."

"You're an important part of my salary," You joke, trying to lighten the mood.

"...Man this feels like shit,"

"Sorry."

"No, not it's not that. It's not your fault."

"It's not yours either."

"But it is," He says, exasperated with himself "If I would've just fucking... heard you out a few months ago. You wouldn't have been thinking about all this. If I had just done something then,"

"I don't see it like that, Akito."

"I know but it doesn't matter, cause it's my fucking fault anyway." He looks at you seriously. Shit, he almost wants to cry. "I don't want to break-up with you. I'm really sorry."

"A-akito?"

"I'll stop flirting with the girls who come to meet us. And I'll announce our relationship after I talk with the managers a bit,"

"A-akito, you really don't have to—"

"My career, music, everything we've built so far is important to me," Akito looks at you seriously, hoping it all comes out right. That everything comes through the way he intends "But shit, so are you. You're not...less important to me than any of that."

You stay silent, like you're in disbelief.

"Really?"

"Fuck—god, yes of course. I'm sorry. I really screwed up this time. I don't want to break up. I want to be with you, for a long time. Longer than this."

"I'm gonna cry." You say with a warbly laugh.

"Don't cry," Akito mumbles, pulling you into his arms. He hears you sniffle as he tucks your face against his chest, his arms around you tightly as he comforts you "I'm sorry for being an idiot. I love you,"

He presses a kiss to your head, looking at your tear-stained face with a sigh. He leans forward, knocking your foreheads together before littering kisses along your cheeks and face until you laugh again. He finds himself smiling too, before another somber wave of emotion washes over him.

"I'm sorry for being a shithead," He says with a sigh "An called me a jackass and I can't believe I have to agree with her."

You laugh "I don't think you're a jackass."

"You totally should though," Akito says back "I was pissed off the whole day."

"Really? Why?"

"Why do you think?

You look genuinely confused for a minute before something seems to click.

"Was it because of Miura-kun?"

"Yeah. Fucking walking around so lovey-dovey, making googly eyes at you."

You smile impishly "He confessed to me earlier today."

Akito stiffens immediately.

"What?!"

"Yeah. We were in an alley and waiting for Eta-san and he just... told me outright."

"...And then what?"

You roll your eyes "Of course I accepted and now we live together, happy ever after." Your sarcasm bleeds through your words as you flick Akito's forehead "Obviously I rejected him gently and said I was seeing someone."

"And then?"

"And then he asked who, and I said and then he was silent for a while before tearing up a little." You reply thoughtful, fond smile on your face "He said he wishes he did it in highschool and I comforted him for a bit. Guy cheered up really fast,"

"Seriously?"

"Congrats on being right," You lean into Akito, wrapping your arms around his waist "He bounced back after a drink or two and it hasn't been awkward at all. He can't hide his feelings for shit so I'm sure he's fine."

"Seriously? It's over just like that?"

"He's a positive guy and he doesn't dwell on things. Kind of dopey you know? Pure-hearted to a fault, the only thing he's really smart at is music and sports."

"So he's over it? There's no way."

"I wouldn't say he's over it," You say thoughtfully "More that he just accepts things as they are. I'm not into him so that's that. But we're still friends, and that won't change any time soon. I hope that's okay."

Akito widens his eyes.

"I mean, yeah it's fine - I guess I feel better about this way but. I mean, shit."

"I thought you'd be celebrating a little more."

Akito scoffs.

"He's still gonna make those stupid heart eyes at you, just not in front of me."

"He does not do anything of the sort!"

"Oh yes he definitely does. Ask Toya if you don't trust me."

"Maybe I will." You reply, sticking your tongue out.

"Ask him when we get to our bus."

"...Is that okay? Did you ask your manager?"

He laughs again, holding you close a second time. He tilts your chin up towards him, placing a kiss on your lips.

"Don't care," He says brazenly "I need you with me tonight."

"That sounds dirty, Akito."

"Oh, it is baby," He teases, turning his voice low "Try not to be too noisy. Kohane-sans a light sleeper."

#akito shinonome x reader #akito x reader #project sekai x reader #pjsekai x reader #writing tag

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saschax · 4 months

Text

phantasm

(n.) a figment of the imagination; an illusion or apparition:

TRIGGER WARNINGS: panic attack (protagonist's panic attack is described in details), nightmares, child abuse (recalls past), medication (for mental health purposes) and thats all, i think.

she felt comfortable. everything was.

comfort.

the blinds blocked the light, whether it'd be the sun or the moon. its was fine, except.. it wasn't.

she couldn't make out the shape of her hands as they lands on her chest, feeling her pulse quickening by the seconds.

everything is fine.

its fine.

why is she panicking?

why am i panicking?

nothing happened.

why-

images flashes in her mind. it isn't the good kind, not ones filled with butterflies. opposite infact.

then, she realises the cause behind her panicked state.

nightmares, she echos mentally, in her head. a child's nightmare, as embarassing as it sounds.

not being able to scream, to cry for help- no one's there to help. no helping hands, no.. nothing... no daddy or mommy coming for her-

he was just- just looking at you, with- with a wide smile plastered on his-

suddenly, its too overwhelming for her. a shaking wreck she is right now.

she's no strangers to nightmares, she's well acquainted by now. this nightmare, however, was different. it was bolder, it wasn't something related to her past.

no. it wasn't her mother.. her very own mother who beated on her for simple little things.

no. it was a new person entirely. the being - person - on the other end of the knife was the one with the tired, dark brown eyes she comes to love.

but ghost would never harm you. never-

she suddenly sees movement (even though it is hard to see, years of training did made her eyes see a bit better) in the dark, snapping her attention to the thing.

answer: he's watching her.

there she sat, trembling like a leaf. and there he stood, still as a rock, watching her.

seconds, minutes, hell, maybe centuries passed as the two remains where they were. it was too quiet suddenly, apart from her panicked rapid breaths. she's currently trying to convince herself it was all a nightmare.

she'll wake up after this, just a bad dream inside another bad dream-

it wasn't.

it took a moment hesitantace from ghost to move towards her. slow steps towards the bed, to her, and he stops at the end of it.

even though she isn't looking at him, she could feel his gaze on her and she hated it. it made her feel incredibly small, utterly hopeless. and her nightmare comes back to her in flashbacks.

the way ghost stood over her- with his mask (not the skull mask) on his face, a knife clutched in his hands- the way it was going down on her chest- the way she could feel the smile behind his mask- about to kil-

the bed sinks a bit and made her jolts. ghost had took a pause to sit down next to her, albet, at a safe considerable distance.

he stares at her first, what was wrong, what he couldn't fix.

she sees a hand approaching her shoulder and she flinches, immediately turning to him, jerking herself away at the same time.

what the hell?

ghost retracts his hand away like he'd been burnt. without a second glance, ghost abrupty stood to his feet, storms out the door and went to somewhere.

she couldn't hear his footsteps.

He's as fast as he is quiet, she didn't see or hear him before he's there, standing in front of her with the bottle of pills in his hand.

she sees the white title of the pills, clonidine. unfortuantely, she doesn't take pills. she tried before, and nearly choked on one. it was extremely terrifying experience for her, plus, she tried as a child. pills never worked. she needs more than a simple bottle of pills.

"ghost." the name slips from her lips with a sob, the lump in her throat threatening to explode any moments. "please."

she wanted comfort, like how her father did it for her.

she saw the way his hand clenched around the pill bottle, and she feared her words had triggered something in him. something bad. something like what happened in her dream.

a knife going down on her chest.

a hand came to her head and seeing she didn't flinch this time, did he sits closer. almost shoulder touching. she takes a deep breath - inhaling, exhaling - and her shoulders shakes. she is too frustrated with her mind to feel embarrassment, but she knew it would hit her sooner or later. she had never broken down like this, not in front of him.. or anyone else..

she always been a strong woman, physically and emotionally..

against her better judgement, she finds herself leaning against him. hiding her face in the crook of his clothed neck. she feels him tenses, and for a moment she thinks he'll push her way. but he didn't.

one hand comes to rest on her back, awkwardly running circles. He said nothing, hell, she couldn't even feel if he was breathing. his chin came to rest on top of her head and remained there. it was the most ghost had ever done for her.

morning came.

and he's gone. a smile on her face, lasting only for a fleeting second.

she slept dreamlessly, and for once, it felt like her head was above the waters, not drowning. it feels like he was holding her, like some sort of a pillar. in a way, he was.

( she would've think it was a dream, if it wasn't for the fact a bottle of pill was lying on her bed. he forgot about it.

she never mentioned it, infact, she faked confusion why it was there- despite knowing it very well why, to save ghost's the embarassment.

she appreciated him for doing this. and why he was there, she'll never know.

but it makes her feel a little less alone. a little more understood. and that is something she has not felt in a very long time..

this makes her wonder..

did he have nightmares too? she finds it odd he had nightmare pills out of nowhere. )

A.N i had a nightmare and my girlfriend sort of did this towards me, so inspired by her. decided to make it reality, ha ha. short, but im tired.

perfect excuse.

#call of duty #cod mw2 #cod #task force 141 #call of duty modern warfare #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #task force 141 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley cod #ghost simon riley #x reader

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hollybell51 · 2 years

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ok i know you said requests are backlogged but i also read your sam winchester fic (oh my god???? so good!!!!!) and i noticed that you put dean on your tag list form and i am literally in love with him so if you get time could you do like a hurt/confort fic for him where the reader gets like seriously injured and tells him she loves him because she thinks she's dying and doesn't wanna die without saying it?

Anon you are in luck, the supernatural brainrot is still going strong. Also if you wanna be tagged in stuff make sure you submit responses to that form otherwise I don't know what usernames to put xx

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Dean Winchester x fem!Reader

Supernatural (2005)

Word count: 5.8K

Summary: hunting a ghost that only seems to attack young women, you volunteer yourself as bait. The plan doesn't exactly go to plan, leading to some confessions being made.

Content: ANGST. Angst, besties. Hurt/comfort, mainly hurt but there is some comfort there, whump (sorta), mostly Dean's perspective but still second person narrative voice (loml), probably bad characterisation but I think it's passable???? Sam is like the no. 1 Dean/you shipper, A+ wingman. Badly written emotional vulnerability but I tried I promise. Kissing, first kisses, "I love you"s, bit of blood but not too explicit, hospitals, etc. etc. Dean is a warning on his own but yknow what I love him. I may have missed some stuff so please don't hesitate to catch me on it!

Notes: ft. my freaking awful titles lmaoooo. This isn't really set during any actual episode, but I'm sorta working off only having watched the first two seasons so just assume it takes place somewhere around then. Also the more I watch this the more I just wanna grab him and put him in my pocket or something, it's so bizarre. He's so pretty. I love his cockiness, I love the little eyebrow thing he does, I love the little jaw thing he does. Sorry if I messed up any lore or anything, writing this was a fever dream but tbh I had fun, it's nice to just sorta write you know? Thanks for the suggestion Anon

“Guys, can you hurry up?”

Dean glanced over his shoulder, frantically sprinkling fuel over the exposed corpse below. He couldn’t see all that much in the darkness, but it didn’t exactly look like you had the upper hand. None of them had realised how big the ghost was until now, and with the machete it was currently slashing at you…

“Almost there!” Sam shouted, striking a match and casting it into the grave. The remains went up with a “whoomp!”, the ghost howled and stumbled back. It was difficult to really know what happened in those few moments as the light from the burning remains glinted off the metal of the machete and the ghost shimmered and began to disappear, but what was clear was that something had happened to you.

“Fuck,” you groaned, dropping your own weapon with a dull thud. You staggered, catching yourself on a headstone before your knees gave out and you sank to the ground. You were hunched over awkwardly, your shoulders heaving, hands clutched tight to your stomach.

“(Y/N)?” Dean asked, frowning. Were you hurt? Just out of breath?

“I’m alright,” you called. “Just… give me a second.”

“Shit,” Sam muttered, dropping the salt and packet of matches and running towards you. “Dean!” he yelled as he knelt down, stripping off his jacket and balling it up, pressing it to your stomach.

No, Dean thought. No, no, no, no. He was frozen, the can of fuel dangling limply from his fingers. He’d known using you as bait for a psychotic ghost murderer was a bad idea, even when you’d insisted that you’d be fine. It wasn't that he didn’t think you could handle it – he’d seen you in action enough times to know you were a force to be reckoned with – but he’d had a horrible feeling something was going to go wrong from the moment you’d laid out your plan.

“He goes after girls, right?” You’d had an uncomfortable light in your eyes, all steely determination that Dean simultaneously loved and hated. Loved because, well, it was so you and it meant you were getting shit done, hated because more often than not you were putting yourself in danger. And yes, he was aware of the hypocrisy.

He’d tried to talk you out of it, Sam had too. But once your mind was set – and set it was – no amount of convincing on anyone’s part could do anything about it. The second the idea had begun to form in your brain, the path was laid and there was no point trying to change that.

“You better get over here man, quick!” Sam’s voice dropped, but wasn’t quiet enough that Dean couldn’t hear his next words, addressed to you. “Just hold on, Dean’s coming. Keep breathing, ok?”

Fuck, that didn’t sound good. Dean’s limbs jerked back to life. He didn’t waste another second, sprinting the few metres through the forest of tombstones to where his brother was bent over you.

“Don’t just stand there!” Sam yelled, one hand pressing his jacket to your stomach. “Help me!”

It was like his body was moving on autopilot, kneeling beside you and taking over from Sam without any input from Dean himself. Dully, he noticed that there was already a warm, damp patch on the jacket, as well as a dark spot glistening darkly over your side. Shit.

“I’ll be fine,” you’d insisted when he'd raised his doubts. “I’ve got you guys. You just burn the bones fast, I reckon I can hold him off for a few minutes.” Then you’d shrugged, grinning. “And if it all goes to hell, I know you’ve got my back.”

Yeah, fat lot of help they’d been.

“What happened?” he asked.

“He got me on his way out,” you laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Halfway gone and he just–” You broke off, making a vague slashing gesture with your free hand. “God, I’m an idiot.”

“No, no you did fine. We shoulda been quicker.” Dean assured you, pressing harder. “Sorry,” he muttered as you let out a pained whimper.

“‘Salright,” you grimaced. “My fault. Dean, I gotta–”

“Shh, no, it’s fine. It’s ok, you’ll be ok.”

You shook your head, tears mixing with the sweat on your face. He watched one trace a path through the dirt caked on your skin. “It’s important, please.”

He shook his head. “The only thing that’s important right now is keeping your eyes open, yeah? Just… just do that.”

“I’m calling 911,” Sam said. “Just stay there, don’t move.”

“I’m not planning on taking off, don’t worry.” You smiled tightly, then your face twisted in what Dean thought was fear, panic even. It was like a punch to his stomach, he hadn’t seen you look that scared since… Well, ever. Your hand fumbled over his, trying to find something to grab.

“It’s alright,” he told you, pressing on the jacked one-handed as the fingers of the other one twined with your own. “It’s alright, (Y/N).”

“No, no Dean, you have to burn me. Make sure you salt me, uh… Sage, use sage too.”

He felt the blood drain from his face, cold rushing through him. “What?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice breaking. “I don’t wanna hurt anyone. You have to get rid of me, ok?”

Oh God. Oh God. Dean looked up, searching frantically for Sam. He was watching you while he talked to the emergency operator, his fist pressed against his mouth and his hand shaking where he held the phone. He met Dean’s eyes, shaking his head.

“You’re not gonna hurt anyone because you’re not going anywhere.” Dean’s voice was blessedly steady, despite the uncomfortable lump in his throat.

“Promise me,” you whispered, then shouted when he didn’t respond. “Promise me, Dean!”

He gripped your hand tighter, your own fingers digging harshly into his flesh. “I promise you will be ok,” he said.

You sobbed, your body heaving under the rapidly dampening jacket. That was way too much blood for Dean’s liking, and judging by the increasing urgency of Sam’s quiet conversation on the phone, he felt the same.

Your panicked gaze locked on Dean’s face, tears coursing down your cheeks. “I don’t wanna go,” you choked. “I didn’t tell you. I can’t go.”

Didn’t tell him what? It didn’t matter. He squeezed your hand in what he hoped was a more reassuring than painful way. “It’s ok, you’re not going anywhere, alright? You’re staying right here, I’ve got you.”

“You’ve gotta listen to me, Dean–”

“No, tell me later. Just hold on, save your energy.”

“Dean–”

“(Y/N) hold on!”

“Dean!”

“Dean, listen to her.” Sam had finished on the phone, the screen shining eerily on his face. At Dean’s raised eyebrow he gave a tiny nod. Yeah, there was an ambulance on the way.

“Sam, she is not gonna die.” He shook his head, turning back to you. “We’ve got all the time in the world, ok sweetheart?” He searched frantically for something to say, anything to keep your attention. He was no doctor, but he knew it would be bad if you passed out. Very bad.

“Uh… fuck.” He broke off, floundering. What would keep you awake? What could he possibly say after you’d just made him promise to get rid of your spirit once you were dead, which was not going to happen.

“It’s actually not a bad night,” he started, already kicking himself mentally. “Bit of a breeze. I guess it’s sheltered down there, you’ve got a nice, uh, headstone blocking it. Ground’s not too bad either, not too hard. Glad it’s not gravel, my knees’re killing me.”

A watery laugh clawed its way from you before another sob wracked your body. “Dean, I gotta tell you…”

“Can you see the stars from down there?” he asked, cutting you off. “I bet they’re bright out here. No light pollution.” He grabbed your hand as your fingers loosened their grip, dread settling like a stone in his stomach.

Your eyes wandered away from his face, sweeping over the space behind him. You nodded, but the haziness that had slid over your face didn’t do anything to help Dean’s panic, especially now that you weren’t holding his hand nearly as tightly as you had been.

“Wait,” he said, squeezing your fingers. “Just focus on me, keep looking at me.”

Your eyes swung back to his. “Please,” you whispered. “Please Dean, listen to me”

Sam’s hand settled on his shoulder, large and heavy. He nodded to your face when Dean glanced at him, and to his horror he realised there were specks of blood on your lips.

He swallowed hard. He hadn’t realised, but this was probably one of the worst moments of his life. He’d entirely ignored even the possibility of you being injured, let alone dying – just thinking the word felt wrong – since you’d joined him and Sam, doggedly refusing to acknowledge the near physical ache the idea of your absence caused. Now it was happening, right in front of him. Heat prickled behind his eyes.

He took a deep breath, steadying his voice. “Yeah, alright sweetheart. You tell me, I’m listening.”

Relief washed over your face. “I wanted to say it,” you whispered, “before. I didn’t want it like this.”

“It’s ok. Sh, it’s ok.”

Your body convulsed under his hand with another sob, more blood leaking from the corners of your mouth. “I love you,” you choked. “I love you so much. I don’t wanna get stuck because I never told you.”

Oh. Oh. Dean’s mind went blank, then crashed right back into his skull. It was like swinging on a swing, at the peak of the arc where you floated a little before you started going down again. Yeah, that was his brain in that moment. Of course you’d have the guts to say it when he didn’t, even if it was out of fear of becoming an angry ghost. He cursed the universe and its cruel sense of humour. He faced horrors beyond most people’s imaginations almost every day, but still couldn’t say three simple words when he wanted to more than anything, and now you’d taken the first step for him and it was because you thought you were about to die. Someone up there must have hated his guts.

“I know,” he said finally, nodding. “I know you do. Hold on, ok? There’s an ambulance, it’s gonna get here any minute” It wasn’t what he wanted to tell you, but no matter how hard he tried he couldn’t make his mouth cooperate.

You smiled, your grip on his hand all but nonexistent now. Your breathing was getting shallower by the second, your eyes unfocussed and no longer trained on his face. It was like now that you’d said your piece, you weren’t even trying to stay awake. He didn’t like to be too dramatic, but he was almost convinced that he was the one who’d been stabbed, not you.

“No,” he whispered. “No, (Y/N), not you. Please, not you.”

A wailing siren sounded in the distance, blue and red lights flashing rapidly brighter as the ambulance drew closer.

“Just a few more minutes,” Sam said, pacing. His eyes never left your face. “Come on, (Y/N), any second now.”

You were perfectly still, too still. Dean leant over, careful to keep applying pressure to your stomach as he listened for breath. The faintest hint of it brushed his cheek, not enough. He blinked hard, holding you against his chest, his face pressed into your hair. It still smelled like the cheap shampoo from the most recent motel, mixed with blood and dirt and sweat. It should have been disgusting, but to Dean it smelled so right. He wondered what that said about his lifestyle choices.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice choked. “(Y/N)...”

Your hand slipped from his, and it was like a damn breaking. He felt his shoulders jerk, something between a sob and a grunt torn from him.

“I love you too,” he whispered, clinging so tightly to you he was half scared he was going to hurt you. “I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you, (Y/N), I love you.”

The siren was deafening as the ambulance skidded to a stop, Sam waving frantically to the paramedics swarming the graveyard. Someone pulled Dean back despite his protests. Cold stung his cheeks, the breeze from earlier having turned into a wind. It vaguely occurred to him that the reason it was so cold on his face was because he was crying.

Everything was a blur as you were engulfed by uniformed paramedics, your limp form lifted onto a stretcher and born away into the vehicle. Someone tried to talk to him before Sam, uncannily put together and coherent, spoke to them and explained. There was a lot of nodding and “thankyou”s, then Dean was being loaded into the Impala like a little kid and Sam was driving like you were in the back seat instead of in the ambulance.

All he was aware of at the hospital was Sam’s hand gripping his arm, muttering that he needed to pull it together “for her, man.” The harsh, clinical lights and the rush that everyone seemed to be in wasn’t helping Dean’s panic, every prone body he glimpsed taking on your face until he blinked and it was a complete stranger. What if the unthinkable really happened? What if you died, and he hadn’t been able to save you, keep you safe like you’d been so sure he would? What if you really did linger as a tormented spirit, what if he and Sam had to hunt you, get rid of you like you’d said? He didn’t know if he’d be able to do that.

Finally, a serious looking man with a clipboard and a badge approached them. “Are you with the young woman–” he glanced at the clipboard, “(Y/N), who just came in?”

“Yes,” Sam said quickly. “Yeah, how is she? Is she alright?”

“She’s damn lucky someone put as much pressure as they did on that cut,” he sighed. “She’s lost a lot of blood, but she’s stable.”

Dean let out a breath he hadn’t even realised he’d been holding, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide their shaking.

“Thankyou,” Sam smiled. “Thank you, doctor. When can we see her?”

He frowned at the clipboard again, tapping his fingers on the plastic. “Well she’s unconscious, I daresay she will be for a while yet.”

“Please,” Dean interrupted. “I– we just need to see her.”

The doctor raised an eyebrow. “You boys family?”

“Brothers,” Sam lied at the same time as Dean said “husband.”

“I’m her husband,” he went on, ignoring the little flip his stomach did. Somehow, the familiar lie felt different now that he’d told you how he felt, even if you hadn’t heard. “He’s my brother in law.”

“Ok,” he shrugged, “but she won’t… Well, she was stabbed. There’s a lot of tubes, bandages, and she’s out cold. It might be…” He stopped, sighing. “Some people find it confronting, seeing their loved ones like this.”

Dean felt Sam glance at him, but he ignored it. “Trust me,” he said with a tight smile, “I’ve seen worse.”

He had not, as it turned out, seen worse. You were completely still apart from the gentle rise and fall of your chest, a thin cotton blanket pulled up and tucked in with clinical precision around your ribs. You had a little cut on your forehead that Dean hadn’t noticed at the graveyard. A drip trailed from the back of your hand to a cluster of bags suspended above you, a thin plastic tube wrapped around your head just under your nose. Oxygen, he assumed. If he ignored all that, you could have been sleeping.

Sam pushed the door open softly, as if he was afraid he’d wake you up. Dean hesitated a moment, then followed him inside. Up close, he could see the light sheen of sweat on your forehead, the darkness under your eyes, the pallor of your lips and cheeks. He reached out to touch you, maybe lay his hand on your forehead or smooth your hair away from your face, but drew his hand back at the last moment. He didn’t want to somehow unbalance you from whatever tightrope you were walking right now, even though he knew that was illogical. Still, even breathing the same air felt somehow dangerous for you.

“Did she tell you?” he asked Sam eventually.

“That she loves you?” He didn’t give Dean a chance to explain that he hadn’t meant that, that he’d been talking about your fear of not-quite-death. “She never said it outright, but I sort of worked it out, y’know? You guys weren’t really that subtle.”

Dean frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just…” He shrugged, gesturing vaguely between your prone form and Dean. “You’re always looking at her, when you think she can’t see you. She does the same. Always just sorta… doing little things for each other. And you’re always touching her, I don’t know if you realised.”

“Huh. I didn’t.” It was true, although it didn’t really surprise him. He liked the little smile you gave him whenever he picked something up from a store for you – a favourite candy, something you’d mentioned you felt like – and he’d just assumed when you did similar things for him it was because you were, well, you. But now that he thought about it, he couldn’t name half as many times when you’d taken the same care and effort for Sam. Not that you’d neglected his brother, it was just… slightly less personal, less specially catered. He felt a surge of warmth for you, then a pang as his eyes landed again on your too-pale face.

As for touching you, well, he wanted to. All the time. He wanted to put his hand on your shoulder, wrap his arms around your waist, hold you close and feel your heartbeat against his. Every brief half-hug or brush of your skin against his was something precious to him, so of course he’d want more. His mind flashed back to the tightness of your hand in his at the graveyard, the warm slick of your blood as you’d clung to him. Even that had been almost euphoric, past the raw terror and sickening dread. He was going to hold you like that again – under better circumstances – if it killed him.

“Yeah,” Sam went on. “She’s the same, actually.” He laughed, shaking his head. “I remember this one time, Illinois, I think. We got a motel room with the longest couch you've ever seen. You sat down in the corner, and she comes and sits right next to you! When she’s got, like, another two metres of space to choose from.”

Dean did remember that, actually. He remembered the rush he’d gotten as you’d squished up against his side, complaining that you were cold even though your skin had been warm to the touch. He still thought about it, sometimes. “Huh,” he said again.

“Yeah.” It was silent apart from the beeping of your monitor and the normal hospital sounds outside the room, then Sam turned and faced him. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Dean shook his head. “It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have let her put herself out there like that in the first place.”

“No, I was supposed to have her back. I shouldn’t have taken so long with the salt.”

He wasn’t wrong, Dean knew that, but it had been him who’d agreed to your plan. You’d put your faith in him just as much as you had in Sam, and he’d let you down. He hadn’t liked the whole thing from the start, but still he’d gone ahead with it. And now here you were, lying unconscious in a hospital bed, and Sam was beating himself up about it. It was all so wrong, and Dean could have stopped it so easily. But as he looked at you, he swore he could hear you snorting derisively at him, crossing your arms with a firm “bullshit!”

“It’s my choice,” you’d say. “You’re really gonna try to steal my credit?”

“She’d call bullshit on you, you know,” he said.

His brother shrugged, nodding. “Yeah, you too probably. She’d poke you, right here.” He reached around and stuck his finger firmly in the middle of Dean’s chest, right where you’d done countless times.

Despite himself, Dean smiled. Then your drip beeped and he was jerked painfully back to the present, and the problem at hand.

“Did you know she was so scared?” he asked. “Of, y’know…” Dying. Haunting someone. Getting stuck here, not being able to move on.

Sam didn’t answer for a moment, then he sighed, still looking at you. “She mentioned it.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Why didn’t she tell me?

“She didn’t want me to. She thought you’d think… I don’t know, that she wouldn’t be able to do the job. She really didn’t want you to know she was scared, she was so worried about what you thought of her. She said you were…” He swallowed, cleared his throat, continued. “She said you were never scared, and she didn’t want you to think she was. Even when I told her we were all terrified.”

“Damn right,” Dean muttered. You’d done a great job at putting on such a brave front, he’d sometimes wondered if there was actually something wrong with you. Or maybe not wrong, but different. He’d never known anyone who could handle the things they did so well, not even his dad. It was something of a relief to know that there was more to it.

“She was convinced she’d be the type of person to get stuck,” he continued. “Kept saying she wouldn’t be able to move on, that she had too much that she was holding onto and she didn’t know how to let go.” He finally raised his head, looking at Dean with what he thought was pity. Any other time, that would have annoyed him.

“That’s why she said it,” he muttered, the uncomfortable lump back in his throat. When you woke up, he was going to give you a serious talk about timing.

Sam nodded.

“And she didn’t–” His voice broke, and he turned away. He wanted to punch something, put his fist through the wall or slam his hand down on the table, but he was too scared it would somehow disturb you. “I didn’t say it back.”

“Woah, hey.” Sam’s hand was firm on his shoulder, steadying him. “You did, man. You did.”

“I was too late! She was out!”

“Yeah, and you can tell her again when she wakes up.”

“What if–”

“No.” Sam shook his head firmly, fingers digging into Dean’s shoulder, anchoring him to the spot. “She’s waking up, and when she does you’re gonna ask her out on a proper date, she’s gonna say yes, and you’re gonna sort yourselves out like adults. Ok?”

Dean looked away. The prospect of asking you out suddenly felt enormous. Of course he’d taken girls on dates before, he knew what he was doing, but that had been more along the lines of “I think you’re cute and you’re clearly into me, let’s get dinner and then we can hook up.” He’d never faced “I’ve been pining over you for months and I was too scared to do anything about it but you almost died and told me you loved me – love, not like – and I have no idea where this is gonna go but Sam’s right and asking you out is probably the best next step even if it’s absolutely terrifying”. He was a total mess, and he knew it.

“Ok?” Sam asked again, insistent.

“Ok,” he agreed. “Ok.”

“Good.”

You didn’t wake up until a day later. Well, that was according to the time and date displayed on the clock opposite your bed. Dean didn’t really have any recollection of time actually passing.

He was slumped in the chair beside your bed, your hand held gently in his own as he dozed. He hadn’t let himself fully sleep since you’d been brought in, too afraid that something would happen while he was out, despite all Sam’s urging. Eventually he’d just sent his brother back to the motel, assuring him that he’d be fine on his own and that he wanted to be there for you when you came around.

He jerked out of his half-nap when your fingers twitched, cursing when his pain stabbed through his neck. Snoozing in hospital chairs was never a good idea.

“Fuck,” you groaned, frowning at the ceiling.

Dean cleared his throat, his mouth suddenly dry. “(Y/N)?”

You turned, your face clearing when you saw him. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t make his heart skip a beat. “Dean,” you whispered. “What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged, making to withdraw his hand, but your grip tightened. “I’m the ‘welcome back’ committee.”

“Oh.” You nodded, smiling softly. You ran your free hand over the bandage circling your waist, studying the IV embedded in your skin. “We got him, didn’t we?” you asked.

Right, the ghost. “Uh, yeah, he’s gone. Your plan worked,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

“It was a pretty good plan,” you grinned.

He shook his head. “It almost got you killed.”

“But it worked,” you insisted, your eyes shining. “He’s gone, Dean. Who knows how many people we saved?”

“And what about you, huh?”

You shrugged. “You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He took a deep breath, bending his head so you wouldn’t see the moisture he was sure he could feel gathering in his eyes. How were you so casual about it? It had been your life on the line, you who’d gotten stabbed, who’d been bleeding out, terrified of not dying properly and becoming a ghost yourself.

“Hey,” you said gently, your hand slipping from his, sliding up over his arm to rest hesitantly on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

“You almost died, (Y/N). Sam told me, what you said about getting stuck, being unable to move on.”

You were silent for a moment, then you sighed. “Well it’s just awkward now that I’m still here.”

Despite himself, Dean laughed. He raised his head, placing his hand over yours, rubbing his thumb in a circle over it. Your skin was warm as ever, dry to the touch. It was such a contrast from the graveyard, one he was glad of. You smiled, some of the colour already returning to your face.

“I’ve always got your back,” he said, “no matter what. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“I wanted to, I really wanted to. But I just… I don’t know, I just couldn’t. Every time I tried it was like this brick wall went up in my brain.” You shrugged, drawing your hand back as you shifted to sit more upright. Dean missed its warmth instantly. “You’re always so… unfazed, you know? It felt kinda stupid.”

He snorted. Sure, Sam had already told him what you’d said, but it was different coming from you.

You folded your arms, as if you’d just won an argument. “See?”

“Shit, (Y/N),” he said, shaking his head. “I’m not – what’d you say? – unfazed. This shit gets to me too, I just…” He thought, unsure how to phrase it. “I didn’t wanna scare you,” he finally settled for. “Didn’t want you to worry.”

“Oh.” You picked at a loose thread in the blanket, biting your lip. “And the other thing?”

“Yeah, the other thing.” He’d known this was coming, he’d tried to find the words as he’d sat beside you, waiting for you to wake up. He’d almost had it, he told himself. How hard could it be, after all?

“I didn’t wanna die with, like, unfinished business. That’s the main reason people stick around. It felt like if I didn’t get it out there, I wouldn’t ever be able to… keep going. Move on.” You swallowed, not meeting his eyes. “It’s ok,” you went on, “if you don’t, y’know, feel the same. I’d understand.”

So you hadn’t heard him. Dean wasn’t surprised, but some part of him had been clinging to the hope that somehow his words had gotten through to you even as you were bundled into the back of the ambulance.

He shook his head. “I just wish you’d said something before.”

You looked up, hope chasing confusion across your face. “What?”

“I wish you’d said something before,” he repeated. “It would’ve saved us both a lotta trouble.”

“I don’t…” You frowned. “What’re you…?”

He shrugged, his heart beating a million mph. “I love you too,” he said simply.

You blinked, opening your mouth to say something, closing it again. Slowly, a smile crept across your features. “Alright,” you grinned, way too smug for Dean’s liking. “Alright then.”

“Don’t push it,” he warned, but the threat was empty and you both knew it.

You shifted again, leaning towards him. “Come here,” you said softly.

He stood, ignoring the ache in his back from the bloody uncomfortable chair.

Impatiently, you beckoned him closer.

He raised an eyebrow, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face. “Do I get to kiss you?”

“That’s the goal, yeah.” You rolled your eyes, tilting your face against his hand. Dean wasn’t fond of the whole “butterflies in your stomach” thing, but he had no idea how else to describe the feeling that tiny gesture conjured. It really was like someone had released a swarm of the things inside him, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

You were watching him expectantly, almost like you were challenging him. “Go on,” your eyes seemed to be saying, “try it.”

He did. Your lips were softer than he’d expected, and just as warm as your hands. You made a sound somewhere in the realm of a sigh as his hand slid down to rest on your shoulder, pushing gently towards him, your own fingers running over his jaw to brush along the back of his neck. He couldn’t believe he’d waited this long to kiss you, and now that he’d finally taken the plunge, he never wanted to stop.

But he had to breathe, unfortunately, and so did you.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you whispered. You were still close enough that he could feel the words against his skin.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he replied.

You laughed, a soft, breathy sound, and closed the tiny gap once more. “I love you,” you murmured between kisses, “and I’m sorry it took me almost dying to say it.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry about that too.”

The door handle clicked, the hinges squealing. “Ok, so I ran into the doctor on the way in— woah.”

Dean stood up so fast he almost overbalanced.

Sam was standing in the doorway with a disposable coffee cup in each hand, his mouth hanging open as he stared from you to Dean and back again.

You cleared your throat. “Hi, Sam.”

He shut his mouth, shoving the cups into Dean’s hands as he crossed the room and bent to hug you with a muttered “thank God.”

“Watch it,” you warned, “I’m injured.” But your arms snaked around his back anyway, your voice muffled as you pressed your face into his neck.

“You’re never allowed to scare us like that again,” Sam said firmly.

Your eyes found Dean’s over Sam’s shoulder, and you smiled. “I’m not really planning on it, don’t worry.”

Sam just laughed. “How’re you feeling?” he asked when he finally let you go.

“Ok,” you nodded, then frowned. “Hungry.”

Sam glanced at Dean, who shrugged. He’d gotten bored some time in the morning, and the packet of pudding that had been left on your bedside table along with a bottle of water had been practically begging to be tasted. He’d wondered if you’d wake up before they brought a replacement, he’d even felt a little bad eating your food, but he was hungry, dammit, and when Sam had left he’d said he would come back “later” which meant “tonight”. And that was too long for Dean to wait. He also didn’t have any money on him, and wouldn’t have left your side for the cafeteria when the pudding was right there.

“What?” you asked.

“He ate the pudding they left you,” Sam said. Dean never should have mentioned it, but he’d been desperate to get Sam to bring him something and it had felt convincing over the phone.

Dean glared at his brother and the coffees – which were very noticeably not the fast food he’d had in mind. “You try living in that chair for a day, see how long you can go without.” Then he turned to you. “You didn’t miss much, don’t worry.”

“Well, I’m hungry!” you protested, crossing your arms and looking for all the world like a petulant toddler.

Sam’s words about asking you out echoed in his mind.

“I’ll buy you dinner,” he said. “At an actual restaurant, not a fast food place. As soon as they let you outta here, alright? In the meantime…” He reached for the bottle of water, handing it to you with an apologetic shrug. It was better than nothing.

You wrinkled your nose at him. “This is a pretty shit first date.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” he said. Then, on second thoughts, “It’s not a first date, Sam’s here.”

“Geez,” Sam muttered, “sorry. And after I got you a coffee too.”

“Did you get me one?” you asked hopefully.

“No,” he said slowly. “But you can have mine if you want?”

You sighed. “I don’t like it how you do. But thanks,” you added with a smile.

“Sorry, I just wasn’t expecting you to be awake.”

“Have a little faith, Sam.”

He smiled, glancing between you and Dean.

“You owe me a coffee, and you owe me a dinner,” you continued before he could say anything. Dean thanked you silently. He didn’t really want a shovel talk from his own brother right now, which he could see Sam was just dying to dish out. He wondered if you’d be getting one. Probably, but he had no doubts that it would be less “shovel” more “talk”.

“Soon as you’re fixed up,” he said. “I promise.”

“And it’ll be a date?”

“Sweetheart, it’ll be the best first date you’ve ever been on. Trust me.”

You just grinned, ignoring Sam’s fake-disgusted sigh. “Ok.”

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carriesthewind · 1 year

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Hey, I love your writeups for the ChatGPT case! There's one thing that's kind of confusing me though. You (and the judge) seem to be saying that the good faith argument makes sense for the March 1st opposition but not the April 25th affidavit. I'm not a lawyer, but the more I think about it the more I feel like the other way around makes more sense.

Regarding not reading the cases: if I was looking for a book, even because someone said it doesn't exist, and I found a book that had the right title, author, and cover, and wasn't obviously a fake book (like, no words on the pages, or something), I think I'd be convinced. If I'm supposed to think it could be a forgery, I don't know how I could tell by reading it. How hard is it to write a fake opinion that looks real? What tells would you look for? And why would anyone write one? It seems to me like the only thing that reading the cases would prove is whether or not it was generated by a bleeding-edge large language model. (This is setting aside all the warnings they had to ignore that ChatGPT specifically isn't a reliable source. And the fact that they didn't even annex the "entire opinions" they were ordered to. And that they didn't even seem to realize that they were being accused of citing bogus cases. And that they should have read the cases anyway, possible fakery or not. And the way they tried to downplay it afterwards. God, there is so much stupid in this case. "The ChatGPT lawyer" really doesn't do it justice.)

The opposition seems less defensible. Schwartz didn't just find and submit documents, he submitted assertions about the contents of cases without reading said contents. Why would you use a "search engine" to write your arguments for you? That's your job. How can you claim in good faith that precedents you didn't read are in favour of your position? Even if ChatGPT really was incapable of making up cases, if they'd found all the cases on Google Scholar and annexed them, they could still be in deep shit, right? They could be sanctioned if they misrepresented the contents, or at least lose the case if the interpretations are dubious. Not to mention the legal argument about state law in a federal case - that's something I would expect a lawyer to know to check for.

Am I missing something? You've anticipated all the judge's points and it's probably me who's wrong here. Just trying to understand.

Hi! Thank you for the question. I think I understand your confusion, and I am going to try to clear it up - let me know if this makes sense.

The difference comes down to the idea that when he submitted the opposition, he was doing very poor work and was not acting reasonably. However, when he submitted the fake cases, he was knowingly lying to the court.

For example: for my job, I use secondary sources that other people have written to explain the current state of the law. Those secondary sources refer to, cite, and summarize various cases. When I use a secondary source, I don't rely on the source - I use it as a jumping off point to look up the cases myself and do additional legal research. But, based on my experience, I expect the summaries of cases in good secondary sources to be more-or-less accurate.

Now, that doesn't mean it is okay for someone to submit a legal brief based solely off the summaries in a secondary source - as you say, you can't know for sure the summaries or correct (and "more-or less" leaves a lot of wiggle room). And there is a lot of potentially relevant information that is left out of the summaries. And even if they are correct, you don't know if they are still good law - they may be out of date.

But "being a bad lawyer" is not sanctionable misconduct. Especially because with sua sponte sanctions, the question isn't whether Schwartz was reasonable (he wasn't), but if he was acting in subjective bad faith, which in this case means essentially that he was knowingly lying to the court.

If he, as he says, genuinely thought the cases he was citing in the opposition were real cases and the bot was accurately summarizing their contents, he was not knowingly lying to the court. He was doing terrible work, but again, being a terrible lawyer is not sanctionable misconduct.

But - and here is where maybe I think the confusion is coming in? - when he submitted the fake opinions, he was making an assertion to the court about the contents of the cases. He was telling the court, "these judges wrote these specific things in these specific cases." (And in terms how hard is it to write a fake opinion that looks real - those cases did not look real. Anyone with any legal training, even just glancing at them, would realize something seemed wrong.)

It was unreasonable for him to cite the cases without reading them in his opposition, but at that point, he can at least try to argue that he had reason to believe the citations and summaries were accurate. Once he was put on notice, continuing to "assume the cases were real" without checking and reading them was no longer plausibly good faith.

And to return to your analogy - he didn't just "find a book" that had the right title and author and so on. He went back to the same source that had given him the titles, and asked it to provide him the full text of the book.

For an analogy: Imagine you are writing a research paper. It would be like if you were emailing a friend looking for a published scientific article to support your research, and they gave you a citation and a summary of the article, and you relied on that article in your paper. That would be unreasonable, but you could honestly say you thought your friend was being honest in providing you information. But now image a bunch of reviewers came back to you and said, "hey this article might be fake, we can't find it." And so you went back to your friend and said, "hey, can you give me that article?" And then they sent you an email back that said, sure! And they sent you about a thousand words in the body of the email. And those thousand words were complete nonsense, where in the beginning it says this was a study on the evolution of bacteria and in the conclusion it was talking about the behavior of the two sample groups of primates. In that case, if you printed out those thousand words and gave it to the reviewers and said, yep, look, the article is totally real, here is the text of the article, the reviewers could reasonable conclude that you were intentionally lying to them.

That was a lot of text, but I hope it helped!

#ask

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butterfrogmantis · 3 months

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What about the angels and demons Smurfs in your au?

This genuinley made me think around my Death personification but no worries because it still works!

I did state before that BV religion is complex, since human religions exist within the au and certain characters adhere to humanly religion cultures (Textile Trio are Jewish, Gourdy is Muslim, most humans of their time period are Christian, and some are even tied to ancient religions such as Kheprii and the Egyptian Gods etc) but that's because Death doesn't really show themself until the final hours to the point they're more like a myth than Mother Nature/Father Time.

There's no reason NOT for these religions to exist because Death is too much of a mystery, and some are more cultural than actually thiest-y (Textile trio for example)

Hell HAS been shown in the Smurfs franchise, but I don't think this makes the Christian view of such the only right one.

Death is the governer of the "afterlife", which isn't super specific. This means in theory that Death is the overseerer of afterlife (generic/good) and afterlife (bad) which I suppose could be hell. Heaven as a concept doesn't necessarily mean 'congrats you picked the right religion' but more 'rest now and I shall give you the afterlife you wanted' and hell is 'holy shit dude you messed up, now to the fire with you so you pay for your crimes'.

As such, Angels don't really exist outside of specific aus (aka Harmkey demon/angel au). The manifestations of devil and angel's on people's shoulder's are imaginary at best, they're not actual characters its a metaphor. I do know some aus making them more 'real' but for mine it's pretty much all in your head.

Demons DO exist in the Butterverse however, again which could be linked to the bad place. The devil in such a scenario is just the head demon and is the same species, a bit like a monarchy where 'devil' means king.

Also remember that Greek Gods HAVE been shown so realistically those are the only ones that are canon /lh (it's season 9 feel free to ignore season 9)

TLDR: Death is such an enigma that all religions within the Butterverse persist because nobody can prove otherwise. Death doesn't care much for worship and simply oversees both good and bad afterlife which means Heaven as a concept is a bit more loose since its just kind of the 'kingdom of the afterlife' which is open to all souls regardless of mortal belief, and doesn't include traditional angels. The closest thing is maybe cherubs (forgot to add Cupid to the list of true immortals).

Hell is slightly more textbook except demons are just kind of the native species there and "The Devil" is simply the title given to the current king. Angel and Devil shoulder people are metaphors.

Reminder that this is just for my au, feel free to do whatever with yours <3

#the smurfs #smurfs #butterverse asks

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hotwaterandmilk · 1 year

Text

No Accounting for Taste

I've never been accused of having "good taste" when it comes to, well, any type of media. However, when it comes anime/manga I find I'm accused of being contrarian or ignoring genuinely "good" titles in favour of "bad" ones fairly often.

While that's not exactly groundless, it doesn't paint the full picture of what I find interesting and why it intrigues me so I thought I'd write about it a little.

I like a lot of popular, agreed upon "good" titles where a masterful artist or team or artists executes a beautiful vision that may not get everything right, but still manages to tick the majority of boxes and leave the audience remembering the experience for years to come (something like Shoujo Kakumei Utena or Cowboy Bebop, for example).

However, these series don't tend to be the ones I obsess about and collect things from and that comes down to the fact that I just love an interesting mess. Something that catches my attention in a unique way despite not having the story weight/talent/etc. to pull it all off.

You know those series with a fantastic concept but terrible execution? Or series with a couple of genuinely fascinating characters and mediocrity across the board otherwise? Yeah, those are what I love.

That doesn't mean I turn my head and ignore these flaws (Akihabara Dennou-gumi for example has a fantastic backdrop of alchemy, but that doesn't excuse the disgusting fanservice or explain piss-poor overall production).

If anything, I find those flaws intriguing in their own right (how does something with so much promise end up failing to stick the landing? Why were these the directions these titles took?) and learning about why they happened can continue to fuel my interest in the titles years after I've first experienced them.

And of course what is "good" and what is "bad" is extremely subjective, not everyone will agree on what the "best" title of all time is no matter how many fans you survey. I think what matters to me at the end of the day is that, for whatever reason, an eclectic assortment of titles have just hit me at the exact right point in my life for me to become engrossed by their eccentricities, flaws, and yes, even their successes.

That's why you'll find me sharing the odd scan from genre-defining titles like Sailor Moon, but when it comes to tearing apart art books and tracking down obscure pieces of stationery, I reserve that kind of dedication for Wedding Peach because it just hit me different 25+ years ago and I still can't shake it (despite the series being what it is).

Anyway, Saturdays are a real brain fog day for me because Friday is when I take my weekly meds so, err, this isn't a particularly articulate examination of my interests or anything. I just got to thinking last night that I find Ryuu-ou Mahoujin more intriguing than GALS! despite the former being a short-lived, break-neck paced mess of a production and the latter being a clearly thought out and popular title from the same author.

I'm also currently re-watching Kamichama Karin and it is such a hot mess of things I can't stand and things that make me genuinely go "what was Koge-Donbo* thinking?" but these flaws compel me to keep pressing play on episode after episode.

I just feel that at the end of the day there's enough room in the world for all of us to enjoy different problematic faves and to highlight successes without pretending failures don't also exist. Every project whether it ends up "good" or "bad" has a team of individuals doing their best on it and I think that's something that resonates with me even if the end product is a total mess.

Sometimes a project veers away from the course it was meant to take and never becomes what it could have been, but those trace elements of brilliance can get noticed by someone who experienced the title at the right time and vibed with the core concepts regardless of the execution.

So creators, take heed, even if the project you work on doesn't end up an iconic series with millions of fans there will always be weirdos like me out there that love the memorable parts of what you did manage to do while also noting the bits you got wrong. Sometimes one person's trash really is someone else's treasure (and yes you'll have to pry Wedding Peach et al. from my cold, dead hands).

youtube

#meta #ramblings #random thoughts #sorry i can't word good today #but i wanted to get this out of my brain #feel free to disagree #i just enjoy trash idk #that's me #and that's what you'll find here

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hwanghyunjinenthusiast · 2 years

Text

You make me breathe

AN: My first fic about Woozi would have this much drama lmao. I'm strongly considering turning this into a series because I have a tonne of ideas floating around in my mind of where I'd like to take this. Shoutout to Breathe by GOT7 for the title.

Synopsis: Jihoon is utterly in love with you. Too bad you're into his friend Soonyoung, and he's too much of a coward to ever tell you how he feels. He's happy to take his feelings to the grave but soon finds that his body doesn't agree with his decision.

Heads up: Lee Jihoon x Fem! Reader, Kwon Soonyoung x Fem! Reader (but, not actually), assumed unrequited love, a tonne of angst and pining on Woozi's end, Hanahaki disease AU, Non-Idol AU, mentions of crying and coughing up blood.

I will block you if you are minor and have no easily visible indication of your age on your blog if you interact with me in any way.

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

Jihoon watches you talk to Soonyoung with what he hopes is nonchalance. Something awful constricts in his chest when he notices your hand rest on his arm, and you laugh particularly hard at whatever his friend says. Usually Jihoon wouldn't be this overly analytical about anyone's movements, but he just can't seem to help himself when it comes to you.

His eyes always find you without fail. You draw him like a magnet. Jihoon isn't sure when he fell for you. When he looks back on the progression of his feelings, he thinks it happened gradually. One day you were just a friend Seungkwan introduced to the group, and the next thing he knew, he was irrevocably in love with you. He's been too much of a coward to ever broach his feelings with you these past few months, and now he sees you slipping through his fingers.

You and Soonyoung have always been close. Your personalities simply clicked. There wasn't much else to it, so you were always practically attached at the hip. He just understood you better. Soonyoung is loud and confident and funny and affectionate, so many things Jihoon is not and will likely never be. Maybe that's why you seem to like him so much. More than anyone else in their friend group.

Jihoon finds it increasingly difficult to breathe when he notices you cuddling into Soonyoung's side, your boisterous conversation turning to hushed whispers that scream closeness and intimacy.

He knew his insecurities were getting the best of him. You spoke to Jihoon often, sometimes the two of you would spend hours alone in his studio simply talking. Occasionally he'd show you what he was working on and privately preen at your praise and carefully consider any criticism you offer up as well. Those were some of his most treasured moments with you.

You weren't his. You weren't in a relationship with him. He had no right to feel envious of Soonyoung, especially when he has never even tried to tell you how he feels. Still, feelings are irrational, and Jihoon cannot help his.

He fails to notice your eyes focusing on him when he excuses himself for the night, your brow furrowed in concern as you watch him hurriedly make his way to his room for the night.

Jihoon swallows down the tears and tries to remind himself to breathe when he's finally in the safety of bedroom, hurling himself on his bed. He was being overdramatic, he knew that, but he still couldn't bite back the tears as they fall down on his cheeks and begin to dot his pillow. He's pathetic.

It was getting difficult to breathe.

He felt like his insides were being shred into pieces as he laid here, wallowing in self-pity and self-deprecation. The feeling of his lungs constricting returns, more severe than last time. More determined to be felt by him.

He rushes to his bathroom, urgency leaving him without the presence of mind to even turn on the light. He nearly hits his head with how hurriedly he kneels over his toilet, clutching it desperately as he tries his best to get whatever is currently burning his insides out of his system.

This doesn't feel normally. Jihoon has thrown up before, and it's never felt like this.

It's never hurt like this.

Tears cascade down his face as he finally manages to get... whatever is causing this out of his body, the metallic tang of blood assaulting his taste buds. He coughs violently, worse than he's ever recalled doing in his life.

When the violent coughing fit subsides, Jihoon manages to open his bleary eyes to examine what the fuck just came out of him. He's stunned to see what he thinks are white chrysanthemum petals covered in his blood floating in the water below.

#lee jihoon angst #jihoon angst #seventeen angst #woozi angst #lee jihoon fic #jihoon fic #seventeen fic #woozi fic

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lazaruspiss · 1 year

Note

So, I'm writing a long fanfic based around the characterizations of the various Bats in the 80s-00s time frame, and Nightwing is gonna be important but I don't have a good grasp of his personality yet. I'm currently reading through The Resurrection of Ras Al Ghul, but that and a few of the 2016 issues are all I've got to go off of right now.

Do you have any comics you'd recommend for getting a good grasp of his personality and general vibes?

I'd also be happy to read any kind of ramble about his personality/appeal you feel like writing. Having read your fanfiction I feel like (sincere compliment:) you are the exact kind of unhinged I want to get character opinions from.

(Also you mentioned Dick being in the mob which sounds Very Fun and I wanna know what titles so I can read that)

-redhoodinternaldialectical on anon cause sideblog

ok first of all. im flattered. i feel so powerful rn.

and second of all... my 'to read' list is embarrassingly long, and dick's been around and in a lot of comics so i have a lot of trouble keeping up ;-; but i will try my best!!

The New Teen Titans gets recommended a lot as a starting point for Dick as Nightwing, and while i havent read much of it, the stuff i have read has been pretty solid and i get why its so popular.

Nightwing 1996 is my personal go to comic for Dick, mainly bc it was his first real solo run. (it's often listed as "volume 2" of nightwing, but volume 1 aka Nightwing 1995 was really more of a test drive just to see if they should make a Nightwing solo series) It's also where Dick joins the mob! although that came off the tail end of a lot of different plot points.

(This is a bit unrelated, but in general I think knowing a bit of irl context to certain comic events is important. Like, at one point Bludhaven is nuked off the map. It doesn't make sense, and it was most likely due to some higher up DC nonsense. And Nightwing 1996's second annual is written by a man. etc etc.)

... I actually have a guide I've been working on, main reasons being quick reference for what happens where, and that writing these things down helps me remember them better

as you can probably tell, I still have a ways to go. looking at this now i'm starting to realize that i am really down bad for him lol

Mobbed Up (where Dick gets adopted by a random mob boss who took one look at his depressed mug as he was getting fired from the police force and said "new son?") is issues #107-111

I feel like I should get back to character thoughts.

Dick on his own is deeply serious, he has a job to do and it's incredibly important that he does it right. In the beginning this serves as an invaluable asset, but as he loses more people it starts to turn into more destructive. A trait that is morphed by his traumas into obsessiveness.

Dick when Tim comes to visit (or just when he's around people he cares about) is a bit softer, it's subtle, but it shows that he's aware of/cares for the people around him.

Dick with Bruce around seems to worry so much about proving himself, about being seen as a respectable peer, that it backfires into making him come off more insecure and as a bit of a "rebellious teen". (which is exactly what he's trying to avoid when he strikes out on his own) I've read various arcs and issues but I haven't actually read any focused on Dick and Bruce aside from the ones towards the beginning, so I'm sure their relationship must change, but this is how they were when Dick had first moved to Blud.

I feel like Bludhaven is also important to talk about. It's very much meant to be "Gotham, but worse". It's a place that even Batman wouldn't bother with, a place beyond saving. I'm... kind of breaking my own heart, thinking about how much Dick put into this city, only to. To fail? In a sense? A hero's home city isn't usually obliterated like that. The only other example that comes to mind is Hal Jordan's, and Hal literally went insane and became a space terrorist to bring it back. Dick is just... forced to move on.

And Dick goes back to NYC. Nightwing patrolling Gotham with any regularity feels very modern. He shows up when there's a major event and DC wants to capitalize on having a bunch of names in the same series, and he shows up when something drastic changes (like a new robin, or a death). Dick has however spent a lot of time in NYC, either because of the Titans or because. yknow. home go boom.

Anyways. Arc recs. Unironically I need you to read Brothers in Blood. Get past the initial gross out factor of Tentatodd and it's a great look at Jason and Dick's relationship. This is #118-122 and right after Bludhaven gets nuked. Dick has just experienced the lowest lows that one could low. Jason seems to know all about it, and tries to help in the worst way possible. Jason is right and blunt and convoluted and so so insecure about where he stands with Dick. Dick doesn't know where he stands with Jason either, on account of all the murder, and his tactless approach to trying to confront Dick on the copious amounts of trauma that Dick is dealing with. BiB is my Jaydick bible.

I'd also say to just give the first few arcs a shot. Beginnings are meant for introductions! It gives a good sense of who Dick is, why he's here, and what his goals are. Exposition baby! And I'm once again thinking about how ultimately Dick kind of fails said goals. I love him but he makes me so emo. Blockbuster has also been his main villain since the beginning, up until. Yknow. He became deader than his namesake. There's also a few fear toxin based issues that are good for. well. understanding what his fears are. There's also a fear toxin scene in Batman: Orphans, but i'll just reblog the post i made of it so u don't have to read that one. The art is fun, the story is weird and just kinda. meh.

#60 is when Dick joins the force. The beginning of the end, so to speak, but we don't meet Catalina until #71.

#93 is That Issue. The infamous rape scene. The thing about his time with Catalina is that it was almost definitely meant to be explored for what it was- an abusive relationship. But DC wanted Nightwing in an event. It doesn't have any satisfactory end, Bruce (DC) calls Dick to fight in Gotham. He does. His story falls to the wayside for the bigger title. The worst thing that can happen to a DC character IMO is getting a Batman crossover. There was supposed to be an entire arc dedicated to what would happen to Dick in this abusive relationship. But we got 2 issues. And War Games. It pisses me off to absolutely no end. DC needed more mouths to kiss the ground that Batman walks on. They don't give a damn about the stories that exist outside their cash cow.

After all that, eventually Dick is back to his utterly depressing life. He joins the mob, finds a family, bad things happen to said family. (Mobbed Up, #107-111) He wants to protect the daughter, Sophia Tevis, and then Slade holds Sophia hostage to get Dick to teach his daughter Rose how to fight. He does, but he also teaches Rose how to question authority (aka her dad). Slade is not happy about that, and nukes Bludhaven. (Renegade, #112-117) See my earlier note about IRL reasons for dumbass plot points.

Nightwing 1996 has 2 annual issues (despite running for much longer than 2 years). The first annual is a fun murder mystery and i think a good look into how Dick handles relationships. He also reads as very aromantic/demiromantic who doesn't know it yet, but maybe that's just me, lol. the second annual is dog shit. Mark Andreyko can get bent, it sucked total ass and isn't worth reading.

#asks #redhoodinternaldialectical #this isnt the /most/ well organized but i hope it was at least a little helpful #now to go find the batman orphans post i mentioned

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hospitalterrorizer · 6 days

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diary361

9/15-16/24

sunday - monday

sleepyyyy...

it's ... 1 pm ... i am trying to do an all nighter but i don't think i can do it... dang...

i worked on music and stuff, i played more sh3, i went back to the pc version i updated my drivers it seems to be a little better at least ummm...

not much else... i'm actually so tired suddenly it hurts almost, i just want to sleep, my skin feels gross, i just want to sleep.

i just washed my face. feeling a little better.

thinking about how the whole electroclash thing right now might be going up in flames faster than anyone thought. it's hard to say that seems like it would be sad because a lot of them might deserve to have their spot blown up i guess. deserve feels harsh but i don't know what other word to use. i guess i could say it's fate, it seems fated that this will go poorly. it's sad how good the music, how bad the scene seems broadly, or i guess, that it's not as popular as it could be, and there's people with people already into them, already getting eyes and stuff, like sam hyde and shed theory, so they go over to them to get more attention, and those people let them get that attention because working with new people doing new stuff is going to legitimize them slightly, it's just gross, unpleasant, on top of that there is of course the likelihood of sexual abuses. i don't like even having this in my head, but other people do and it's like the flu, it just goes from one head to the next. "explain the allegations" and then no one says a thing, messages deleted, you're like "what are you talking about" and then it's like, tweets from months ago, totally vague, deleted accounts, it's not even that it's 'shady' it's that there's so little, it's like, everything's kind of reaching a point of eternal if you know you know, and it feels like this doesn't stem from some conscious decision as much as like, okay, this is semi unrelated, it's also very related but this example is more about the dynamics of this, the hellp released a music video on dvd, no one has ripped it and uploaded it, someone ripped it, and is literally scared of putting it on mega and needs someone else to do it instead because... i dunno, they say it feels like instant gratification, and there's real fear, there were also multiple days where this person struggled to figure out how to rip a dvd. which is fine, or whatever, they don't need me to sanction what is and isn't okay but that's not the object i'm getting at, it's really just like, it feels like people are currently very bad at stuff i might describe as like, well i don't even know how to describe it. it's on one level almost a technical feeling failure, and then on the other, there's something that feels like willful ignorance, remaining confined to certain avenues of like, communicating, certain methods, almost like... yeah like they imagine the information will flow if they remain in a certain region, like twitter or whatever, the information will materialize, the truth will emerge, not realizing that not everyone knows, something might need to be surfaced at all. it's weird weird weird.

this song is good ,

youtube

i #likeit.

i also read this, it was posted by someone who i am in a server with but scarcely know:

i wasn't so sure about it until the ending, i was basically enjoying it, but the ending made it very beautiful, the three of these people as messages constantly traveling to one another, back and forth, never meeting, noncommunication, forever sending/speaking oneself without oneself, super-reduction.

here's a scan of 2 pages of a book of photos, titled "70's tokyo transgender".

i quite relate to her. i really love her outfit, and that collar.

i've just downloaded i saw the tv glow. i have a lot of friends who hate this movie, i think maybe i am going to agree with them and maybe that's no way to go into anything, i'd like to be wrong, or i don't know. i know too much about the film, there is this sense that, no matter what, what it does, i will not find it....maybe that is the final word on it, i will not find it. what it does, i will not find. or i'll see, and not sense, it's going to be like that. it might miss me, or upset me, i feel like though, the upsetting would mean it works? or it's proven something? we will see i guess. suddenly i am less tired. stupid how these things can go.

well i've watched the film. i don't know what to make of it, it's got so much around it, it's good i waited because there's less surrounding it, still, though, it comes with baggage, the way it was wheeled around and explained even before it came out, it carried that baggage, or some. it feels meaningless though, that's the feeling i get from it, meaningless, and it brings forth pity for owen, of course. i don't know, it just makes one feel bad. i also don't think the movie's as simple as people make it out to be, as in, i don't think it finds owen entirely wrong to be afraid and run away, to say this is reality, to have memories of parents, that part touched me a little, i remember playing in the snow, cooking with my mom, the mom is something hardly examined in the film, her death, it feels like that's part of the impossibility for owen i guess. not some guilt just, never attempting to begin dealing with things. maddy is the same way though, i don't think they really... i don't know. if you view maddy as correct, it poses the notion that to transition, and i guess that this intense metaphor taken up, this is all super-human, super-real, you transcend, maybe there's some kind of attempt at a dialogue between these notions and the notion that you're going to be you, also, that there's a history? are we to discard the histories? i can't tell. i can't, at least. but my history isn't so rigid anyways. i was a girl before, sometimes, i guess i was less afraid than owen, or i got over it quicker. the fear in owen is kind of, well everyone i know says it's cruel, by the end, it really is, it feels hateful, help me you need to help me i'm dying, i've seen people say 'they didn't help themselves', i can't understand that. it feels didactic, it's trying to teach you how to be yourself, if it were wholly committed, it would abandon the fuzziness of maddy's character, perhaps i'm too interested in nuance and hallucinating that fuzziness. i can't tell. my friend says he feels it's muddy too. i guess i'm at least not alone. the movie makes me think "i don't know" because i can't tell, am i supposed to see that, being what "i" "am" and experience recognition? because i felt what i recognized was some tulpa a bunch of trans people on twitter have, of how badly things could have gone. of some person unnamed, maybe a vague memory of a cluster of negativity, it feels like a meditation on that, rather than questioning why it was born at all. i keep saying i don't know. i said to my friend, it felt like someone's episode preserved in amber. i've been thinking about silent hill 4 lately, and how henry is nobody, he's so nobody it hurts, he's actual, because every one of us reacts incorrectly to things, at some point, we're obliterated by events, and we just travel through them, the terror and abjection, sad and grey transitory points, ambulate until you stop. it's only real when you're at that point of total evaporation. here, there is too much content, the suffering is too pointed, it's all about something. for others, is it the primary thing? sometimes, i feel so ugly i think i have to die. some days, i have to rescue my friend from a club while he's high on ketamine with my girlfriend's brother. in either case, i am the same, in either case, i'm nothing at all, i'm just breathing air, exhaling other stuff, spacing out and then focusing. maurice blanchot's thomas the obscure gets at the sensation of living. other books do too. clarice lispector is a luminary as well. this wants to explain to you how to live but it seems to not understand, or when it briefly does, i don't know, the fact it gestures at it, and walks past it, betrays the not understanding maybe. it would be in the non-sense of it. it's all too well put together. but i keep wondering, i don't know why it's so pathetic, or maybe i do, it's sad to see some affective range squashed down to one thing. i got disgusted at one part, where owne says, i have my own family, i love them more than anything else, then making a face while holding a cardboard box containing a samsung tv.

the face is "i just lied, or i am so disgusted by what i have said" or whatever, and it made me upset, because something bothers me profoundly about the idea of a person having children and resenting their children, maybe that's the point, that you become a worse person forever when you deny yourself. but it feels so cruel, it's this thing that's like, it's good you're afraid, it's good it's painful, because that means it's "actual" and "true," as if this isn't a cruel way of thinking, as if this isn't some nightmarish christian vision of the world that subjugates everyone to some terrible struggle of constant observation of the dimensions of your hell to enjoy some kind of truth, or that you are liberated after, it promises heaven, maybe not, maybe it does gesture at the process of the whole thing, as in, a process of pain or pleasure or nothing, of every day. it feels zeroed in on the transcendence, though. or some supposed transcendence. maybe i am not enough to know that feeling, maybe i am some minor thing, i can't tell. but as i think this film out more, or as i wander sleep deprived in circles around the pile of corpse-images that this film is, well i guess i feel worse. it reminds me of all the discourses people used to have on twitter, they still must be having them i've just stopped looking, the stuff like, it's too late, or the stuff like, you'll never be what you thought you would be (who ever is?), all that, it's all that, it's people's nightmares, it's like a figment you can imagine to torture yourself. it's like a folk tale, is the "repressor" a folk tale? it gestures at letting itself be purely about the abjection, the pain of not being able to, which might be more open, and freeing for people, to see some tragedy play out, without goal or social good in mind, it would make the moment where owen screams at the child's birthday go over better, screaming "mommy" out of pain instead of expressing pain to show you, you'd better not be this. there's a point where there's chalk on the ground, it says, you still have time left, but there's only so much filled in with chalk on that length of road. it's all limited. it's an insane vision of life, it's just a life lived under terror rather than... i'm not sure. when i attach things like this to philosophers, i promise i'm only trying to get at how they formulate things as a way to get past an issue. with bataille, he wants terror, he loves terror, and horror, wrongness, i do to, but he embraces it, surviving it, bringing to mind toreadors killed by bulls, this is one image, and the eye shot up to the girl in story of the eye, and she placing it in her vagina, life at the excesses, pregnant, bursting. the fear of schoenbrum is one which really aligns itself with the fantasy of the suburbs, that this is all just so, here are the bounds of possibility, to be queer is almost infinite youth but only if you admit it to yourself before a certain point. it is a little hideous, once again, it is cruel, cruel without...pleasure? if it seemed to hate anyone, if it had the desire to laugh, ever, outside of one or 2 times, if it laughed or were actually funny, would this solve some issue? if it knew what it was, if it knew this terror was as funny as it is pathetic, could it dredge something up out of itself? i can't tell.

i keep thinking about it, because i kept seeing people say, this movie really proved to me, what i am, this movie made me know, this movie saved me, this movie is going to save people. it might save people so the last one i have no issue with and maybe if it does it is valuable no matter what? i dunno, but i kept seeing people say, this will mean something, and i just think i have to come to terms with the fact it means nothing to me, which makes me feel cruel and terrible. because it makes me see a lot of people who feel that way, i don't know, i want to beg them to think of things differently, that the world isn't such a fucking nightmare, at least, not in those terms, it's not a nightmare of being too late, it's not a nightmare of fucking fomo, it's not a nightmare of twitter discourse come to life, it's a nightmare of these disparate visions wrestling in darkness, it is a nightmare of the fact that you are all the things behind you, or, they are the particles and history and context that add up to right now and as the event arrives, any, crossing the street to deaths in your life you are evaporated and that fine mist, the fine mist is made up of those things in miniature, impossible to taste, or sense, impossible things, they go somewhere from there, and you condense, it occurs again. it is that terrible wandering, dancing, leaping, whatever. it is a beautiful and wretched process. it does not care for that. it is locked inside a world of fearing what you missed out on in highschool, the people you don't know anymore, it is a dumb film. it is a dumb film.

though i quite liked connor o'malley. he was funny. his ability to be funny is muscular though, it is by force, a break-in, into an otherwise... whatever thing. one last note about that scene with the chalk, owen is standing right on the threshold it is so painfully, dreadfully obvious. laura palmer in fire walk with me expresses so many torments of being trapped in the suburbs so much better... or being trapped at all, being made to be someone. thinking of laura makes me want to cry. the film makes leaps at lynchisms (supposedly, i suppose i saw them but they felt so not-that (they felt how... direct to tv movies feel when they try something that can't work?? (donnie darko as directed by the sy fy channel??))) but doesn't know why lynch works. the soundtrack also, was a mess. the film ending with owen getting to watch their memories of their favorite kid's show as they remember it in a tv in their chest is infantilizing and hateful almost. yukio mishima made great art about the terror of aging, of losing the luster of one's flesh, the anxiety of losing yourself to time. he always knew the folly of the terror, he knew his own stupidity, constantly, you can see it in the book star, it's staring him in the face, his impending failure. so he kills himself. what else are you to do when you are afraid of such a thing, but die. this film contains a lookist heart. if it were 10% more evil, it would contain subliminals telling you to begin mewing.

i have to suh-leep now,

byebye!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#Youtube

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cursedvibes · 10 months

Text

Tagged by @voxofthevoid

Thank youuu!

Favourite colour: blue

Last song: Jericho by Iniko

Last movie: The Green Knight. Love it! For some reason Netflix only had the German synchro, but it was surprisingly good. They even matched the font for the title cards. I'm gonna watch it again around Christmas for the right vibes. Might even become a Christmas tradition.

Other stuff I watched this year: Talk to Me and The VVitch are the ones who left the most impression on me. I also recently finished the Pluto anime. It's interesting watching it now after reading the manga years ago. The anime makes it more obvious to me that the story isn't really suited for sci-fi. It's just the 90s including its conservative values with some high-tech thrown in. The story itself is good, it has a meaningful message and great soundtrack, but it doesn't fit with the expectations I have for sci-fi stories. It doesn't innovate much and the function of the robots is barely explained in depth. It's too non-technical for a story that requires technical explanations. You can also feel Tezuka's influence because Urasawa is usually much better with female characters and queer themes. Robots can marry (heterosexuallly), but gay people don't exist lol Monster was written almost 10 years earlier and is much better at this.

Shows I dropped this year/didn't finish: Only csm I think. I'm just gonna wait till it's over and then catch up. Maybe. If there was anything else I didn't finish, it didn't leave enough of an impression that I remember.

Currently reading: JJK weekly and I've gone back to The Twice-Dead King: Ruin by Nate Crowley because I miss Necrons.

Currently listening to: HUMAN-LE by 核P-model. I've been playing it constantly lately. It's the best way to get me out of a bad mood. Also a bunch of lofi/ambient music and the new Layers of Fear soundtrack.

Currently working on: My Kenjaku pregnancy fic. I'm about 1/3 done and currently at 10k words (including full outline and notes for the future), so it's gonna get long...

Current obsession: Still jjk, but Houseki no Kuni is also a good contender

Tagging if you want: @zbengui @hxhhasmysoul @galaxynajma @yukisdomain @keniaku @jokepool

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agerefandomrambles · 3 months

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hiii outer banks anon back- storyline wise I was thinking maybe sarah’s struggling with how things ended on the boat (she’s legit on bad terms with her whole family post s2 which must suck) and she regresses early in the day while she’s supposed to be doing [insert task] with jj and he ends up taking care of her til the others show up and ask what’s going on but jj is in full caregiver mode™️ and sarahs still regressed so they get little to no answers and just go along with it

- also if you could add in jj calling sarah princess but ofc no pressure, just a hc of mine that he would - also no pressure if this is too specific of a storyline for you to write

Title: Beach Day

Word count: 1147

Little! Sarah

Cg! JJ

Warnings: none that I can think of... let me know:)

Plot: Sarah regresses and JJ takes care of her

Sarah and JJ are the only people on the beach. 2 specks in a mile of white sand and blue ocean.

The rest of the pouges are back at the hut. John B's fast asleep because he had night shift, Kie is cooking the fish that John B caught, Pope is making a rain capturer and Cloe is making a spear to make fishing easier. JJ and Sarah are trying to forage for some food to add to the store. JJ is knee deep in the water trying (and failing) to catch a fish with his hands. Sarah is supposed to be collecting some edible berries and leaves.

Currently, Sarah is sitting in front of the bush, twirling a berry in her hand as she looks out the horizon, completely lost in thought.

She stares out into the ocean as images of her father and rafe's betrayal occupy her mind.

"Sarah! I got one!" JJ shouts, holding up a fish which promptly squirms out of his hands and swims off. "Sarah?" JJ calls again, abandoning his bid to catch a fish when she doesn't respond. "Yo Sarah? You alright?"

"Hey, Sar" JJ says softly, kneeling beside her. He gently places a hand on her shoulder, finally grabbing her attention. "What's wrong?" He asks gently, sympathy and worry etched over his features.

Sarah just looks at him with wide, scared eyes. She opens her mouth to tell him but all that comes out is a sob. She launches into him. JJ catches her with one hand and steadies them both with the other.

"Whoa Sarah? What's going on?"

Sarah just hiccups and buries her head into his chest. She whines when no words come out of her mouth. This isn't the first time that she's had one of these days where her words don't work and her movements aren't quiet right and she kinda just wants to curl up in a ball with one of her childhood stuffies. But it is the first time that it's ever happened in front of other people.

The two sit like that for a while, sarah sobbing loudly into JJ's chest and JJ trying to sort out what is going on. They don't move until Sarah's sobs have slowed to the occasional sniffle and JJ has worked out the questions he wants to ask.

The way that Sarah is snuggled up to him and her soft mumbles remind him oddly of himself. As far as he's aware, noone else on the pouges regress. But noone is aware that he regresses.

"Sarah? Can you look at me?" He asks, not unkindly. When Sarah doesn't move from her position, he tilts her head up so her watery eyes meets his concerned ones.

"Feel funny..." She murmers, burying her head into his chest.

"Awe that's alright princess, have you felt like this before?" He asks smoothly, careful to keep his face neutral to not freak her out any more. She just nods against him, sniffling as she works herself up again into tears.

"Oh please don't cry! It's ok!" JJ is quick to console, rubbing her back soothingly. "I have days where I feel funny too."

The two lapse back into silence, Sarah quickly calming down in JJ's arms.

"Do you wanna help me try to catch a fish?" JJ asks when he's confident that she's calmed down. He offers up the fish as a way to distract her until its time to head back to the hut.

Sarah grins and nods her head enthusiastically. JJ takes her hand and pulls her into the water, showing her how to herd the fish towards him so he can grab them.

With her help, JJ starts to grab more fish. The two work together for hours. They probably would have caught more fish if Sarah didn't keep tripping over and scaring the fish away but JJ wasn't about to say that. They already had enough fish for the next day so he was mostly just trying to entertain her.

The two were so preoccupied with their efforts, giggling amongst each other and splashing one another, that they didn't even notice when John B and Cleo stood at the beach, watching with fond smiles.

They came to come find Sarah and JJ when they didn't come back when they were meant too. They didn't disturb the pair though, instead choosing to leave and come back with Pope and Kie.

By the time they come back, JJ and Sarah have dragged themselves out of the water and onto the beach where they were counting the fish (well, JJ was counting. Sarah was off to the side making a sandcastle).

"9, 10, 11. We caught 11 fish princess" JJ says, mostly to fill the silence. Since Sarah slipped, she's mostly been quiet so JJ has just been talking to her. He's not even sure if she's comprehending what he's saying but he doesn't want to make her feel like he's ignoring her so he's been chatting away.

"JJ? What's going on man?" John B asks, confusion clear in his face. Sarah looks up and whimpers his look, tears quickly brewing.

"Oh don't cry Sar. Look, here's a seashell. Why don't you put that on your sandcastle?" JJ jumps to distract Sarah before she dissolves into tears again.

John B just looks back at the other 3 and shrugs, confusion still clear on his face.

"Sarah? What are you doing?" Kiera tries, confusion evident in her voice. Sarah whimpers at her tone but doesn't even turn around, choosing to dump sand onto her 'sandcastle' (pile of sand).

"Quit freaking her out" JJ lectures them, not turning around either. He guts the fish while Sarah is busy with the sandcastle. The 4 just stand there, oogling the site before them.

JJ lets out a heavy sigh. "I can't explain what's going on right now but you can't just stand there looking like fools. Either help Sarah with her sandcastle, help me gut these fish or go back to doing your jobs at the hut"

This jumps the 4 back into action. Cleo and Pope head back to the cabin to finish their projects. John B sits down next to JJ and starts silently gutting the fish with him. Kie sits down next to Sarah and starts chatting to her while shaping the sandcastle.

Sarah starts babbling to Kie while dumping more sand on. JJ glances back every so often but doesn't step in. He keeps an eye on the situation but lets kiara watch Sarah.

John B, Kie, Sarah and JJ don't head back to the hut until the sun starts setting. JJ is carrying Sarah because she refused to walk.

In the morning, Sarah is sure to be embarrassed and the group will have to have a long talk but for now they're happy to just support one another without question.

#oh my god #im so sorry this took so long to write #i really struggled with cg JJ #and i think he ended up more big brother then cg #but yk what?#im happy with it #little!Sarah #cg!JJ #cg!kiera #outerbanks #outerbanks agere #fic #story #mine

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