#then i just got struck with an idea ✨✨✨

[yourmomsawh0r3]

All of you

part 2 to Sun-kissed & Sinful

pairing: joel miller x f! neighbor

Warning:NSFW, 18+

✨All that for a belly ring? Oh, honey.. he begged.✨

part 1

You didn’t think much of it at first.

It was just a neighbor’s casual summer barbecue a few cold beers, folding chairs scattered on patchy grass, music playing from an old speaker on the porch. You’d come in a little sundress, soft yellow, something flowy that tied over one shoulder. Joel had offered to pick you up, but you told him you’d walk over it was only a few doors down. Besides, you figured he’d want a little time to catch up with his old contractor buddy.

But Joel didn’t like that you showed up without him.

And he really didn’t like the way the guy by the cooler was looking at you.

The moment Joel stepped onto the backyard lawn, his eyes found you instantly standing by the grill with a drink in your hand, laughing, head tilted back as you chatted with some guy in a ballcap who clearly thought he had a chance.

Joel’s jaw clenched.

He watched from across the yard, beer forgotten in his hand, as the guy leaned in closer too close. His hand brushed your arm, and Joel could feel the heat rise in his chest, slow and sharp like a match being struck.

You didn’t even notice him walking up behind you until a strong arm slid around your waist and pulled you back against a solid chest.

“There she is,” Joel murmured against your temple, eyes locked on the guy who had clearly overstayed his welcome. “Sorry I’m late, sweetheart.”

You smiled, leaning into him instinctively. “Hey, cowboy.”

Joel didn’t take his eyes off the guy. “Don’t think we’ve met.”

“Tom,” the man said, offering a half-hearted handshake that Joel pointedly ignored.

Joel didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. That’s about enough of that.”

Tom blinked, awkwardly chuckled, and made himself scarce.

You turned to face Joel, brow raised, amused. “Jealous much?”

Joel’s hand stayed on your waist, his thumb tracing slow circles at the edge of your dress. “Not jealous. Just don’t like when men who ain’t me look at you like that.”

You smirked. “How were they lookin’ at me?”

“Like they didn’t know who you belonged to,” he said, voice low and gravelly, bending down so only you could hear. “Guess I’m gonna have to remind you.”

Your breath caught. “Here?”

He didn’t answer. Just took your hand, laced his fingers with yours, and guided you around the side of the house behind the garage where the music faded and no one could see.

He backed you up against the wall, crowding into your space, eyes dark and stormy. “You got any idea what that dress does to me?”

“Maybe,” you whispered, eyes full of heat.

He kissed you then hard, possessive, his tongue pushing past your lips like he couldn’t get close enough. His hands cupped your face, then slid down your sides to your hips, gripping them tight.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your mouth.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

He kissed your jaw, your neck, biting softly, leaving a mark that dipped just beneath your collarbone.

“You’re. Fuckin’. Mine.”

You were breathless, skin flushed, your hands gripping his shirt.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you all proud and wild-eyed, voice rough.

“Now come home with me,” he said, “and wear that dress while I take it off slow.”

The car ride back to Joel’s place was quiet.

Not because there was nothing to say.

But because your thigh was pressed against his, his jaw was clenched, and you could feel the restraint coiled tight in him the same restraint he’d nearly lost behind the neighbor’s garage.

He unlocked the front door, shoved it open, and the second it clicked shut behind you, he turned, lifted you into his arms, and carried you to his bedroom.

Not a word. Not yet.

He laid you down on the edge of his bed and stood in front of you, hands braced on either side of your hips. His eyes swept over you in that sundress the same one that had every other man at the barbecue biting their tongue.

“Did you wear that for me?” he asked, voice thick.

You smiled. “I always wear everything for you.”

Joel let out a low sound somewhere between a growl and a groan before tugging the tie at your shoulder loose, slow, until the fabric slinked down your arm like a caress.

“Don’t rush me, baby,” he murmured. “Been dreamin’ about this moment since I saw you in that thing.”

You didn’t dare move. Not yet. Not with the way his fingers dragged down your arm, not with how he bent to kiss your collarbone, your chest, kneeling down in front of you like a prayer.

His beard scratched the sensitive skin at your inner thigh as he looked up at you.

“You want me to take my time?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless. “Please.”

He hummed, pleased.

Joel reached up and tugged the dress down your body inch by inch over your breasts, your ribs, your hips until it pooled at your feet. He groaned when he saw you hadn’t worn anything underneath.

“No panties?” he rasped. “Jesus Christ, darlin’. Tryin’ to kill me?”

You just smiled, legs spreading a little more as you leaned back on your elbows.

His hand came to your ankle, then your calf, then slid up your thigh until his fingers brushed where you were already wet for him. He watched you the whole time eyes locked on yours like he needed to see every twitch, every gasp.

And when he finally bent his head down and tasted you, he did it slow.

With long, dragging strokes of his tongue that had your hips bucking, your fingers tangled in his hair, your moans spilling into the warm, dim bedroom like a melody just for him.

Joel didn’t stop until you were crying his name shaking, undone, thighs trembling on either side of his head.

He rose, mouth glistening, eyes dark.

Then he undressed.

Took off his shirt, his belt, his jeans slow and deliberate. Let you see all of him. Strong arms, tanned skin, that rugged chest dusted with hair, and the thick length of him already aching for you.

When he climbed over you and lined himself up, you cupped his face.

“Joel,” you whispered, kissing him soft. “I want all of you.”

“You already got all of me, baby,” he murmured against your lips. “Always have.”

And then he pushed into you.

It was deep. Slow. Unforgiving in the best way. He didn’t let up didn’t rush just moved in long, thick strokes that filled you completely, had your back arching and his name falling from your lips like scripture.

His hand found yours, fingers laced as he thrust harder, the bed creaking beneath you.

“Mine,” he growled into your neck. “My girl.”

“Yours,” you gasped, crying out when he hit that perfect spot. “Joel..I’m yours.”

You came with a choked moan, and he followed just after, spilling deep inside you with a curse, holding you tight against him as he came undone.

After, he stayed on top of you, buried inside, both of you sticky and panting and tangled in the sheets.

Joel kissed your forehead.

Then your nose.

Then your lips.

And with a smirk, he whispered, “Next time you wear that dress, you’re wearin’ it just for me. No damn neighbors invited.”

The sun was barely up.

Soft, golden light filtered through Joel’s bedroom curtains, warming your bare skin where it peeked from beneath the sheets. The night had left its marks your body deliciously sore, neck and hips peppered with his kisses, that pretty yellow sundress still draped half-off a chair like a crime scene.

Joel was still asleep beside you, heavy arm slung over your waist, beard brushing your shoulder as he exhaled slow and deep. His chest rose and fell with a peaceful rhythm, a little rough snore catching every few breaths. He was all warm skin and sleepy strength, his face softer in the morning light, like every scar had faded.

You shifted slightly not enough to wake him and felt his hand tighten around you.

“Mornin’,” he rasped, voice gravel and syrup, still mostly asleep.

You turned to face him. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Don’t care.” He cracked one eye open and smirked. “Ain’t lettin’ you out of this bed anyway.”

You smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek, then another to the corner of his mouth. “You always this clingy after you claim your woman?”

Joel growled, hand sliding down to cup your ass under the sheet. “You are mine, sweetheart. Ain’t lettin’ go.”

You giggled, nuzzling into his chest. He kissed the top of your head, then pulled back to look at you fully his eyes catching the faint glint of your belly piercing as you adjusted the sheet.

He stared at it for a moment. “That thing…”

You blinked. “What?”

Joel shifted suddenly, leaning down to kiss the piercing slow and soft right on your lower stomach.

“Drives me goddamn crazy,” he muttered, lips trailing downward, warm and teasing. “Every time it catches the light, all I think about is how that little ring should be mine.”

You raised a brow, laughing. “It is yours.”

He grunted. “Still. Should take you to a damn jeweler. Get one made just for you.”

You tilted your head. “A custom belly ring?”

“Somethin’ small. Silver. Maybe a ‘J’… or my name on it.”

Your eyes widened. “Possessive much?”

He kissed your inner thigh, and when he looked up at you, his voice was low and smug. “Damn right I’m possessive.”

You swallowed hard.

Before you could even reply, Joel flipped the sheet off of you entirely, revealing every inch of bare skin to his greedy eyes.

“Gonna make you breakfast,” he murmured. “But first…”

His mouth hovered just above your belly ring again.

“…I got somethin’ else I wanna taste.”

After round two with Joel worshiping your belly ring until you were clenching the sheets and breathless he finally, reluctantly, let you out of bed.

But only so he could throw on some old jeans, walk into the kitchen shirtless, and start making you breakfast like it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing toward the counter. “And don’t even think about helpin’.”

You hopped up onto the stool, wearing nothing but his old Henley that barely covered your thighs. No bra. No panties. And Joel was very aware.

Every time you leaned forward to take a sip of coffee, his eyes dropped shamelessly then narrowed in appreciation.

“Doin’ that on purpose, huh?”

“Maybe,” you said, smiling sweetly.

He flipped a pancake with his spatula, then walked over and smacked it lightly against your bare thigh.

“Keep bein’ a tease, and I’m gonna forget about these eggs.”

“You’d never,” you challenged.

He raised a brow, tossed the spatula on the counter, and kissed you hard and messy, syrupy-sweet on your lips from the stack already on your plate.

“I would,” he muttered against your mouth. “But I’m tryin’ real hard to be good. Least until we finish breakfast.”

A few hours (and one long, hot shower) later, you found yourself in a small boutique jewelry shop downtown.

Joel didn’t say much on the way there, just kept his hand on your thigh the whole drive his thumb brushing slow circles just below your dress, dangerously close to where he’d already made you fall apart twice that morning.

But once the piercing artist laid out the new belly rings and asked what you wanted, Joel spoke up.

“That one,” he said, nodding toward a tiny silver barbell delicate, with a small charm hanging from it. A J. Simple. Sleek. Subtle enough to hide. Special enough to keep.

The piercer smiled. “Nice choice. Want to watch?”

Joel’s voice dropped. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

You laid back on the table, pulling your top up and unhooking your current ring. Joel stood right beside you, arms crossed, eyes locked on your belly like a hawk. He didn’t even flinch as the gloved hands moved in removing the old piece and carefully sliding in the new one.

His jaw clenched.

His fingers flexed.

He looked like he was barely holding it together.

When it was done, the piercer gave you a mirror. “What do you think?”

But before you could answer, Joel reached out, brushing his knuckles along your stomach, right where the little J glinted in the light.

“Looks perfect,” he said quietly. Then leaned down, right there in the shop, and kissed just beside it. “You’re mine.”

The piercer coughed awkwardly and turned to pretend they were checking your paperwork.

You giggled, tugging Joel’s hand. “Take me home?”

“Oh, I am,” he said, wrapping an arm around your waist as he led you out. “And I’m gonna spend the rest of the day showin’ you how good that new ring looks bouncin’ while you ride me.”

The sun was setting when you stepped out of the bathroom, fresh from a quick rinse.

Joel was sprawled across the bed still shirtless, still in those same low-slung jeans from earlier, watching a football game with the volume low. He didn’t hear the door open.

But he sensed you.

Because the moment your bare feet padded across the carpet, his head turned. And his mouth went slack.

You weren’t wearing much. Just his favorite lace panties and a tiny cropped tee that rode up just enough to show your belly button… and the brand-new silver ring with the little J charm catching the light like a beacon.

He sat up slowly, jaw tight, eyes locked on your stomach.

“Jesus,” he muttered.

You just smirked and stretched, arms overhead, letting the shirt ride higher putting the ring and your smooth skin on full display.

“You like it, Miller?”

His tongue darted across his bottom lip.

“Come here.”

You didn’t.

Instead, you crawled up the bed slowly one knee between his thighs, the other on the mattress until you were straddling him but not touching.

He was already hard under those jeans.

You traced his collarbone with a fingertip. “You picked it.”

“Didn’t know it’d kill me.”

You leaned in, lips just brushing his, and then sat back hands lifting the hem of your shirt completely.

Joel groaned.

“Touch it,” you said sweetly, guiding his fingers to the ring.

He did rough fingertips brushing the silver, then trailing down your stomach with a reverent sort of awe.

You reached down and unbuttoned his jeans, slow and deliberate, letting his cock spring free thick, hard, already twitching for you.

But you didn’t let him inside.

Not yet.

Instead, you rocked your hips just barely your belly ring glittering with every shallow grind and watched Joel’s eyes flutter shut, his hands clutching your thighs.

“Fuck, baby,” he groaned. “Stop teasin’. I need you.”

You leaned forward and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“You have me. I’m right here.”

“Not enough,” he rasped, bucking his hips up. “Please.”

You smiled at that.

tough, stoic, rough-around-the-edges Joel begging under you, desperate and undone just from the sight of a piece of jewelry and the slow roll of your hips.

“Say it,” you whispered in his ear, licking the shell. “Tell me what you want.”

He grabbed your hips, voice cracking. “Want you to ride me. Want that ring bouncin’ while you fuck me. Need it, baby. Please.”

You kissed him hard, then lined him up sinking down slow, letting him fill you inch by inch until he was all the way inside.

Joel shuddered.

And when you started to move slow, controlled, rolling your hips until your belly ring glinted in the low light he looked up at you like a man completely wrecked.

“Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smiled, tossing your hair back as you rode him, your hands braced on his chest. “Then I’ll bury you with this ring.”

You collapsed on top of him, chest flushed, heart pounding in sync with his.

Joel’s arms wrapped around you instantly tight, grounding, trembling just a little. His beard was damp where he’d bitten at your neck, his breath still hot and shaky against your shoulder.

Neither of you spoke for a minute.

You just lay there sweaty, tangled, full of each other.

Then you felt it: the lazy trail of his fingers up and down your spine, slow as molasses. A thumb brushing over the curve of your waist. A palm splayed across the small of your back like he was anchoring himself to earth.

You pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.

“You good, cowboy?”

He gave a low huff of laughter, eyes still closed.

“Darlin’,” he rasped, “I’m done for.”

You giggled, nose nudging his. “You begged.”

“I meant it.”

You propped yourself up slightly, watching the way his eyes finally cracked open those deep brown irises all soft and glassy and full of you.

“You looked so pretty,” you teased, dragging your finger down the middle of his chest, right to where his heart beat strong and steady. “Laid out under me, begging for it. You’d do it again, wouldn’t you?”

He reached up and cupped your cheek, thumb stroking slow over your lips. “I’d do anything for you.”

Your smile faltered just slightly because of the way he said it.

Quiet. Honest. No teasing. Just truth.

The kind of truth that knocked the wind out of you.

“I’ve never had anyone like you,” he murmured, still watching you like he couldn’t believe you were real. “I’ve had… people. Nights. But you? You make me feel like I got somethin’ to live for again.”

You felt it too. That heavy, quiet pull in your chest.

Like something had snapped into place between you two right here, sweaty and exhausted and so full of each other’s love you thought you might explode from it.

You leaned in and kissed him slow, sweet, just lips moving lazily like you had all the time in the world.

“Let me take care of you now,” he whispered into your mouth.

You blinked, surprised. “Didn’t I just—?”

He rolled you over, still buried inside, still hard somehow, and gave a wicked grin against your jaw.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he growled. “That was your turn.”

[jammyjams1910]

Controller Rendezvous 🩵🩷💚

@just-an-emily-existing @jessythebunny

I finally finished this dfljbkfrjs

[moonstruckme]

Hello icon ✨Could we have a poly!wolfstar x reader where she thinks that they are mad at her for something (or they could actually be a bit miffed) and it just a bit of hurt comfort with cuddles and kisses at the end😔🙏🏻

Thank you for requesting <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re being weird. 

The three of you are doing a puzzle, which usually captivates your attention but never Sirius’, which is how he’s so very aware of how little attention you’re actually paying to the puzzle. You keep glancing at Sirius, at Remus, like you’re nervous about something. You’ve been like this all day. It’s in and out, sometimes waning like you’ve forgotten to be anything but normal, but Sirius has a keen gauge for tension. He can sense it every time it ticks back up.

You’re pretending to look for sky pieces, though Sirius suspects you forgot what color the sky in your puzzle was a while ago. He feels like you’re building to something, and it makes his skin itch. Remus is too absorbed in his tree bark pieces to notice—the nerd—so it’s up to Sirius to get it out of you. Luckily, James has always said that Sirius is a master of tact. 

“What’s wrong with you?” 

You were halfway to sneaking another glance at him, and you react as though you’ve been struck, jumping a little where you sit on the rug by the coffee table. “What? Nothing.” 

“Well, that was very believable.” Sirius smiles to take some of the bite out of it. “Come on, you have me on the edge of my seat. What’s got you all worked up?” 

“I am not worked up,” you insist, though your expression says otherwise. 

Remus appears confused, but he notices your guilty eyes as well. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say again. 

“Clearly something,” Sirius counters. 

Your lips press together, corners downturnt. You’re not looking at either of them.

“Hey.” Sirius softens his voice. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, babe.”  

This only seems to distress you further. “I wanted you not to freak out,” you say.

“Sweetheart, about what?” Now Remus sounds worried too, though the look he gives you is more patient than anything Sirius could ever manage. He ducks his head to catch your gaze. 

After a moment of looking at him, your shoulders droop. “Okay.” Your voice has quieted. “Just a second.” 

Sirius’ anxiety ratchets as you stand, going down the hall towards your room. 

“Why does it feel like she’s going to bring us back a school report?” he murmurs to Remus. 

Remus shakes his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “No idea.” 

When you return, it is with papers, though Sirius doesn’t at first know what they are. 

“This came this morning,” you say in that same resigned voice, laying them down on the coffee table as you sit back down next to Sirius.

With Sirius and Remus on opposite sides they can’t both read the text at once, and Remus picks them up first. Sirius spots you bringing your hand to your mouth and reaches for it silently, drawing it away before you can start chewing your fingernails. Your nervousness is making him nervous. He pushes his thumb up the lines of your palm. 

“Oh,” Remus hums. 

“Remus,” Sirius says, in a tone that clearly communicates if somebody doesn’t start talking I’m going to throw a wobbly. 

“It’s the gas bill,” says Remus. He’s making his old man face, where he leans away slightly and squints like he needs glasses. Ordinarily Sirius would tease him for it, but he’s not in the mood. “Bit high.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice. 

Sirius looks at you. Frowning, your hand still trapped in his. “Why are you sorry?” 

“Is this…” One glance at Remus, and it’s clear Sirius is now the one lagging in understanding. “Is this because you left the oven on?” 

Your expression says enough. 

Oh, well. In fairness, Sirius had thrown a bit of a wobbly over that. 

It was weeks ago. You made cookies just before bed. They were warm, gooey, the perfect precursor to sleep and an excellent excuse, in Sirius’ opinion, to trade chocolate-flavored kisses until all three of you were snoozing on your pillows. It hadn’t been until he and Remus were making breakfast the next morning that Remus smelled the gas. You’d come out of the bedroom, confused, to find them throwing open windows and calling the fire department for advice. Your gas oven had been left on all night. 

You felt awful. Your boyfriends gave you an appropriate amount of shit for it, but it was only thoughtless, not malicious. Your apartment hadn’t blown up. The smell drifted away within a few minutes, and in all honesty Sirius was left feeling a bit bad that what began as you trying to make them all happy had resulted in you being so thoroughly chastised. But it had been let go. 

Until now, evidently. 

“I can pay it,” you offer meekly. “The difference, or all of it.” 

Remus sighs, rubbing his brow. “Dove…” 

“Let me see that.” Sirius reaches with the hand not holding yours. Remus gives it to him. He finds the total quickly. “This isn’t even that high.” 

Okay, it’s a bit high. But genuinely, Sirius was expecting worse. 

“It’s my fault,” you mumble. 

“Baby, is this what you’re all wound up about?” Sirius sets the papers down to gawk at you. “Really? I thought something happened.” 

You’re shrinking, your hand tense in his. “Something did happen.” 

“Yeah, a whole month ago!” 

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, in a tone Sirius knows to mean you’re not helping. He asks you, “Did you think we would be angry with you?” 

Spiderweb cracks spread through your expression. Your mouth wobbles. 

“Oh, you absolute moron.” Sirius grabs for you with both hands, hauling you into his lap. 

“Pads.”

“You ridiculous, sweet idiot.” He kisses your head. Once, twice, three times. “Why’d you have to go and get all worked up? You got me worked up, silly thing.” 

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly. 

“Alright, that’s enough apologizing,” Remus says gently. Underneath the coffee table, a socked foot bumps into Sirius’ leg before presumably finding yours. Sirius grins. Remus is tactile in the oddest ways sometimes. Like a cat. 

He loves you both so very much. God, you really had him going. He feels liable to squeeze the life out of you. 

He satiates the urge by kissing you all over your face until you look significantly less upset. You look at Sirius with tentative relief, the beginnings of a smile curled up in the corner of your mouth. 

He’s about to ask you again how you could be so stupid, but Remus speaks first. Probably for the best. 

“It really won’t be so much more for each of us once we split it,” he says, looking again at the bill. 

That guilty look is back on your face. Sirius gives you a squeeze in hopes of banishing it. “I can get it,” you say. “It wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been so…if I hadn’t left the oven on.” 

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” Remus tells you. “It’s all right.” 

You fidget. “I feel like you should probably be angrier with me.” 

“We already have been angry with you,” Sirius points out. “We got over it. Time to move on, babe.” 

“It was a mistake.” Remus’ gaze is steady. Knowing. “It was scary, but it happens. You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for us, lovely.” 

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip. “Are you sure?” you ask. 

Sirius scoffs. “I can be angry without anyone’s help, thank you.” Then, at your wary look, “But I’m not angry about this.” 

Slowly, the tension Sirius has been sensing seeps out of you. You relax in a way you haven’t all day long. 

Remus notices, too. “Sweetheart,” he sighs, in a soft, fond voice. “Talk to us next time, okay?” 

“I know, sorry.” You give him a sheepish look. “I was going to. I just really thought you’d be upset.” 

“Yeah, well.” Sirius kisses your head, sharing an eye roll with Remus. “Shows what you know.”

[nanenna]

This Conversation is Exactly as it Should've Been

Sleepy King AU Masterpost

Slight change in chapter title because with this brand new POV we finally have someone being reasonable!

🌟✨💖✨🌟

Duke was in the middle of his midday patrol when he got B's alert. “Come to the Watchtower, O will brief.”

Ominous, but not overly so. Nothing about the message said it was super urgent, so Duke turned back but kept an eye on the streets below as he switched to Oracle's channel.

“Hey O, what's the sitch?”

“Oh boy, do I have a story for you!”

Two attempted muggings and one long explanation later…

“So B wants me up there… to be the Ghost King's welcoming committee?”

“You guessed it!”

“What.”

“B thinks Danny will be more comfortable with another teenager, once you're up there just guide him to the hangar and wave as he and whoever's on the craft leave.”

Duke switched out his helmet for a domino, it would help not hide his age, and got into the zeta tube, “And where is this guy?”

“Let me patch you into the team's channel.”

Duke set his comms to listening only, he knew how B operated.

“Kal,” came B's deep voice, “where is Danny right now?”

“Why?” Superman asked. 

“So we can have someone nearby to guide Danny.”

“Wouldn't I be the best option?”

“No.”

There was an awkward moment of silence before some else spoke up. “Danny did run from you.”

“I have contacted an associate closer to his age, he's ready to go meet Danny.”

Superman sighed, “Of course you did. Anti-possession charm?”

“It's part of our standard equipment.”

That was news to Duke, he should ask about that later. Superman rattled off a floor number and directions to a storage room. Duke obligingly followed the directions.

“Danny spotted, he's out of the closet.” 

Duke couldn't help snorting at O's joke. “Good for him!”

“Shush, he's heading towards you, just keep heading down the hall. And remember, play dumb.”

Duke could do that. He rounded a corner to see a brightly glowing mass of shadows shambling down the hall. The figure themself was a slightly greenish white, like a glacier put through a color filter, hair face and all. Their eyes were two neon green flashlights, like the Lazarus pits or kryptonite. Their whole body glowed, like they'd been dipped in glow-in-the-dark paint. Their aura was dark shadows, writhing around them. There was a jagged blackhole floating over their head.

Duke blinked and instead found a pale teenager with black hair, intensely blue eyes, and wrapped up in Batman's cape with pale fingers clutching it closed.

“Oh I was not the best choice for this,” he muttered under his breath. He shook his head to finish clearing his vision, then smiled at the guy now standing a couple yards away, eyeing Duke warily. He pasted on a bright smile and waved, “Hi, I'm Signal.”

“Signal?”

“Yeah, I work out of Gotham. And from the looks of it so will you.”

“Huh?” The guy, presumably Danny, looked down to where his slippered feet were poking out the front of the cape where it parted to drag behind him on the floor.

“Batman's cape, looks like the adoption craze has struck again. B keeps bringing home new kids, there's like half a dozen of us.” Duke laughed along with the polite titters on his comms. Then he stepped closer to Danny and stage whispered, “Half of us have black hair and blue eyes, so you'll fit right in.”

Danny looked at Duke skeptically, “Do you?”

“Sure do.”

Danny didn't seem to know how to react to that.

“So, where you heading? I know the Watchtower can be pretty confusing at first.”

Danny's eyes grew big as saucers, “I'm on the Watchtower?!”

“Yeah, want a tour?”

“I… I …” Danny nodded eagerly, then hesitated. “My ride’s here.”

“Oh cool, where they at?”

“The uh… the hangar?”

“I can show you where it is.” Duke started walking, Danny fell into step next to him, still clutching B's cape. Duke let the silence sit for a minute because… 

“Marvel, Danny’s parents are ghost hunters,” B’s voice came over comms. Duke had no idea what was going on on Marvel’s end, O likely had him separated on that front.

“Are we sure sending the Ghost King home with ghost hunters is a wise idea?” Wonder Woman asked, trust her to ask the real questions.

“Yes!” Someone else said with heavy exasperation.

“They seem to have recently had a change in heart, they’ve denounced all their old work as flawed and outdated.” There was typing to go with O’s voice, likely showing everyone else said announcement.

It seemed the peanut gallery was calming down, so Duke turned his attention back to Danny. “So, you an orphan too?”

“No!” Danny sounded aghast.

“Ah, not as much a requirement as one might think. My sister, Orphan, still has both her parents, ironically enough. So does Spoiler and Batwing and Robin.”

Danny looked confused again. “Um… I'm pretty sure my ride is actually my parents.”

“That's cool, it's good to have supportive parents.”

Danny flushed, super obvious against his pale skin, but smiled happily. “Yeah.”

Danny seemed content to let the silence sit as they entered an elevator that would take them directly to the hangar. Duke wasn't done teasing yet. “So I told you my name, what's yours?”

“Oh um…” Danny looked down, “Danny.”

Duke raised an eyebrow, “Not got a code name yet,”

“No, I d- uh…” Danny's lips thinned. “Nope, just Danny. I'm not doing the whole,” a hand extended from the cape to gesture up and down Duke, “costume thing.”

Well that was an odd response, maybe Danny was the one steering the body after all. Then again, they had very little idea what Phantom looked like, and whether he considered himself a hero or was just being territorial.

“Well you don't have to if you don't want to. Lots of people with powers just lead normal lives.”

“Who said I have powers?” Danny asked defensively.

“Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed. It's still true though, as metas become more common it's going to be less common for them to go into cape work.”

“Yeah well, I don't even wear a cape.” Danny looked away with another blush.

Interesting.

Duke nudged Danny with his elbow, “You're wearing a cape eight now.”

Danny looked down and blushed all the more. “Fine, I guess I am.”

“But good choice, I don’t wear a cape either. Capes are cringe.”

Danny cringed at that, the blush coming back. So Danny does have a code name, is wearing a costume, and that included a cape at least for a little while.

The elevator slowed to a stop with a ding. The door opened into the hangar, where a small, unfamiliar craft sat in the middle of the otherwise cleared off runway. There was Captain Marvel and some people Duke didn't recognize standing near the craft. The strangers, one of whom was waving around a safety green baseball bat, seemed to be scolding Marvel, who had his hands up in surrender. Danny let out a relieved sigh as he stepped out of the elevator, quickly heading for the group.

“Danny!” One of the group said. Everyone’s attention turned to him, most of them smiling.

“Danno!” A large man in bright orange grinned and waved cheerfully. “We’ve been worried about you!”

“Hi, Dad, Mom, Jazz, Sam, Tuck,” Danny said in quick succession. “Sorry about that, I have no idea what’s going on or how I got here.”

The woman in teal turned her attention to Marvel, “Well someone was about to explain the whole situation to us, weren’t you mister champion of magic?”

Marvel grinned sheepishly, “Of course, ma’am.”

[chlobliviate]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62725594

Wolfstar Microfic - Lover

Words: 508

@wolfstarmicrofic

🌙✨🌙✨🌙

Sirius threw himself on James’ bed and groaned. Not an altogether unusual occurrence, but James knew from the lack of words that this was serious.

“Don’t tell me you struck out with McKinnon again?” James said, not looking up from his magazine.

“McKinnon? Don’t be disgusting, Prongs!” Sirius scoffed. “I have no interest in Marlene.”

“Then what’s got you throwing yourself around like a 19th-century maiden on a fainting couch?”

Sirius frowned at him. “I am not— Shut up.”

“So what is it? Detention? Did you tear your leather jacket? Your fags got wet? You know you can do a drying charm, right?” James laughed.

“No, it’s none of that…” Sirius sighed, having no idea how to phrase this and somehow coming out with “I think Remus may have... taken a lover.”

James’ eyes almost popped out of his head, and then he threw his head back and laughed. Sirius covered his face with his hands as James roared for a good few minutes. “You are not beating the 19th-century lady accusations, mate. ‘Taken a lover.’!”

“Come on James, you know what I mean!” He grumbled. “Why else would he not comment on my earring?”

“Wait, you haven’t actually seen him sneaking off or walking in on him in flagrante delicto with some stuffy Ravenclaw? This is all because he hasn’t commented on your earring?” James’ shoulders started shaking again.

“It’s a moon!” Sirius snapped.

“I can see that.”

“I thought it might be a nice little discreet way of… I don’t even know.” Sirius slumped back onto the bed. “Am I being an idiot? Wait, you are absolutely not the person to give perspective on that. Do you think he’d ever… you know, after the thing with Snape? It really felt like something was building before that, and I know it’s been a year, but sometimes I get flashes of that glorious tension, and fuck me, I want him, Prongs!”

“Have you told him?” James asked, already knowing the answer.

“Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Padfoot…” James was interrupting by the door to the dorm opening quietly. Remus looked at them both on James’ bed and raised an eyebrow, then he looked at Sirius for a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly.

“Do you have a new earring?” He crossed the room and Sirius’ heart started to pound in his chest. He nodded, and Remus reached out to brush his hair back so he could see it properly. The moon pendant dangled just below his earlobe, and goosebumps rose on Sirius’ arm as Remus’ thumb ghosted over it, and then his earlobe. “I like it. It suits you.” His face broke into a slightly wonky grin as he looked down at Sirius.

Sirius could feel the bed shaking slightly from James’ silent laughter, but couldn’t bring himself to look over his shoulder and glare at him. Not when Remus’ eyes were boring into his own like that.

“Thanks. It reminded me of you.” He said, uncharacteristically quietly.

The blush that rose up Remus’ neck was all the response he needed.

[nickistuffs]

Car Trouble & Complications

Pairing: Harry x Designer reader (curvy or plus size whatever you feel they should look like. This is my preference 😌)

Summary: A spontaneous roadside fix causes both sparks and unwanted attention as they navigate the chaos

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None. just fluff

✨masterlist✨ read the rest of Harry x Designer Reader there

...

You and Harry had planned to have lunch together, but he was taking longer than expected. Growing a little concerned, you decided to text him.

Y/N 🤭: Hey you? Everything okay?

It took a while before your phone finally lit up—not with a text, but an incoming FaceTime call. Harry’s contact photo filled the screen, showing him holding a bag of takeout from one of your dinner dates.

You quickly answered. “Hi, are you alright?” you asked, greeting him with a hint of concern.

"Yeah, I’m alright," he reassured you, though he looked a bit inconvenienced. "Got a flat tire, just waiting for some help. Might have to reschedule our lunch today, love."

"Ohhh..." You tried to hide your disappointment, but it was hard knowing that he was flying to Italy for business tomorrow and wouldn’t be back for a few days.

Harry sighed softly, sensing your mood. "I’m sorry, Y/N. How about we order dinner later and eat at your flat instead?"

"Okay..." you responded, pouting slightly.

Harry chuckled at your expression. "You’re too cute, you know that?"

But suddenly, an idea struck you. "Wait, it’s just a flat, right?"

"Yeah?" Harry responded, a little confused by your sudden enthusiasm.

"Send me your location. I’ll come to you." You were already getting up from the couch.

"No need, Y/N. They’re already on their way to help," he reasoned.

You weren’t having it. "Just send me your location, Harry," you said in a firm, monotone voice.

He exhaled, knowing better than to argue. "Alright… just be careful on the way."

As he sent his location, he couldn't help but smile. Better to let you come than have you annoyed at him for refusing.

…

You arrived at Harry’s location, a small toolbox in hand—borrowed from your neighbor in a hurry. The moment he spotted you walking toward him, he blinked in surprise before breaking into a grin.

"You didn’t have to come all the way here, love." He crossed his arms, leaning against his car with amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Well, I wasn’t about to let a flat tire ruin our lunch," you huffed, setting the toolbox down beside you. "And besides, I figured I could help."

Harry chuckled, crouching beside you. "Help? Do you even know how to change a tire?"

You shot him a playful glare. "Excuse me? My father taught me once, but I needed to watch a five-minute video just to refresh my memory."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Oh, well, in that case, I should step back and let the expert handle it."

Just as you were about to respond, Harry’s phone buzzed. He answered it with a sigh.

"Yeah? …Right. Got it. Thanks." Hanging up, he ran a hand through his hair. "The fixer’s going to take longer than expected—apparently, they’re stuck on another job."

You raised an eyebrow. "How long?"

"At least another hour, maybe more."

You groaned dramatically. "That’s it, I’m changing this tire myself."

Before he could protest, you crouched beside the tire and started loosening the bolts, your hands gripping the wrench with determination.

Harry stared at you, amusement fading into guilt. You had come all this way for him, and now you were actually fixing his car while he stood there watching? He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. I should be the one doing this, he thought.

Letting out a defeated chuckle, he crouched beside you. "Move over, love. I can’t let you do all the work."

"Oh? So now you want to help?" you teased, looking up at him with a smirk.

"I felt bad, alright?" he muttered, taking the wrench from you and easily loosening the last bolt. "Besides, I can’t let my girl show me up."

You rolled your eyes but grinned. "Mhm, sure. Just admit you’re impressed."

Harry glanced at you before shaking his head with a smile. "I always am."

As the two of you worked together, laughter filled the air, turning what could’ve been a frustrating situation into yet another memory to cherish.

...

As you and Harry worked on his car, laughter and playful banter filled the air. You were too focused on getting the job done to notice that a small crowd had started to gather at a distance. A few passersby had recognized him—Harry Styles, kneeling on the pavement, fixing a flat tire with an unknown girl by his side.

Phones were pulled out. Pictures were snapped. Videos recorded. The internet was about to have a field day.

Harry, however, was already feeling it—the unmistakable buzz of attention. Even without looking up, he could sense the cameras pointed their way, the hushed whispers of onlookers debating whether to approach him. His jaw tensed slightly, but he tried to ignore it, focusing on you instead.

You wiped your hands on a napkin from your bag and grinned at him. "See? We didn’t need to wait for the tow truck after all!"

Harry smirked, tossing the lug wrench back into the toolbox. "You say that like you weren’t about to give up after the first bolt."

You gasped dramatically. "Excuse me? I was figuring out the best way to get the bolts off."

He laughed, shaking his head. "Right, of course. Strategic thinking, my bad."

Before you could fire back, a distant squeal rang through the air.

"Oh my God, it’s him!"

Harry exhaled slowly, already knowing what was coming next. When he finally glanced up, he confirmed his suspicions—several people were gathered nearby, phones in hand, recording, whispering. A few fans hesitantly stepped forward, hopeful smiles on their faces.

"Harry, can we get a quick picture?" one of them asked sweetly.

His expression softened, but he shook his head gently. "Sorry. Not right now."

The fans pouted in disappointment, but he offered them a small smile. "Hope you understand. Just trying to get this sorted."

They nodded, still excited to have seen him in such an unexpected situation. Some continued taking pictures from a distance, but Harry let out a sigh and turned back to you.

"Well, that should be fun to see online later," he muttered, grabbing the toolbox.

You snorted. "Yeah, I can already see the headlines: ‘Harry Styles Changes a Tire with Mystery Girl—Who Is She?’"

He groaned playfully, rubbing his face. "Great. Maybe they’ll turn this into some wild conspiracy theory too."

You grinned. "Oh, for sure. I bet people will say you secretly work as a mechanic on the side."

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he draped an arm around your shoulders. "Come on, let’s get out of here before they start asking if I’m launching a tire-changing business."

Laughing, you let him lead you away, leaving the cameras and whispers behind—just another unexpected adventure with Harry Styles.

...

After packing up the toolbox and wiping the grease from your hands, you and Harry quickly got into the car. The moment the doors shut, the outside noise faded, leaving only the quiet hum of the engine and the distant sounds of the city.

But as the silence stretched, a different kind of noise started filling your mind—the whispers, the stares, the flashing cameras.

You swallowed, staring out the windshield. You hadn’t even done anything, but the idea of people twisting the situation, of fans picking apart your existence just because you happened to be with him, made your stomach twist. What if they thought you were some nobody who just happened to steal their idol away? What if they—

You flinched slightly when you felt warmth wrap around your hand.

Harry’s fingers intertwined with yours, his grip firm but comforting. You turned your head to find him already looking at you, his brows slightly furrowed in concern.

"You alright?" he asked softly.

You hesitated, but the way his thumb brushed gently over your skin made you exhale. "Yeah, I just… I know how people can be. And I don’t want them thinking I’m—"

"Stop that," he interrupted, shaking his head. His voice was gentle, but firm. "You didn’t do anything wrong. We were literally fixing a flat tire. People can think whatever they want, but I know the truth. You know the truth."

You bit your lip. "I just don’t want to be seen as—"

"As what? Some villain who stole me away?" he teased lightly, squeezing your hand. "Love, no one’s stealing me. I go where I want to go, and I wanted you here with me today. That’s it. Nothing more, nothing less."

You let out a small breath, his words settling the unease that had been creeping in.

"And if anyone’s got a problem with that?" he added, tilting his head playfully. "They can take it up with my mechanic."

A laugh finally escaped you, and he grinned, satisfied that he had pulled you out of your own head.

"There’s that smile," he murmured before bringing your joined hands to his lips for a quick kiss.

The warmth in your chest replaced the anxiety, and as he started the car, you realized that no matter what people said, you weren’t alone.

Celebrity S.O.S.: Harry Styles Gets Help from a Mysterious Woman After Flat Tire

Harry Styles found himself in an unexpected situation earlier today when his car was spotted with a flat tire. But rather than waiting for a tow, the “Watermelon Sugar” singer received help from an unidentified woman who appeared prepared for the task. Sources say that the mystery girl showed up with a toolkit in hand and quickly got to work, proving her tire-changing skills were on point. While fans gathered and snapped photos, her identity remains a mystery, leaving many to wonder—could she be a new love interest or just a kind-hearted stranger? The speculation is already brewing, and fans are eager to know more about this surprising roadside encounter.

...

Ever since I saw that picture of him I had to cook.

[berberriescorner]

“Haunted Hearts”

Characters: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Black!Reader.

Summary: Simon “Ghost” Riley returns home, haunted by his past missions, creating a rift with his wife. She confronts him, demanding honesty and connection.

Word Count: 1,000+.

A/N: I don’t own these images. Just created the mood board my loves🩵.

Inspired By🩵:

songs listed can be found below:

✨Apple Music✨

✨Spotify✨

The house was eerily quiet, save for the muffled sound of heavy boots hitting the wooden floor. Simon “Ghost” Riley trudged through the dimly lit hallway, his shoulders hunched under the weight of an invisible burden. You were sitting in the living room and noticed the tension radiating from him as soon as he entered. It had been like this since he returned from his last mission—every day a battlefield of its own.

"Simon, we need to talk," you said, voice steady but laced with worry.

He halted, his back to you. "Not now."

"No, we need to talk now. You've been shutting me out since you got back. It's like you're not even here."

Simon turned slowly, his eyes hard and unyielding behind the mask of his stoic expression. "Maybe I don’t want to be here," he snapped.

You flinched at his harsh words but stood your ground. "Don't say that. You don't mean it."

"Don't tell me what I mean," he growled, stepping closer, fists clenching at his sides.. "You have no idea what’s going on in my head.."

"Then tell me! Let me in, Simon. I'm your wife, not some random stranger."

The living room was dimly lit, the flicker of candles casting eerie shadows on the walls. The air was thick with tension, and the silence was almost suffocating.

He laughed bitterly, a hollow sound that echoed through the room. "What? Do you think you can fix me? I don’t need fixin’ lass. Jus’ leave it alright?”

Your head reared back as his words struck you. Mouth agape, you were at a loss for words. Simon saw the pain in your eyes. He sighed, shaking his head, and whispered, “Shit, love. I’m sorry. It’s just–this isn't working."

Your heart skipped a beat, but you forced yourself to remain calm. "No. You don't get to run away. Not this time. This will not end like your last marriage. No disrespect to your previous wife, but you're not scaring me off that easily. I know you have demons. I know how hard it is to do the work you've done and still do. I know you’re just lashing out of fear. You can be a ghost in the field. The strongest, baddest motherfucker out there. That's in the field. You do not get to be a ghost in this marriage. If you don't want to open up to me, fine, but you have got to give me something, Simon. I won't walk away from you. So don't run away from me. Please, I love you. I need you," you choked on a sob, fighting back tears that threatened to spill.

Simon’s façade cracked, and his eyes flashed. First with anger and pain that quickly morphed into sadness and fear. "You don't understand. I can’t… I can’t give you what you want. I can’t be the man you need. The husband you deserve."

You took a step closer, voice softening. "I don’t need you to be perfect, Simon. I need you to be here with me. Be the man you've always been. Flaws and all, baby. Talk to me. Let me share your burden."

He turned away, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "You know that's not my style, love. I'm not a man of many words. My past—I can't go back there. Life before you. That shit is dark both family and career-related, lovie. I don't want to rehash it. Relive it. It’s just the way I am, sweetheart. You deserve better than this. Better than me."

You reached out, gently placing a hand on his arm. "I deserve the man I married. The man who loves me, even when he’s hurting. I deserve you, Simon. And I’m staying."

Simon closed his eyes, the weight of your words sinking in. The two of you stood in silence, the tension palpable. Then, he slowly turned back to you, his expression weary but vulnerable.

"I don’t know if I can do this," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Whatever you feel works for you. That's what we’ll do. Pushing me out of your life is not an option.”

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around him. "You don’t have to do it alone. We’ll figure it out together. One step at a time."

Simon’s resolve crumbled, and he pulled you into a tight embrace, burying his face in your hair. "I’m sorry," he whispered, his voice low and strained. "I’m so sorry."

You held him tighter, feeling the tension in his body. "It's okay, Simon. We’ll get through this. I love you."

He nodded, unable to find the words to express the depth of his gratitude and love. For the first time in weeks, he felt a glimmer of hope. Together, you could face whatever demons haunted him. Together, you could heal.

In the following days, Simon made a conscious effort to be more present. It wasn’t a dramatic change, but small gestures showed his commitment: a touch on your shoulder, a moment of eye contact, an occasional shared laugh.

One evening, as you both sat quietly in the living room, Simon spoke softly, “I’ve started seeing someone. To talk. About everything.”

You looked at him, surprised but relieved. “That’s good, Simon. Really good.”

He nodded, his expression serious. “It’s not easy, but I want to try. For us.”

You reached out and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

There were still difficult days, but the atmosphere between you gradually lightened. You found comfort in small routines: sharing meals, walking together, sitting in companionable silence. Each day, Simon opened up a little more, and you felt the connection between you slowly strengthen.

One night, as you lay in bed, Simon turned to you, his voice a murmur in the dark. “Thank you for sticking with me.”

You smiled softly, reaching out to brush your fingers through his hair. “We’re in this together, Simon. Always.”

With that understanding, you both settled into a more peaceful sleep, knowing that the journey ahead would be challenging but manageable, as long as you faced it side by side.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated lovelies💚.

Tagging some love bugs💚:

@astoldbychae @darqchilddaydreamz @thirtysomethinganduncensored @starrynite7114

@amorestevens @percosim @theeblackmedusa @johnnyshoe

@thabiddie23 @sunshine-flower @ravennaortiz @bxdbxtxh15

@dc418writes @itgurls-world @phoenixhalliwell @drewsmusee

@magicwriterinspo @m150-50up @readernimsblog

@chosoloveletters @ghostslittlegf @virgomess @msdrpreist

@foulmouthedandfanfic

[scourgeofmyownbrain]

Some more Optimus and Bumblebee thoughts <3

I've been working on an entirely different post about Megsy and Bee recently (it's gotten loooong), but I've been struck by some ideas for these two in the meantime. Part 3 of my ✨Adult✨ Bee and OP Found Family bc hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh brain rot. 1 & 2 bc you're not getting context here.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Father and Son. Best friends. Partners in Crime. Two peas in a pod. If lost please return to Optimus I am Optimus. If lost in jail please return to Optimus I am Optimus not posting bail again... I get us into trouble I make it worse get us out of trouble.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Imagine, I m a g i n e, the first time Bumblebee protected Optimus. Like real protect, like "Optimus will die if I don't fight here" protect. Imagine. We all know that Optimus is a real force to be reckoned with, do not fuck with him when he's angry. But hell hath seen no fury like a short kind man's wrath (the short is relative but you get it).

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Optimus has anxiety, Bumblebee has depression. Somehow they both help cure the other, just by existing.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Take the norm and flip it like a waterbottle. Bumblebee is the one to adopt Optimus. Is Optimus older than him? Irrelevant and useless information, Bumblebee is a father now.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Rando: Why is Bumblebee standing on your shoulders?

OP: He likes to be tall.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

(I've had age swap stuff on the mind as of late, so enjoy.)

Older Bee is like an old cowboy, he's confident, sassy, not afraid of death (bc ~depression~), a wicked good shot, could drink bots twice his size under the table (make him 10 feet tall or 30 feet tall, either way it's funny), and could charm your socks clean off. Imagine a cowboy stereotype. That's older Bee.

Orion Pax, as we all know, is a tightly wound ball of Fight or Flight Anxiety. You don't know if he's gonna break into a dead sprint or flatten you with a right hook. Either way, please don't stress him out, he doesn't want to go to jail again, he has work tomorrow.

When you put the two together, somehow Orion has less anxiety. No one understands it. Bee is an agent of chaos, he gets into fist fights bc they're fun, he cheats in every card game he plays (that go fish game was wild), but for some reason Orion just relaxes around him. And he's done a lot more breaking and entering, which normally would be concerning but Bee's got his back if things go south, it's fine. Bumblebee actually starts putting effort into existing again (depression is a bitch) and starts doing things other than drinking. It's fun, he hasn't had this much fun in years. And he can absolutely vibe with being a dad. Yes, his son is already an adult; that just means he missed out on the hard shit and got to skip right to the fun bit.

My brain won't word for some reason, just take every scenario I've already laid out and swap it to this.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

I was reading Prey by Yatzstar (Banger Babee and Dadimus one, by the way, short and sweet), and I thought, "What if: this, but big" and now we're here. Go give some love to the fic first; I'm just remixing the end, not plagiarizing. (Italics are copied from fic directly, I needed a starting point.)

For several long moments, there was silence.

Then in the darkness, something stirred. Twin points of blue appeared, blinking against the dust, and headlights flickered on to reveal an enormous crimson mech. And draped across his lap was a smaller yellow mech.

Optimus massaged his throat, his voice box aching. A sparking noise drags his attention downward. The yellow mech lets out a noise of pain as the wound in his side sparked again. Optimus's optics narrow in concern.

"I'm good, big-bot," Bumblebee says through gritted denta, "wire just slipped."

Optimus lets his servo hover above Bumblebee's side, waiting for permission. Bumblebee shifts to allow the larger bot access to his injury. Two exposed wires were nearly touching, electricity arcing between them. Optimus pinches one and gently pulls it away from the other, and Bumblebee sighs in relief. Optimus lets the wire go when he's sure it won't slip back.

The building around them shifts slightly and dust falls from the ceiling.

"Absolutely horrific noises, by the way, you should make them more often."

Optimus looks down at Bumblebee with a raised optic ridge. "My voice box would cease functioning if I did that more than once."

"Probably, but if it got reactions like that, I think it's worth it."

Optimus rolls his optics at Bumblebee's smirk, a small smile creeping onto his faceplate. "I believe we will be here a while, just until the coast is clear."

"You can tell me how you made those noises while we wait!"

"I am not telling you that."

"Aw, come on, it'd be funny!"

(Holy shit, I kept it short, it's a fucking miracle. And it's properly formated? What demon possessed me)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Optimus's chaos is much subtler than Bee's. Quiet one-liners, dead pan responses, (Hey Optimus, you wanna see something funny? No?) And Yes, he does in fact do this stuff on purpose. he's not just a stoick monolith, he likes having fun. Does Bumblebee encourage it? Yes absolutely why wouldn't he. It fucking hysterical. The best one they've done so far is gaslight several people that Optimus knew while he was Orion into thinking they are actually related. Yes he is my son, yes your math is correct he was born when I worked at Iacon. What do you mean you don't remember him he was 100% there you must be misremembering, I would get that checked out. They usually do this to Megatron for some reason.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

I can not be asked to elaborate. Y'all are smart, figure it out yourself.

(the cheat, btw)

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

One day, random fucking day in the week, Optimus was looking through some old photos. Photos of him and Megatron. Why? Couldn't fucking tell you, maybe he wanted to make himself feel bad, who fucking knows. But he was looking, and he was in his feelings. He wasn't crying, he had done his crying years ago, but he was feeling bad. and he just keeps looking at himself in these photos; how happy he was, how unaware of the shit that was about to go down, and just- hurts inside. Later that night, he's in a bathroom and looks at himself in the mirror. He thinks about the old photos of him and how little he's changed. Barely anything has changed, he's still got the same haircut, the same style of clothes, the same everything. This needs to change. But not yet (the anxiety is ~spiking~).

Eventually, Optimus is in a drug store staring at the hair dye. He is considering just stealing it at this point because buying it feels like admitting something, and Optimus is Not Readytm to admit shit. He is very normal about his feelings, don't you know. And he can't decide which colour to get. He is having a C r i s i s. Eventually he syces himself up and just gets a red and a blue dye. He then proceeds to shove the dye under his bathroom sink and refuses to think about it. For several weeks. He's so normal guys, I promise-

Bumblebee dyes his hair bright fucking yellow. What, did you think his highlighter yellow hair colour was natural? Get real, he works hard to keep it this obnoxiously bright. He has to touch up the colour every once in a while, and every time, he offers to do anyone's hair as well if they bring their own dye. He's been doing it himself for years. One night, after getting back from a long mission. It's kind of late, most of the base is in their rooms probably sleeping, and Bee is winding down by touching up his roots. Optimus nervously approaches with his red and blue dye in hand. Bumblebee notices his approach and pauses. Bee waits for Optimus to say something (he doesn't). They stand there staring at each other in awkward silence. Bumblebee asks if Optimus wants to dye his hair. Thank god Bumblebee is a mind reader.

Bumblebee channels his inner hairdresser and begins bleaching Optimus's hair. Yes, he is doing the voice. Optimus doesn't say anything the entire time, he just looks at his lap. Bumblebee doesn't ask why Optimus wants to dye his hair, because Bee is a homie, and homies don't need to ask; they just know. Homies also know how to deal with you when you go non-verbal; Bumblebee grabs the boxes and uses them to ask how Optimus wants the colours to be. Optimus gives a thumbs up to red on top and blue around the sides. Ooh, good choice, honey, now I hope you don't care about this shirt too much. Optimus walks out of the bathroom with a brand new head of hair and some black towels to put on his pillows ("If you don't take the towels, you will wake up with beautiful new lilac pillowcases in the morning. And don't wear light colours for like a week. Now go sleep, it's past your bedtime.") Optimus says a quiet thank you and scurries away, triumphant in his month-and-a-half long quest.

The next morning is uneventful. There are a few double takes when people notice their leader's new plumage and a few compliments here and there, but no one asks why. When Optimus looks at his reflection, he can't help but smile a bit. Bumblebee manages to snatch a few selfies with him, saying they are "Primary Colour Duo" now.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

A bunch of shitty things I made in powerpoint bc I'm unstoppable

[shizuturnspages]

Hi can I request gojo x yandere reader

Well you can make a yandere reader in love with Gojo since childhood, obsessed with him to the point of sending the servants to take pictures of him to collect

In adolescence the reader lowers her obsession with him because they are in different schools and she does not have enough time to watch over Gojo herself so she faces people to monitor he's schedules

But I would like a plot where Gojo always knew everything (you know six eyes) And he didn't make any comment or movement because he likes the attention.

✨That's all folks (⁠⌐⁠■⁠-⁠■⁠)✨

Through Your Eyes, Only Me

Pairing: Yandere Reader x Gojo Satoru

Gojo Satoru always knew.

From the moment you met as children, when your tiny hands clutched at his sleeve and your wide, adoring eyes locked onto his, he knew. There was something different about you—not in the way everyone else was different from him, but in the way you looked at him like he was something divine. Like he was beyond human comprehension, something untouchable yet utterly, beautifully yours.

The world told you that Gojo was untouchable. And you? You believed it—but that never meant you couldn't watch.

At first, it was innocent. Childhood infatuation was common, wasn't it? You followed him wherever he went, hung onto his words, and ignored every warning that Gojo Satoru was above you. You were the shadow trailing behind him, never seen, never acknowledged fully, but always there.

He didn't stop you.

Even when he caught glimpses of the little shrine you'd made for him, the polaroids his Six Eyes saw being taken by the maids you'd bribed, the way his discarded candy wrappers mysteriously disappeared after he tossed them aside—he said nothing.

Because, in truth? It amused him.

It was the first time someone treated him like something other than a mere human.

He never had to ask for your devotion—it was already his.

And that was entertaining.

Then came your separation.

Different schools, different routines, different people.

You could no longer follow Gojo's every move yourself. That was unacceptable. The distance gnawed at you, left you sleepless, restless, desperate—so you did what you had to.

People could be bought.

Surveillance was easy to obtain when you had the right connections. It started small: bribing students to keep an eye on him, slipping money into the hands of those who attended Jujutsu Tech. You tracked his schedule like a general planning for war, ensured that no one got too close, that the wrong people were warned, intimidated, removed before they became a problem.

Did Gojo know?

Of course, he did.

Every whisper about him reached his ears. Every curious gaze that lingered just a second too long, every tense shift of the people you’d recruited—his Six Eyes saw everything.

He could have stopped it.

Could have stopped you.

But why would he?

Why would he reject the attention, the devotion, the sheer adoration you offered so freely?

It was entertaining.

So he let you continue, never acknowledging it, never calling you out.

But he saw.

And it thrilled him.

By the time adulthood arrived, your obsession had been honed into something methodical. It was no longer the foolish impulse of a love-struck child—it was careful, deliberate, hidden behind layers of control.

But Gojo still knew.

He knew when you switched from mere surveillance to direct intervention.

When rumours of certain women who showed too much interest in him suddenly disappeared.

When enemies who spoke ill of him met mysterious, unexplained misfortunes.

When your influence crept into his life like an invisible force, ensuring that he remained exactly where you wanted him.

You thought you were careful.

That made him laugh.

Because at the end of the day, you could never hide from him.

Your obsession wrapped around him like an invisible leash—one he never fought against. Because, truly, why would he ever reject the idea of being the centre of your world?

Your eyes had always seen only him.

And Gojo Satoru would never let that change.

Not now.

Not ever.

It was amusing, entertaining even, to have someone so completely devoted to him. He never stopped you because, deep down, Gojo Satoru loved being worshipped.

And if that meant letting you obsess over him for the rest of your lives?

Well, who was he to stop you?

After all, you were his little shadow, weren’t you?

[adastra-rising]

I’ve been rewatching episodes of miraculous because I finally got the family Disney Plus Password (was too lazy to ask) and I’ve been struck with thoughts.

I desperately want to rewrite the season 3 episode “Felix” because OH DEAR GOD I HATE IT. You only get the good shit when you read between the lines, what’s actually shown is ass.

So here’s my ideas for a rewrite

- Adrien definitively knows Colt Fathom was abusive, and alludes to it vaguely. He switched identities with Felix as a kid and has a good idea of what he went through at home.

- Adrien is less condescending in his taunts during the battle and shows a little more empathy towards his cousin. Less “boohoo bozo you have no friends” and more like, “dear god what happened to you bud?” Like he’s genuinely concerned over his wellbeing. Angry over what he did but genuinely concerned. Angry that his cousin never got a therapist lol.

- Marinette doesn’t try to confess her love to Adrien on the anniversary of his mother’s death because that’s literally so stupid.

- Felix is a bit more straightforward in his goals here, in that the audience is not led to believe he’s straight up evil. His behavior and general demeanor are more in-line with how he’s portrayed in season 4. He’s less obsessed with the GDV rings and more focused on outing his uncle as Hawkmoth or catching him in the act.

- He specifically chooses to mess with the videos to not only lure out Hawkmoth but because he’s extremely lonely and jealous. And that’s shown via subtle facial expressions and visual cues.

- His attempts to get Hawkmoth’s attention are more clearly shown to be an attempt to double-cross him and not just for the lols. Like, there’s certain things he does in the OG that are literally pointless, like the shit with Plagg’s cheese. Why? just, why?

- He is shown to be super competent at physical things (beating people up lol) but his social ineptitude is more clearly alluded to.

- No more SA scene I will burn that scene.

- Amelie actually gets to do stuff. She’s more straightforward about needing the GDV rings and actually makes an attempt to steal them herself. Auntie on a mission,

Canon Divergence Territory (aka rewrite)

✨MLB S3 Episode 23: Zelus✨

- If I wanted to do a bit more canon divergence, I’d shift focus from Felix being a trouble maker for the lols and instead focus on his jealousy. The feeling of being left behind by your only friend.

- His attempts to sabotage Adrien’s relationships is not to bait Hawkmoth but instead because he’s overcome with jealousy that Adrien has all these friends supporting him through his mothers passing, when Felix has never had anyone, both when his dad was dead and when he was alive. Nobody came to save him when he needed it and he’s gonna make that everybody’s problem.

- He thinks it’s unfair that Adrien seems to be so much happier than him and gets all of the things Felix wants (companionship) all the while getting to avoid the abuse he went through.

- Bro is genuinely super bitter and emotionally broken but hides it under a facade of showing no emotion at all until he snaps and gets akumatized into Zelus.

- Zelus (more commonly known as Phthonus) is the Greek personification of Jealousy.

- Maybe the ending could parallel the ending of Perfection, where other characters make an attempt to reach out and say “ur not alone <3” and while it works to defeat him, the message does NOT reach Felix and he goes home outwardly seeming better (it’s an act. One that Adrien believes) but remains just lonely.

- Like Kagami his trust issues run deep and one single episode is not gonna fix them. (They’ll heal together though, trust me!)

- His experience getting Akumatized proves to him that his uncle is Hawkmoth, he swipes the GDV ring on his way out to please his mother, and season 4 proceeds as written.

Dialogue Changes

Adrien: Listen, Plagg. Félix lost his dad not so long ago, he's probably not himself.

Plagg: I'm sorry, but there's just no excuse! You never touch my cheese, and yet, you just lost your mother not so long ago, right?

Adrien: My mom and his dad were nothing alike. It’s totally different.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n Part two! Writing was all I could think about today. Thank you for the love. It's been a hot minute since something brewed in my brain. 🤍✨

warnings: blood, violence, past trauma,

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Finding a way to focus had been hard the past couple of weeks. Azriel felt like a ghost who had pledged the sanctuary. He barely got out of his room, and if he did, he twirled around in the shadows. Watching. Hacking. It was an unsettling feeling at times. Feeling those golden eyes burning holes into your back. Listening in on your conversation. Yet every time you would turn towards where the phantom feeling of him lingered, you were met with nothing. A space where you had hoped to find him.

"Invite him to the communal. It sure must not feel nice to be left behind", Padme, the high priestess, casually said just the other night when you brought her all the paperwork you had sorted through. "He is free to come, P. He ain't a prisoner", you stated blankly. Focusing solely on the piles of papers as you arranged them. "You're being neglectful, my dear", those words made you look up as you frowned. "He is not my responsibility. I'm not assigned to him. I don't...", you stuttered on, crossing your arms around your chest defensively. "And yet... Our high lord had called for you specifically", she trialed off. A knowing, ancient smile painted her lips. You knitted your eyebrows as hard as you could, trying to look frustrated, but that only made the high priestess chuckle. You had wanted to find a strong enough counterargument for her statement, but your words failed you. So you bowed your head to her before walking away.

"Is he an ancient spirit?", Zofie, the young fea girl, asked as she looked up at you, making you crack a smile. Some of the kids have been more than observant. But then it was hard to miss a male of Azriel's size. And while grown women didn't spare him a second glance, the kids had grown curious. "That's an Illyrian soldier, Zo", Axel said, rolling his eyes at the younger girl. You questioned your choice the closer you got to the spymaster's room. He might very well not even be there. And even more so, he might have another outburst. And you had brought kids with you...

"Well, how would I know? I'm only little", Zofie stomped her little feet, making grabby hands at you. You shook your head at them. "Why don't you two ask him all of your questions yourself?", you suggested, right as the wooden door at the end of the hall came into view. You halted once more, but your lingering steps were outmatched by Axel, who had sprinted down the hall before you could even open your mouth.

Azriel had been trying to summon a bottle of whiskey for over an hour now. He was tired and frustrated with the lack of communication Rhys was willing to engage in. The only thing the high lord was willing to say was that Elain had gone with Lucien. She was in autumn. That had made the spymaster curse Rhys in all the languages he spoke. He was about to list all the reasons why that trip was not a good idea when Rhys shut him off completely.

Now he was sitting on the floor. Shoulders slumped. He looked ahead of himself. One of his shadows had flustered before moving towards the door, ripping at the handle. "I'm not going anywhere. So drop it", the spymaster had muttered. But the shadow didn't budge, nudging the metal tightly as a knock sounded, making Azriel look to the side. He was ready to ignore it. The last thing he needed was to deal with more nonsense, but then the thought struck him. What if it was you? What if this was his chance to get you to tell him how to get out of this place? If he caught you here, he would still have time to interrogate you spymaster style, and then...

Azriel grabbed the handle, spreading his wings behind him as he frowned. Yanking the door open. No one met his eyes. There was nothing there. Azriel was almost sure of it. Until a loud gasp filled his ears and something light hit the floor. "Axel", the sound made Azriel peer into the hallway. That's when he noticed you rushing towards him. That's when he noticed a tiny frame curled on the floor. Tiny leathery wings draped around the shaking body.

Azriel's wings sagged. He reached his hand out, but you were quick to stand in between them, your eyes wide as you stared at the spymaster. "Are you insane?", you said through gritted teeth, turning to look back at the trembling body. "Hey, Ax. It's all okay. No one will hurt you", Azriel watched as you carefully moved to brush your fingers through the boy's hair. A tiny, trembling hand reached out towards you. You took it without hesitation. The girl whom you had carried up to this point stood slightly to the side, her tiny palms pressed into her eyes. She was hiding. Scared because of... Azriel quickly shook his head. "I didn't mean...", you turned his way, his soft gaze replaced by a burning anger. "Who even opens a door like that?". Azriel was about to bite back when the boy looked up at him, muttering, "Wow..."

"Axel...", you questioned him, worry lacing your features as you watched him. "You're big... and your wings", the boy said, his eyes now fully on Azriel. You bit the inside of your cheek. Pulling Zofie closer to your embrace. The dark twirl swam towards the boy, and you were about to seize it with your magic until it ruffled Axel's hair softly, nuzzling against the boy's cheek, making him chuckle.

You swallowed thickly before turning back to Azriel and saying, "We came to invite you to the communal but...", to the sound of which both of the kids perked up. "We learned a new song", Axel said, "Zofie dances with the ribbons. Right, Zo?", He pulled at the girl's skirt, but she didn't lift her head from your shoulder. Something ached deep within Azriel. He craved fear. At this point, he was convinced that no one would ever learn to look at him any differently but watch kids shake at the sight of him... He had watched them for some time now. A part of why he had stuck to the shadows was because he didn't want to scare the younglings. He doubted seeing a big, bulky male—there were no other males here, as Azriel had noted—would make them feel safe.

"I'll come", Azriel said, thinking about reaching for the girl but choosing against it. She looked so small, clinging to you. He had made a child frightened. He had never... Azriel felt a small palm wrapping around his two fingers. "I'll show you the pool we have; well, it's not a pool, but... you'll see", Axel chirped, already dragging Azriel down the hall. You were about to protest. As it was, you had a long list of reasons why Azriel shouldn't come at all. He met your gaze. You watched him. Was he silently asking for your permission? You gave him a tight glare before nodding.

The kids were in their element, as always. Singing loudly as they danced together. Axel was up in the front lines, his eyes not leaving Azriel. Zofie had slipped off your lap midway through the third song and was happily twirling with her pink ribbon in hand. Azriel sat beside you. You could tell that he was uncomfortable. You doubted he watched the children much. You even doubted that he understood just how important it was for Axel that he was here. Azriel's eyes were scanning the place. Memorizing faces. You let out a sigh, and that seemed to have done the job because the spymaster lowered his gaze toward you.

"You know, you're an asshole", you said while plastering a smile on your face. Azriel huffed, "Says you", crossing his arms over his chest. "Well, I'm sorry, but out of the two of us...", you trailed off, shaking your head.

"You brought kids as backup", Azriel snarled once more. Now these words made you look right at him as you growled, "You wanted to break my neck". Azriel gave you a puzzled look. "Oh, don't look at me like ancient Mother Sun; you think I'm that stupid? You would have leaped at me once more", your words had come up more like an accusation than you would have liked. "For the record, I wasn't going to break your neck", Azriel muttered. Even more frustrated by your last statement now. "Oh, my apologies. Locking me up? Hanging me up from a ceiling? A bit more your style?", you rolled your eyes at him. Azriel gritted his teeth. You were getting on his nerves slowly, but then the fact that you thought he might break your neck... Oddly enough, he hated that. Azriel wanted to be far away from being a predator. He didn't want to inflict harm or fear. Slowly, he started to wonder about how much he still didn't know. Not just about this place, but himself. Another stab ripped past his chest, and Azriel let out a tight sigh. Clapping erupted around the room. Azriel joined in mindlessly, turning his head slightly your way and saying, "I'm so...", but he was met with an empty chair. Azriel's eyes darted around the room. He searched for the two kids as well but was met with a crowd of faces that didn't have any meaning to him. Azriel let out a frustrated growl, tightening his fists.

The candlelight was barely visible. Your eyes were burning from tiredness. You knew that you weren't going to get anything more done, but you refused to leave your study. It was the only place where you didn't feel him. And heaps of paperwork had managed to shove him out of your brain. It was bad enough that Axel talked about him until he eventually fell asleep. Padme, however, had given you a dissatisfied look. And you knew she was right, but you too had your reasons. You weren't a babysitter. There were no direct implications that it had to be you who monitored Azriel's behavior here. You knew that Rhys had eyes of his own here. He didn't need weekly reports. You blew out the last remaining candle. Not having enough energy to care about the scattered papers all over the table.

Rubbing your eyes, you moved towards the door. Opening them up with a spell. And you wished you hadn't the moment you did. A mortified scream left your lips. A hand clasped over your mouth. Flickers of your magic sparked, cracking the solid wall of darkness. "It's just me", you shoved your palms against Azriel's chest. "You're a sick bastard", you said, pointing an angry finger at the spymaster. To your surprise, he let out a low chuckle, making you huff. "How dare you laugh?", you moved to fix your dress. Trying to hide the tremble in your palms. "You're running away from me", Azriel stated calmly. You gave him a daring look and said, "I am not inclined to see you".

Azriel watched you. Even in the dim hallway, there was no way he could deny that there was something about you. The way you carried yourself You had proven your point that night in Azriel's room when you drew his consciousness away from him. He knew you had magic lurking deep within. But even that didn't seem like something that would call to him. "But you can answer some of my questions", he stated blankly. You shook your head in disbelief. "You did all of this so you could ask me a question? Under what rock have you been raised?", you stepped closer to him. Here. Here it was. That daring glare made something deep flick within Azriel.

"You'll have to forgive me. I was the one to wake up in a place I knew nothing of", he snarled back. Taking the last step towards you. Fully towering over your frame. Your head was now drawn up, so you could keep eye contact with him. "But I wasn't the one who went for a mated...", You cut yourself off. A bitter taste coating your mouth. The fire in your eyes died down. "Say it", Azriel muttered through gritted teeth. You watched him. You had no right to judge, and you didn't. "Everyone knows about it, don't they? You tried to make a fool out of me by dragging me to that circus today?", Now his words were drenched with venom. You had nudged a sleeping tiger. "That was not a circus. Communal is for children", your voice was small. Azriel let out a bitter laugh. "Is that what Rhys wanted? To humiliate me", there was pain so deep within him that even your bones ached.

"And you... you're here to orchestrate it", he snarled, stepping away from you. You suddenly felt so little. You had no intention of making Azriel feel like a fool. He shook his head one more time before he turned to step away. "Azriel...", you called out, stepping forward to grab his hand. Forgetting all boundaries. Losing control over your mental shields. The moment your hand touched his, all you managed was to take one more inhale before a ray of vision flashed right in front of you.

Azriel felt as if he was trapped in a never-ending nightmare. As flashes and flashes of what seemed to be memories glimmered through his mind, he saw the sanctuary. An elderly lady. Coldness and pain. Something that reminded him of the basement he had been locked in. Then there was Rhys. Illyrian camps. Angry males. A fire. Shouting females. Scattered wings. Blood. Shrieking children. He tried to move. He was unsure if it was real or just in his mind. But when he lifted his hands, bloody palms met him.

You yanked your hand back. Breathing heavily. Azriel was panting too. He blinked a couple of times. Eyes darting to your trembling frame. Your cheeks glisten with tears. Void grew deep within the spymaster's chest. Azriel moved to step closer, but you put out an arm in front of yourself. "I won't hurt you", his voice was the softest you had ever heard from him before. Yet you still shook your head, muttering a quiet, "I'm sorry".

[nyerusnova]

Glad to see that Tim being a giant Dick Grayson fanboy is finally being highlighted again, and sparking more discussion especially on their early relationship! (Please gimme more!!! I love them so much, augh!)

Probably as a result of that surge, there seems to be reciprocal chatter on the topic of how young Tim actually felt towards Jason, too. It's honestly pretty interesting, because it's more nuanced than it appears at first glance.

Which means it's very fun to dissect! ✨

There's a degree of subjectivity to keep in mind, because readers are going to have different interpretations of the same scenes, or will pull from entirely different scenes than one another to form their individual view on this topic. That's just how it is in comic book fandom, for many things! Regardless, in this case... if the scale ranges from the extreme of "Jason was Tim's Robin" to the other extreme of "Tim actually hated Jason [as Robin] or thought he was a loser that got himself killed" — the actual truth is closer to the middle, as is often the case.

At least, in my opinion.

Mainly I want to focus on those relatively early days with this post, to highlight Tim's initial(-ish) feelings towards his heroes, and touch on the point at which they really begin to change. This turned into a very long post, though. Brevity is beyond my skill, so grab snacks and water lol. Transcripts for each image will be posted at the very end under the cut.

So, the two storylines I want to cover are "Rite of Passage," which is rolls into "Identity Crisis." (NOT to be confused with the major crossover event "Identity Crisis™" which came years later, and is where Jack Drake dies.... But it sure is an interesting coincidence that Tim deals with the loss of each parent in two similarly named stories!) These take place before Tim is even Robin, and I'll be considering them as one arc for this post.

Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 (July, 1990) -- Pages 1 & 2

"When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero."

"One day, I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit."

To start off, we have this opening from "Rite of Passage." Tim is still in training here, mainly helping Bruce with minor stuff from the cave. His parents are off traveling, alive and well as of these next few pages. He's still bright-eyed and full of wonder. An extraordinarily weird but ultimately innocent kid.

So his view on Jason is positive and fairly simple: a hero, and someone to look up to as Robin. Clearly, Tim here doesn't think Jason was deficient in his role, either as a protector of Gotham or as Batman's trusted partner.

Moreover, Tim already held Dick in very high regard because he was amazingly skilled before he became Robin. To Tim, that's not something he'll ever be able to achieve. Meanwhile, Jason wasn't like that. He was a regular kid without crazy acrobatic training since practically birth. Yet he still went on to be a hero—which is obviously motivational for Tim who finds himself in similar shoes.

It's true that Tim only ever knew or thought of Jason as Robin, and idolized him in that regard. But that's kind of all that mattered to him at that point, because he was this kid who was utterly star-struck by his heroes. Even if he's technically aware of their shortcomings as people, it's overshadowed by the hero-worship.

It was kind of the same with Bruce as Batman at first. (Which was still enough for Tim to risk life and limb to help his beloved hero, before Bruce even knew his name.) Dick was the only one Tim had any sort of "personal" relationship with beforehand, so there is an extra level of attachment—and hence why it was the nidus for his obsession with Batman. Yet even then, it wasn't like he actually knew anything about Dick as a person until later. Until then, Tim's ideas of him were all he had, too. With Jason, Tim just didn't get to know him at any point before his return (oof), apart from what he heard over the years secondhand (also oof).

Ultimately, it's the loss of innocence—along with the ricocheting bullet that is the unresolved guilt of those around him—that begins to change Tim's perception. Not just of Jason, but of things in general.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 13

"I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry, they're full of rage. They want to hit back."

Losing his mother was a major shift for Tim, obviously. This is right after the previous storyline, and Tim's had the worst week or two of his life (so far). His monologue here is a reference to what happened to both Dick and Jason. The unbearable pain of loss, the rage masking the grief underneath. And importantly, that he feels both of them were justified in their anger. (And Bruce too, indirectly.)

The major theme of the aptly named "Identity Crisis" is to mirror aspects of Dick and Jason and Tim's lives—to show how they converged onto the same tragic road. It's something that Tim notices early in the story, and was frightened by. Now, horrifically, it's become a part of him as well. His parents are gone, and he was entirely helpless to do anything about it. Dick was the same way, Jason was the same way. The cycle is repeated.

In particular, the part about him wanting to go to Haiti for revenge—for his mother—sort of struck me as being an intentional parallel to Jason and Ethiopia. It's a bit of a stretch, especially in isolation, so others may see it differently (e.g. the angry ramblings of a grieving child that does sound like something anyone might say). But it always stuck out to me because of how much Tim is compared directly to Jason in this arc. More on that below.

It's not something I can really give an accurate feel of because it's a lot of subtle things that begin to add up, so I'd encourage folks to read this arc themselves to see what I mean. (Or maybe you'll still disagree which is fine too lol.) Again, many things are in reference to both Dick and Jason in relation to Tim, but it's weighted more on Jason's side.

Batman vol. 1 #455 (Oct., 1990) -- Page 18

"You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't!"

Tim's grief has begun to pull away the veil of idealism that enshrouded his heroes in his mind. It doesn't apply only to Jason, but to the rest of them. Plus add the fact that Tim's keenly aware that he's being managed, even if the adults around him are careful to not outright say certain things. He still knows.

Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are all worried about Tim potentially turning into "another Jason." They (and mainly Bruce) caution Tim to not ignore his emotions, but they're still concerned that he may be overly eager to prove himself in order to cope, and could get hurt or killed as a result. While they aren't wrong for their caution—especially at how unsettlingly similar all the circumstances are—they aren't very subtle about the elephant in the room.

Imagine how that would affect Tim's perception of his predecessor, especially when he's in the midst of a traumatic event he hasn't had time to fully process. The negative association is pretty much inevitable.

Tim's known from day one that he's walking in Jason's shadow, and now it's become inescapable. Tim went from seeing Jason as a goal to reach, to feeling that unless he surpasses him, he wasn't going to be taken seriously by anyone. However, as of this arc, Tim doesn't even fully come to that point yet.

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Pages 14 & 15

"Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone!"

It's really easy to take away "Tim totally thought Jason got himself killed" as the main thing here, but I think that's missing the forest for the trees.

First some context: Bruce has gone out on a mission to get Scarecrow, and expressly forbade Tim from doing any shenanigans. Meanwhile, Tim is grappling with wanting to prove himself and trying to help Bruce from the cave, all while trying to deal with his emotions. At some point, he falls asleep and ends up having like... exhaustion-grief hallucinations of Dick!Robin and Jason!Robin who confusingly caution yet encourage him. The main theme of this part is facing your fears.

Depending on how you want to interpret the intent of Jason's dialogue here, you could go several ways with it. Ranging from "writer's feelings towards Jason" to "a peek into Tim's mind as his fears manifest as visions of his heroes" or some mixture thereof.

Though Tim argues with Bruce that Batman needs a Robin, we're shown that Tim is understandably scared of joining Batman's "war." He's still not willing to let Bruce go it alone, though, and that's something he feels more strongly than his fear.

Meanwhile, hallucination!Jason's warnings are a lamentation of what happened to him in a way, but it actually exactly describes Tim's current situation even more so. Unlike Jason, Tim is under-trained, under-experienced, doesn't even have a suit of his own yet. But like Jason, he can't sit by and do nothing while someone he cares about is in danger. Tim knows that if he goes out there, he will probably get himself killed, and it will be his own fault. So he's about to disobey Batman's orders, and fly right into danger. If that got Jason killed, then Tim—who is in a way worse position experience-wise—has every chance of ending up the same.

Like... it's about Jason, but it's also about Tim. It's Tim's worst fears made manifest, via the representation of why he is even here in the first place (Jason's death).

That's my theory anyway, but perhaps this is an overly charitable reading of this scene on my end. (Not that I think that makes me wrong lol.) However given that Grant wrote both parts of this arc, and the beginning of which is especially favorable towards Jason, it certainly is something to ponder. I have a lot of thoughts on it I can't expand on here tbh but perhaps that'll be another post.

Anyway, returning to the point of the similarities vs differences between Tim and Jason: since this is the arc that solidified Tim as the next Robin in comic continuity, it makes sense that the writers really pushed the comparisons between the two of them, specifically. (Even though Dick was pretty similar, as going against Batman's orders is the Robin thing to do, it's not his shoes Tim is directly filling.) So making Tim's "debut" story arc mirror Jason's "swansong" is an obvious narrative choice.

To drive home the parallels, I wanted to include this panel from just a few pages prior to the "daydream":

Batman vol. 1 #456 (Nov., 1990) -- Page 9

"The suit is magic."

That so distressingly close to Jason's famous "being Robin gives me magic" line (Batman #385, page 6). Given all the previous context, it's hard for me to just dismiss it as pure coincidence. Even if it is, the point still stands. Tim is shown having the some of the same heartbreakingly naive views as Jason once did, right in front of Jason's memorial, just as he's about to go and run off into the night against orders.

I think that speaks for itself. There's a lot to take away from it, if you so choose. Especially given the context of that specific Jason arc.

Alright, back to the main course:

So in the end, Tim actually goes out in civvies and a ski mask because if he fails, then at least he wouldn't bring shame to Robin's legacy™. When he gets fear gassed saving Batman, it's once again both Dick and Jason that he hallucinates encouraging him to push past his fear. (Shout out to the fact that he's literally more afraid of tarnishing the legacy of Batman & Robin than he is of dying.... I'm sure this will not be a recurring thing for him in the future.)

Tim's ideology is shown to be similar to Jason's, and the actions Tim ultimately takes are similar to Jason's... but the outcome is different. And it really isn't just "Tim succeeded where Jason failed." At least, that's not what I took away from this. Rather, Tim had no reason to succeed any more than he had to fail, just that he did. Luck combined with caution because he knew what happened to his predecessor, and the fact that Batman was there to finish the job all made the difference.

You could say (and I know some will) that it's just classic Jason character assassination and the writers trying to implore readers that this new kid is different we promise pls don't hate us look how much better he is! But in this case, that feels like it undermines the whole point of this story. It doesn't fit with what the characters actually say.

Thus, we return to the question of how Tim felt towards his predecessor. And the answer is different from where we started, because Tim is different. Not that different though. Because even though at this point Tim—like all the adults around him—has probably attributed Jason "going off on his own" being what led to his death, Tim still thought of him as a hero to look up to. It's about Robin, first and foremost, yes. But Tim is fully aware of the people who made that suit mean what it does, because it's all intertwined.

Batman vol. 1 #457 (Dec., 1990) -- Page 20

"I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it."

Even further, Tim thinks of it in terms of Jason having given his life for what he believed in, for the legacy that now falls to Tim. There's a sense of gravitas there. He's afraid of failing both the Robins who came before him.

Ultimately do I think Tim adored and loved Jason on the same level as Dick or something? No. It's not comparable. (Dick was like part of some of Tim's earliest memories and everything! They have a really unique bond ok.) Yet Tim was also far from thinking poorly of Jason so early on. Frankly, it seems that Tim thought of Jason as a noble hero and a cautionary tale. Yes he took risks and sometimes went too far, generally stuff that Tim doesn't want to repeat and all that. At the same time, Tim still saw him as someone whose legacy and memory was worth honoring.

It's complicated, which is why I like it so much—because it feels real. Having conflicting feelings towards someone is... so human. Especially someone you never got to know, yet who plays such an integral role in your life via the shadow of their death. How can you feel anything but complicated towards them?

It has to be said that, yes, Tim's views—even before Jason's return—change over the years. He becomes more jaded as a person and is surrounded by people who are even more jaded than him... and who often mention Jason as the "failed Robin." It's something that's hung over Tim's head all the damn time. The curse of the Robin mantle.

So it shouldn't come as a surprise that Tim's idea of him becomes more akin to "sounds like a skill issue" as the years go by. All bets are off after Jason's return, and the Titans Tower Incident™. At that point it's firmly "I am better than you, loser" lmao.

And... that's all without getting too into things like authorial intent and general "moods" of different DC writers towards Jason at a given point. Or retcons that played a role in his characterization and how other characters talk about him, depending on what "era" you're reading. That's way beyond the scope of this post though!

TLDR; even though young Tim Drake was obsessed with Dick Grayson as Robin, he still looked up to Jason Todd as well. He didn't think of Jason as a cringefail loser until later. :)

(image dialogue transcripts under cut ↓)

Dialogue Transcript for Image 1 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 1):

Narration box (Tim): When Gotham needed him, he was there. When the Batman needed him, he was there. He was a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 2 (Detective Comics vol. 1 #618 -- Page 2):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Narration box: But he was nothing special, really. Just a boy, who was taught--trained--brought to his full potential by someone who knew how. Just a boy... like me. I know I can do it. I know I can. One day I'll be as good as Jason. One day I'll wear the suit. One day I'll be a hero.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 3 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Page 13):

Tim: I hate him! I hate him! I know why they do it now. Why they put on the suits, and the masks, and go out into the night. They're angry. Full of rage. They want to hit back. They want to fill the hole that's burning inside them.

Bruce: There's more to it than that, son. Much more.

Tim: I know. It's just--I feel--like going to Haiti myself and strangling that creep with my bare hands!

Bruce: The Obeah Man will spend the rest of his life in a prison hospital. He's history. Forget him! But don't fight against your anger. It's natural. Accept it. Live with it. One day it'll be your friend.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 4 (Batman vol. 1 #455 -- Panels from page 18):

Tim: Because you think my mother's death has upset me too much. Well, it did. But I've taken your words to heart. I can cope. You think my anger will boil over, the way Jason's did. I can assure you, it won't. But that doesn't make any difference, does it? Why can't you have a little faith in me?

Dialogue Transcript for Image 5 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 14):

Narration box (Tim): Blast it! My head's starting to swim. I'm about ready to give up. I almost wish I'd never heard of Batman and Robin!

Vision Dick: Heroes never give up, Tim.

Vision Jason: You know that.

Tim: Dick--! Jason Todd!

Vision Dick: You're training to fight in a war, Tim. It'll last all your life. No matter what, you have to go on fighting.

Vision Jason: Drop-outs don't make it. And dead heroes are no use to anyone! I thought I knew better than Batman. I thought I could run before I could walk. I killed myself, Tim. Because I couldn't wait. Because I couldn't think it through.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 6 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Page 15):

(Scene continued from previous page)

Vision Dick: Think, Tim. Concentrate!

Vision Jason: You can do it.

Both: You can do it!

Tim, waking up: What--? Robin...?

Narration box (Tim): I must have been daydreaming. They're right, though. There's a solution to everything. I can find it! So here I go again... Whim. Caprice. Doing something without forethought.

Dialogue Transcript for Image 7 (Batman vol. 1 #456 -- Panel from page 9):

Narration box (Tim): The suit is magic. It gives you power. It hides your weakness. It makes you give it everything you've got. It makes you a hero. If only I could!

Dialogue Transcript for Image 8 (Batman vol. 1 #457 -- Page 20):

Bruce: Are you afraid of it?

Tim: No. It isn't fear. It's more... the suit carries so much history. I mean--Dick made it into a symbol the whole world knows. Jason gave his life for it. Failing them--what they fought so hard to build--that's what worries me!

Bruce: I appreciate that, Tim. That costume weighs a whole lot more than any symbol should... and I'd be failing you if I expected you to bear that weight. So... let me know what you think.

Narration box: A mask has a double edged, he said. It hides your own anxiety as it strikes fear into your enemy.

[dragonsoulage]

Like a ghost…

feat. L Lawliet

So here you are mourning L‘s death because whatever had been between you never had been spoken out loud. Besides the fact you always were the spiritual type and he the logic one…until he appears in your room. Helping you to solve the Kira case, as you try to figure out why he is still here as a ghost…

Hello world, idk why this idea got in my head when I just wanted to write something angsty and yet still romantically tragic 🥲🥲 so here you are a medium being able to see dead people who weren’t ready to go just yet. And after L‘s death that left you in pieces you saw him too…maybe it’s not everyone’s cup of tea but I kinda liked that idea. And you also got some cute flashbacks when he was still alive ✨✨🤌🏻

Wordcount: 5,5 k

Warnings: L‘s death, dealing with loss, angst, kinda fluff sometimes just to balance the depression🤙🏻

Life was hard, it was even harder now that L passed. Now that you felt like you would be on your own.

Who were you, even, when he was not there?

Not that you two had labeled your relationship, it never came to this point. None of you ever said it, none of you ever acknowledged it for what it truly was.

Firstly, it was complicated, you were one of the kids from Wammys's House, although you were not quite like L or Mello, or even Near.

You were different, but special to say at least. You were a medium, something that was not quite fitting into it, but Watari saw your potential. And indeed you had helped in some cases, although when you could sense souls and ghosts, and kept talking to them, still it was necessary to get the evidences. Without evidences, there was no crime, right?

Being a medium had its challenges, but the biggest challenge of all? That people needed to believe you, and trust is not always something people like to work with.

Watari had his own proof, why he believed it was real, but L. L was a man of logic, something like a medium? Was that really real? Not for him, not at all.

And it was not like you could have been proving it to him. It was not so easy, you may see people that had died, but it was not like everyone wanted to talk to you, nor that everyone after their death would remain as soul on earth. It was simply not a save option.

You were a smart thing, especial in social intelligence.

One of the reasons why L, still liked to have you around. You were smart in your own way, charming even, maybe a little odd since you saw ghosts, but charming.

No matter how much he tried to understand you or the whole thing itself, it was not for him. Nothing he could have explained logically, and this was something he disliked.

One of the reasons why it took so long until you two got accustomed to each other over the years. But you two grow closer in the Kira case...much closer.

You sat on a couch, your face tears struck like always since the last weeks, since the moment you saw how L fell from the couch into Lights arms. These big dark eyes in shock, his heart what stopped beating. It was horrifying for you. You were surrounded by death, yes. But usually it never terrified you since you learned to live with it.

But it was L, your L. The man you slowly gave your heart to. Regretting you never said anything clear to him. It shattered you. You missed him, and since his death, he never popped up again, at least you thought so.

Sometimes there was a weird feeling, especially when you were in bed in the night, as if someone would hug you, yourself too sleepy and exhausted from the crying, thinking it probably was just your imagination. L would have showed up, wouldn't he? When his soul would be still here?

Often people remained when they weren't ready to go, when they didn't clarify something, so you thought he was still there, but there was no sign of it.

It depressed you to a state you barely was able to go outside, you tried to support Near and Mello, you tried but yourself too caught up in the mess.

You sat there with your knees against your chest and your arms slung around them, staring into the empty TV.

"In hell with you, Lawliet, how could you leave me here?" you mumbled, wiping away a tear.

You wanted to get together, you really wanted. It was just so hard.

But this was the moment...when suddenly a figure appeared walking from the front door right in front of you to the nearby stool. Baggy jeans and a white shirt, it crouched down on the stool with bare feet. You sat there without a reaction at all. It was a daydream perhaps, you always saw him in your dreams.

"In one thing I was wrong, truly wrong. You indeed are a medium. At least in death I can give you right." the voice was so known and clear to you. You felt cold, so very cold.

Your eyes widened, your voice stuck in your throat. A shiver ran down your spine.

More hot tears poured into your eyes.

Was this really L? Did he show up? Now?

After that moment you decided to move from the couch, it was him, his damn ghost was still here.

"I didn't plan to leave you. But I guess, it's my fault, like it is always when you are angry with me." he added then, because h had heard how you mumbled to yourself, his tone kinda dry with that sarcasm but logical intent.

You suffered, he saw it. He felt it, and you could tell he suffered with you, because of his own death.

Never did L thought you would mourn after him like that. Not with the unsaid things from both of you.

He was the one who came in the night when you had nightmares, to hug you with his ghostlike cold presence. Who kept whispering soothing things in your ear. But, who refused to show up, because he hoped you would stop missing him.

He didn't want to disturb your mourning process, but well, he saw there was no point in hiding anymore. Not when you were sitting in a hole like this.

"Are you insane? I cry my damn eyes out, and you show up like weeks later?" you asked him, tears rolling down your cheeks, you were sad, and relieved and angry all at the same time.

You grabbed a pillow from the couch, before throwing it at him.

It simply flew through him, L's dark eyes looked down right on his chest where the pillow flew through.

"This, was not nice, it felt tingly, like uncomfortable tingly." he said to you, his expression still not really faltered.

After your little outburst you went over to him, dropping on your knees, your big sad eyes looking at him, kinda even pleading.

"Why didn't you showed up earlier? You knew I didn't lie to you of being a medium. You felt it, at least this is what other ghost said, they felt when someone could see them." you explained, you wanted to reach out, but you knew even when you tried to touch him, he was not really there, at least not physical.

He sighted, so many things in his big brain, and yet this was hard. In death, there was no investigation he could follow, only him and his existence now. The fact that he loved you, and never said it. He made a mistake in not believing you...

"I hoped you would get over it. Like you always get over things. I thought it would be better when you think I am gone. But I am stuck here, and you didn't seem to stop being sad." he told you, you could listen to the sad tone in his voice.

L had restrained himself, for your sake.

"Yeah, get over you...as if that would be so easy." you chuckled, because of the irony in this situation yet your voice still hurt.

"You are stuck because of the Kira case, aren't you?" you mused out loud, before looking back into his face.

Your face, so pretty and full of adoration towards him. No matter how complicated your kinda relationship had been, how unsaid things were and how sarcastic you were sometimes towards him, you adored L.

You never got tired of trying to understand him, and even when you don't, you never judged him. A trait he loved on you, a trait he admired, you weren't to judge, not him.

"It is Light... I know it was Light, but he is still not arrested." he agreed with you, before his cold fingertips reached out. You couldn't touch him, but he could touch you.

Pale fingertips marveling at your skin, before a thumb wiped away a tear.

Why did you even like him? He still couldn't get it. You, a sweet thing like you, although he didn't really believe you with being a medium until his death...

~~~~

"What I mean is, I believe that you believe that you are like talking to ghosts or seeing things. I am just going after the facts. No need, to throw a tantrum." his voice was calm, too calm for your taste when he still kept looking into a file on the monitor. The white dim light illuminating his features. Dark circles from the lack of sleep, and yet he didn't let discuss his opinion about you.

"Oh, so you are stating I am psychotic? Do I seem insane to you, L? Watari called me, because you are running out of evidences, and I could help to at least get a point." you replied in an instant, leaning over the desk.

You were not amused he could tell, to this point he knew what was said what you could do. And it was not like he wouldn't go along with you. Always thinking you were weird, but cute. Since he was small, since he grew up with you. But working with you? On this level, that he needed your help? Help in talking with dead people? It sounded awkward in his head.

"Well, when you are talking like that, insane seems to be an option." there was his dry sarcasm, when he saw you took a deep breath and was about to throw something at him.

When you were angry everything was a weapon to you.

"Watch your tongue, Lawliet. I am not in the mood for that. But fine, when you think you can do it without me. I am going back to the Wammy's House." you meant, clearly pissed at him.

It was not like he wouldn't believe in your person, and you didn't seem to be insane. But for him, it was not logical at all.

He sighted before finally turning to you, when he watched how you wanted to grab your bag.

So cute how you tried to assert dominance and as if you wouldn't care.

You were sensitive and L was pretty much aware of that.

"Stop being angry, you can't go...not yet. I mean, would you feel better when I let you do your stuff? I will take a look, for whatever you will gather on information. However unconventional it will be." he meant, maybe more, to not have you go back. He couldn't explain it, but he liked when you were around, kinda. Besides that, he would get a word from Watari, when he wouldn't at least let you do your stuff. It was not like you would be stopping the other investigations or anything, he would just need to get over with it. At least in his mind.

He saw your expression soften a little.

"Idiot." you bickered before turning back to finally take a look in the case.

He could turn the tables to a better start at least.

"You are still making cheesecake when you are done, right?" he suddenly asked you, as if nothing was wrong. He loved cake and sweets, but he loved the cheesecake you made the most. You gave him a glare when he looked at you, his eyes seemed to be cold, but you saw there was a tiny little bit of a plea in them.

"When the detective stops being a difficult teenager, maybe." no matter how sweet you were, you were a handful when you got attitude because you were angry.

~~~~

"You never told me you thought it was him?" you spoke, feeling tingly cold touches from his hand, it felt like a cold winter breeze, soothing you and gently stopping your tears.

So many things happened between you two. From the very fact you two the complete opposite, but the damn pull you had to each other.

And now that he was dead...you were the only person who could see him, who could talk to him as long as he was stuck here.

"I never had an evidence, you know me, don't you, sweetheart?" his voice felt to be a little lower, he missed you, yearned for you. And yet the case, the case was important, not just for him, but he knew how hard it would be for Near and Mellow...and for you.

"You always want a proof, for everything. I could sing a song about that." you answered, especially since it was a pain in the ass to make him believe in your delicate state of being someone who could interact with ghosts.

"Near and Mello are now trying to catch Kira...or more Light. But it's complicated. They have different methods." you told him then, leaned into that could touch, he caressed your soft skin.

You were still looking up at him, wanting to dig your fingers in this raven hair, what was so fluffy. But your heartbeat seemed to get steadier, now that you kinda had him here.

"And this is the point...they are good, I won't say there are. But you need to help them... I am here because you need to get out of here and do something." he said, his voice as urgent. It was serious, he leaned now down, still crouching like he always did. His forehead touching yours.

You looked into his eyes, even when he was dead now he wasn't gone.

"I don't know what I should do, even when it is true, and it is Light...most of his victims don't even know what happened. And one of them refused to talk about him." you explained it to him, you felt lost, without him, you felt so lost. You had tried your fair share of communicating with some of his victims, but there was that point....You a medium, but you needed to rely on the help of the dead people. And not everyone was still here, or they didn't even want to tell you. Not everyone was nice or interested in the living anymore.

"It's not just about your ability, you are more than your ability. I had told you that, haven't I?"

It was true, since it was difficult for him to accept your being as medium, he saw other qualities. Qualities that others didn't seem to notice at all.

You were perfect for being supportive in these things. Did your best to make it easier for L, you took care of him. You indeed tried to help him understand the social aspects better, you had ideas with different insights.

You were...lovely.

And since Wammys's House was like family for you, Mello and Near were like younger brothers.

Younger brothers who would need you, in some way.

"You did tell me a lot." your voice still was sad. He said so much and yet not everything. Just like you.

"There is something you didn't tell me, right?" he asked you before his cold hand gently cupped your chin, tilting your head.

Indeed, a thing, you never could really explain yourself. And you were a medium, you were fertile for paranormal things.

"I didn't tell you because I didn't know what I...saw or more what I sensed." you said and shrugged your shoulders, trying to look away since this was something what creeped you out.

But L didn't let you turn your head away.

"You don't get rid of me in death with avoiding my eyes, tell me." L wasn't pushing you, but he was firmer.

"Light...there is something around him, something that follows him. I can't see it, I...sometimes, I just can maybe sense a shadow. I don't know what it is, it is not his aura and it is not a ghost. It is different." when you spoke out what you sensed, your eyebrows knit together.

"It doesn't seem evil, like more neutral. As if it is waiting what happens." you added in thought.

"Whatever it is...you need to find it out. Near and Mello need to find it out. I am here, I maybe can't really invest age, but you can do it for me. They both need you, as I needed you." his voice was serious, and it was like he wanted to tell you so much more...but this now was bigger than you two.

"I am not even half as smart as-" you tried to argue, since Ls death you were more than insecure in yourself.

"You are smart, you are talented, you are what I needed. What I still need, but I am not alive anymore. But they are, and they need you." he interrupted you, as he cupped your cheeks now with both hands.

"They do everything on their own. Mello is more drastic, wants that Kira makes a mistake, while Near tries to be more attentive. How should I even make this work, they do what they want." as you explained he could listen to your desperation, not just about his death but about the over all situation.

"When someone can change that....then it's you. You made me see, so you can make them see. You need to be there for them, I know it's hard. And believe me, I never wanted to make you sad, not now or ever. But you need to get up, right now you need to do something...as you always did for me." Ls words were sincere, true, and now the clinical detachment was away. It was warm, he wanted the best. And the best was you....

~~~~

"Come on, you needed a break. A few hours won't hurt you." you said as you lead him down the hallway from the hotel. You were much too joyful now. He had been up for about 1 1/1 day, no real break. This case, still damn hard, another case where you were called to help.

Although since the last times, L requested you for your special insights. Even when he never said it, but he liked having you by his side. The way you always looked over his shoulder, analyzing the files and pictures. And your proximity...weird for him to acknowledge that, but sometimes he felt the urge to brush a strand of hair out of your face. The reaction you had when he did it, when you blushed...made him want to do it again, but he wouldn't push boundaries.

L was always an observer, so he tried to gauge out your reactions.

"Not me, that's true but maybe someone else." L replied as he watched how you were looking for a key card.

"I know you got a big brain, and it is working non-stop. But without some sleep or at least some peace, not even you can be focused perfectly all the time. You are still a human, mostly, I think." the chuckle you had when you opened the door and literally pulled him on his wrist inside.

"I was tested, as a child. I am a human, everything is alright. My blood type is B and I have a good metabolism." he threw facts around just to fuck you up a little.

But not today, not when you finally tried to get him to relax. It was always like this when you were with him. You disliked that he rarely slept and that he was always in front of a monitor.

Not that you didn't understand it, but even when he didn't want to take a break, you wanted him to take one.

So you tried to be a little creative.

"Yeah, maybe it is written you are human, but you are still a weirdo. Never mind, I prepared something." you let him know and switched on a little light.

You looked nervous, your idea had been endearing.

It was a castle you build out of pillows and blankets, with some fairy lights. You wanted to make something cozy. You always knew L was a damn smart one, and even as a child totally weird because his brain worked different. And yet sometimes he enjoyed being in a castle made out of blankets and pillows. It was quiet with you inside there, enough time to play chess or read. Having you yapping about the "weird people" you saw.

"I know, a little random, but I think you had enjoyed it too when we were younger. I just...thought, well, it could be-" while you tried to talk and telling him why you did it, he already walked forward to the entrance, crouching down to crawl inside.

It was a little hard for him to tell you, he found it heart-warming, since this was a strange feeling for him in his chest, but he liked it, and he would show you it with crawling inside.

"I understand the act of this. Things that we used to like, bringing back a nostalgic feeling, what is there to feel calm and relaxed. Probably that what you planned for me. So are you coming?" L spoke out the facts, understanding the thought behind it, explaining it like it would be a scientific fact.

You two chilled inside there, indeed playing chess, what you lost of course what else, you never won against L. You even had placed some candy inside for him.

When you two laid in the pillows as you looked up to the fairy lights, his head turned over to you. Studying your profile. The form of your nose, the shape of your lips, your soft skin, the way your hair was a little disheveled from being inside here. You were so pretty, a pretty girl in an ugly world.

L was always a weirdo for others, but he never gave much away for it. He had his quirks and there were people who put up with him like that, people like you.

You on the other side, a weirdo too, seeing dead people, being a medium. But you were more empathic, more sensitive to the reaction you got from people.

"Why you are staring at me?" you asked him, your eyes not moving away from the light above you. Still the black eyes solemnly on you, only you.

"I just seem to like your profile." he let out, clearly saying what he thinks.

"My profile? So you don't like my front face?" you asked him, with a playful edge in your voice as you finally turned your neck. You two were so close now. Just a few inches and your noses would touch, with the way you laid there.

"Oh, I do like your front face. It's a pretty face. I always wonder why you are so good at managing with others, but I guess for other persons it's hard to say no to a pretty face." he meant, clearly searching logical reasons why you seemed to appeal to him. And there was this slight blush over your nose. As you wanted to turn your head away because you noticed it.

"Don't turn away, this is the best part. That pink shade on your face. Let me look at it." his hand reached out to gently grasp your chin.

And now, now it was a moment it made his brain stop.

What was that feeling? What was he feeling when he did that, and it came just so out of instinct. L usually never just acted out of instinct, everything he did was calculated and for a reason.

"For someone who is a pain in the ass, you can be pretty demanding. Just so you know." you tried to pull it off with your little attitude, but you failed when you got lost in his own dark eyes.

"To be honest... I don't know what I do when it is about you." he let out. It was true you were so different from him, and yet still this fact you said you were a medium, that Watari himself meant you were special. Special, like all the Wammy kids, just differently.

"You are joking, you know exactly what you do." was the reply you gave him, and you really believed he would know, since he always did these things to make you blush.

"Nah, you are relying on assumptions. I just analyzed what makes you blush, I can't help myself. I don't even know why I like it. It's just so interesting that one small move can bring you out of concept. And that for someone who says who can talk to ghosts." L spoke, and his voice was a little lower. Maybe he got a little bolder, not quite getting that his actions had not only an impact on him but on you too.

He liked seeing you blush, but now he liked how your pupils widened, how your breath seemed to stuck in your throat.

"Dead people don't do stuff like that, this is different." you tried to argue, so cute. But he propped himself up, leaning with his head over you.

He could see your blush interned, his breath mingled with yours.

Your red cheeks heating up more. His breath smelled like the candy you two ate.

You always smelled good, he always liked the feeling he got when he got a whiff of your perfume.

"Dead people...stay buried." he meant, his voice just a whisper now when you felt his cold hand laid on your neck. You kinda wanted to pull away, since you got the feeling he grew bolder in gauging out your reactions, but you would lie when you would say you dislike it.

"Not always, but I guess we had this discussion." you replied before you felt his nose touching yours. He wanted to try this closeness, and he only felt comfortable trying it with you.

"Exactly we had...we should move on to another topic, I guess." he said to you, when he felt that you laid one hand of yours on his shoulder, as you kept looking him in the face.

"May I try to kiss you?" the question slipped out of his mouth. It made you sigh.

"You have me blushing and barely breathing here. I would be worried when not." you admitted it, a little shy, but you admitted it that you would be ok with it.

And as soon as his lips laid on yours, so sweet and gentle at first...it turned out to be intense. L himself, a little overwhelmed when he noticed that this was indeed relaxing.

How soft your lips felt against his, the way your finger went through his hair. That he didn't even want to get air.

Slowly it turned out to be a make out session, tongued tangled with each other. Sloppy kisses and kiss bitten lips. No time to speak or think, just to feel.

But when you decided to take more the lead, the detective as gone. When your hands laid on his lean shoulders. When you rolled you two over so you straddled his lap. When your lips drifted down his cheek, his sharp jawline. Peppering it with kisses.

But as soon as you gently nipped and sucked on his pulse point, you felt how he had grabbed your waist. How his fingers dug into your clothes, as he tried to suppress a breathy whimper.

It was not the intention to go too far, really not, but this was simply just the start of the relationship you two would have.

Never really saying it out loud, always something to do, always something that made it hard. Just this short little downtime you two tried to have.

None of you knew if this had a future or not...but you wouldn't be doing it when you wouldn't love him, right?  

~~~~~

When the time went on, L was indeed there. It was nearly a little weird since you always had a ghost around you. Someone talking to you, you grew back to be accustomed to him. You enjoyed the fact he holds you, as much as a ghost could. No matter how cold his dead touch was, you felt an inner warmth that spread through your chest.

You had worked hard, so really hard with Near, and you tried to help Mello, tried to talk.

Of course L helping you, with arguments, even when you didn't tell any of them that L was with you, as a ghost.

Everyone was different with the loss of him.

And when finally the Kira case was closed, and thanks to you Mello stayed alive...

You thought it was time to say goodbye, right after you got the news Light was dead that Mello and Near outsmarted him...

Usually when the thing what kept a soul here was done, they slowly started to fade, but L didn't.

"You said you were stuck because of the Kira case..." you spoke as you stood in front of him now. You didn't want him to go, you really didn't want.

"It was one of those things." he agreed with a nod, of course it was not the last thing.

The reason he was still there was not only the Kira case. It was you...

You, the sweet girl he learned to love, he learned to have. It made his heart feel heavy, could he really stay with you when only never saying it?

He would want to, he enjoyed the fact he could pop up and startle you. One of the positive things of being dead.

But he didn't want that for you.

L was dead, and you were not.

You couldn't throw your life away because of him.

And the painful fact was...he knew you would rather stay alone when he could stay as a ghost here, then to actually live under the living.

"What is the thing now? I mean...we do have time....we-" you meant to him, before he took a deep breath, grabbing your hand.

"There is this one thing I never said...something I regret I never said. I never did. I always told I am clever, guess I wasn't that always." he started, even when he seemed composed and put up a straight face. You weren't dumb, you knew what he would say, because you knew it was the same thing you never said to him.

"Don't." you pleaded, you didn't want to let him go.

"Just a little while, please." you added, and he already could see your lower lip trembling.

"We had a little while, and I do enjoy that. I would love nothing more than to haunt you...but you need to live. You need to live for me." his words hurt you, and he tried not seem too vulnerable, but he was.

He was dead, there was nothing more why he would need to put up a front. Why he wouldn't need to let these weird feelings he didn't understand when he lived, out.

"I missed you, I... I am afraid that I forget how your face looks like or your voice, how it sounds. L...it was not fair, and it is not fair." your voice was cracking now, you were so close to the edge of tears.

"You are perfect, you know that? You are sweet, and caring. Attentive even, I don't know a better person who would build a pillow castle and give me cheesecake. You deserve to live...under the living. You need to, we both know I can't stay here." he whispered leaning down, cupping your cheek, he didn't want to make you cry, himself tried not to do so.

Because he couldn't afford to go weak, not now, not when this was for you.

"I am seeing death every day, but it terrifies me when it is about you. I...don't want to. Because I..." you nearly said it, you nearly said you loved him. And it took him a moment, he just stared at your pretty face. God, it was hurting him. More than any case ever could.

"I love you, I know it wasn't easy with us. That it was unsaid. And I do regret for not making more of it. I just thought we would have more time. I love you...and I keep watching, ok? Just promise me, that you don't waste yourself." he finally said it out loud, he would have loved to have a life with you. Probably it would not be the conventional one, but it would have been worthy.

Before you could say anything else, he kissed you.

His cold lips, you felt them on yours, so tender and full of love. You were so precious. You tried to cling to him, but you couldn't since he was not physical there. He started to fade. The last thing that kept him stuck here, was you. It was the fact he needed to tell you he loved you.

"L, I love you..." you mumbled under tears, your eyes closed when you felt this last farewell kiss.... And when you opened them, L, the love of your life who still helped in the Kira case after his death. Who confessed his love for you, who wanted you to have a life so he finally could go in the afterlife, where he would keep watching his sweet girl....

[shubhadeep385]

ISKON TEMPLE, SILIGURI ✨

I was confused with what is to be done, in life... And tbh, I got every answer, when I visited his sacred place✨🥺

Visited Iskon, this time with my camera, to get some pics too...

"Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna, Krishna Krishna hare hare, hare Ram o hare Ram o, Ram o Ram o hare hare"

"Hari bol"

For those who would like to read a short story, about Lord Krishna, can read it below:

Sadhguru: In the pastoral community in which Krishna lived, there was a yearly festival and sacrifice, which was a very major ritual in the area, known as Indrotsav. Indrotsav means the celebration of Indra, who was considered the king of gods. He was also the god of rain, lightning and thunder. The festival used to be a big sacrifice with many rituals conducted around a fire. All kinds of offerings were made to the sacrifice, and enormous amounts of ghee, milk, and various grains were used. It is a certain process to create a certain situation, and it used to happen in a colossal way.

When he was 15, because Nanda was the chief of the community, Krishna got the opportunity of being the chief person to conduct the sacrifice. It was a great honor for a person in that society to be what was known as a Yajamana for the sacrifice. The Yajamana is the one who offers and leads the sacrifice. It was offered to him by his preceptor whose name was Gargacharya. But Krishna refused and said, “I don’t want to be the Yajamana. I don’t want to participate in that sacrifice.” Gargacharya was shocked. Anyone would grab an opportunity like this because it raises your social status in a huge way. So he asked Krishna, “Why?”

Krishna looked away and said, “I don’t think I am fit for such things. Let someone else do it.”

Gargacharya said, “No, last year your elder brother did it. Now it’s your turn. If there is anyone fit to do this, it’s you. Why are you saying such a thing? Tell me what is on your mind.”

“I don’t like this sacrifice.”

“What do you mean you don’t like the sacrifice? This is the greatest thing that we can do in the society. This is a tradition we have carried on for thousands of years. In the very Vedas it says Indrotsav is a sacrifice of enormous significance. How can you say you don’t like it? You are a mere boy.”

“I don’t like people doing any kind of sacrifice out of their fear for some god. I don’t like this worship which is coming from fearfulness. People fear that if they don’t make this sacrifice, Indra will punish them. I don’t like to participate in something which is coming from people’s fear.”

This struck Gargacharya, and he smiled and said, “Okay, then. What else shall we do?”

“We will do Gopotsav. Let’s celebrate the cowherds, not some fearful god sitting up there. I love the people around me. The gopas, the gopis, the cows, these trees, this river, Mount Govardhan – this is our life. It is these people, these animals, these trees and this mountain which sustain and nourish us and which make our life happen here. Why should I worship some other god of which you are all afraid? I am not afraid of any god. If we must celebrate and offer sacrifice, we will do Gopotsav.” The whole idea and process of what Krishna did was to celebrate the ordinary. He lived his life like it was a festival. Even as a child, when he was just six, he said many beautiful things about himself. One thing he said was, “When I wake up in the morning, when I hear the cows mooing and my mother calling each cow by its name before milking them, I know it is time to rub my eyes and smile.”

There was a huge reaction in the community to Krishna’s idea. People questioned him, “How can you just write off something that has been happening for hundreds of years? It is our tradition. How can you just drop it? And if Indra gets angry what will he do to us? He may flood this place.”

Krishna said, “If you want me to be the Yajamana it has to be Gopotsav. It has to be a celebration out of our love and joy, not out of fear. We will just make a symbolic offering to the fire. We will eat and drink the rest of the milk and ghee.”

So, the village was split into two – the people who were not willing to give up the tradition were a small, splinter group, and they performed Indrotsav. Krishna and the majority of the community performed the Gopotsav. But after the Gopotsav happened, Krishna went and participated in the Indrotsav also. He had no resistance to it, he was just bringing sense to life.

So he’s a living celebration. He lived as a celebration. Even if he was in war even then he went up fully dressed with a peacock feather. He’s not a vain man but he’s absolutely committed to make every aspect of his life into a celebration, every aspect of his life into a festivity. He will not make anything into a drab process. For Krishna life is a festival.

[ninafan-xx3]

💚🎮⚡️Ben drowned Hcs (Dating+crush phase)⚡️🎮💚

(+ Nsfw stuff, Yes He’d be18-22 in this)

(Don’t have the idea for a full fanfic of him yet)

Mentions of: Stalking, online stalking, stealing, ✨murder✨, 🍃🚬gardening 🚬🍃, telling people to sh and 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓴𝔂 shi

Minors DNI

General Hcs💭🎀

(Nsfw + sfw)

🎮: 5’2 ft tall

🎮: Pansexual + Demiromantic

🎮: Fear of any water

🎮🔞: 6ish ‘in, shaft is FFE8CD fluid is a FFF9EB color, tip is FBA0AA gets darker the farther up you go

🎮🔞: Switch Sub leaning

🎮🔞: Kinks include; Cyber stalking, overstimulation (Giving and receiving) praise and degradation (Again Giving and receiving) Oral (Thought he only liked Getting, turns out he likes being buried in ur cunt) Choking (Only giving) Some small amounts of being tied up

🎮: smokes like a blunt a day

🎮🔞: goes through lotion like crazy (A bottle like every two weeks)

🎮: Elven ears do twitch when he’s embarrassed

🎮: Still a little shit

🎮: can go a week without showering

🎮: Hates Zelda games (If you were trapped in a game for like years would you like that game?)

🎮: Around 19ish years old can be mentally immature since he died at 12 and once was freed from Majora’s mask he started aging finally

🎮: Sadistic little guy

🎮: hates most of the proxys

🎮: 🍃🚬Gardener🚬🍃

🎮: Secretly likes head pats

🎮: Childhood crush was Zelda

🎮: The link costume only appears when in full spirit form, usually wears baggy stuff and ripped jeans

🎮: Fave game is minecraft

🎮: Gets emotionally attached to his minecraft pets

🎮: Makes other people go into water sources in minecraft

🎮: Fave color is green due to it being just “cool” and associated with tech, does have mixed feelings with it due to being trapped in Zelda for years and green being Link’s main color scheme

🎮: Gets into online arguments

🎮: Tells people to cvt deeper online

🎮: Chronically online and does use gen alpha slang sometimes giving slender an aneurysm

🎮: Hacks little kids adopt me acounts for fun

🎮: Likes mint and lavender scents

Crush phase💌✨💕

🎮: Ben definitely is more of a little shit to you than anybody else as he has issues communicating his emotions

🎮: Would install viruses in your computer if you got another partner

🎮: “Borrows” your clothes with or without your permission

🎮: Tries to be around you as much as he can/Sits in your phone or something just to be near you

🎮: One day while you’re both smoking in his room, he’d randomly admit that he likes you more than a friend

🎮: Stalks you online and sometimes Irl, would act sort of like a love struck teenage girl stalking their crushes’ facebook or insta, giggling and kicking his feet while doing this

!!Nsfw!!

🎮🔞: Steals your underwear so he can imagine what you look like in them + finds 🌽🌟s who look suspiciously like you + would jack it to your insta

Dating💕😘

🎮: Still a little gremlin shit, also wayyy more possessive now will kill people for you or at least ruin them online like idk make them seem like a PDF

🎮: Likes cuddling with you, enjoys spooning would rather spoon then be spooned, but he is 5’2 sooo

🎮: Still stalks you

🎮: If you take your phone into the bathroom or have it play music while in the shower he will take that chance to come out of your phone (Get your fucking mind out of the gutter🫵📸) and he’d be a little shit about it too like “How was I supposed to know you were in the shower?”

🎮: Will never admit to the fact that he doesn’t sleep and just likes watching you sleep

🎮: Likes when you play video games with him/Watches him play and like idk give him head pats when he wins¯\_(ツ)_/¯

🎮: Still “borrows” clothes and never gives them back

🎮: Encourages you to smoke 🍃🚬 with him

🎮: Likes the idea of you and him showering together, he fears the waters, but you make it more bearable

🎮: You have had to shove him into a shower because “The layer of crust protects him”

E.J Smut is next

After that is E.J Hcs

[honey-crypt]

I was wondering if I could request stardew valley fic of a farmer with chronic vertigo and Sebastian alongside the ✨DISABILITY PRIDE MONTH WRITE-A-THON✨ (honestly gonna be my favourite write-a-thon) though idk if it’d count as much of a disability other than the balance issues, but at least a walking stick can be used to help balance if ya want ideas for it

a/n: i kinda struggled to write this, hence why it's a short fic. nonetheless, i hope you enjoy!

warnings: medical crisis, mentions of puke/puking

word count: 757

summary: sebastian is here to support you through another vertigo episode.

★ i got you, angel - sebastian x farmer who has chronic vertigo ★

Your eyes stared up at the ceiling while you remained motionless in your bed. The world around you appeared as if it was stuck on a bad tape rewind, your vision tripping and tripping. A burst of nausea struck you and you promptly vomited in the puke bucket on your nightstand. Trip, trip, trip, that was how the world went. Spin, spin, spin, you were trapped in that bed until the episode was over. 

Down in the kitchen, Sebastian stirred the cup of tea, a blend of ginger and peppermint. He wasn’t sure if it was the antiemetic effects that made you enjoy it during your vertigo episodes, but  nonetheless, the black-haired man knew that you loved that blend. Sebastian blew the steam off the tea and deemed it safe to consume, walking up the wooden steps into the bedroom. 

“Hi, baby,” he greeted you with a small smile, “I brought you some tea, need me to set it down on the nightstand?” to which you answered with a weak thumbs up. Sebastian placed the cup of tea on the nightstand and laid down beside you, holding you close to his body. You curled up beside him and buried your face into his chest, the hoodie blocking your eyes from the spinning world.

Sebastian adjusted his position and secured you with an arm wrapped over your back. With his free hand, he reached out to the small radio on the other nightstand and turned the knob to the classical music station. A soft melody began to play and enveloped the bedroom in a symphony of violins and flutes. You nuzzled against Sebastian’s chest, the music gently lulling you off to sleep. You liked sleep, sleeping meant not dealing with the nausea, the blurry vision, and the fainting. 

Sebastian rubbed your back with his hand, occasionally tracing shapes and patterns against your thin pajama top. Sometimes, Sebastian wished he could go into your brain and recalibrate everything; after all, he was a programmer at heart. He despised when problems couldn’t be solved. He wanted to fix you, to make you better. 

Sebastian remembered the first time he saw you have a vertigo episode. It was early on in you two’s friendship, you moved to the valley only a month or so ago. The two of you were just chatting by the lake outside his house. The birds were chirping, the trees’ leaves rustled against the cold fall breeze. 

One moment, you were fine, you were getting up from the ground; next thing he knew, Sebastian had to catch you in his arms, as the world around you turned into a never-ending carousel ride. You looked more embarrassed than scared, meekly clinging onto Sebastian like a small child. He carried you off to the clinic without a second thought, trying to mask his concern. 

He looked back down at your sleeping form, feeling you inhale and exhale. Sebastian leaned forward carefully, not wanting to disturb your slumber, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. The radio station switched to the next song, one featuring a full fledged orchestra and accompanied by a piano backtrack. 

Sebastian struggled to understand the pain you went through every time you had a bout of vertigo. Sure, he experienced it before, usually when he got ear infections as a kid, but this was different. It was like you were a ticking time bomb and no one knew the next time the vertigo would strike. 

He wanted to take away your pain. The doctors didn’t have any answers, they ran every test imaginable to try to find a diagnosis fitting of your condition. It was simply chronic vertigo, they said, and oh Yoba, how their indifference made Sebastian’s blood boil. 

He knew that you were capable, always strict with yourself to make sure you attended your appointments with the vestibular disorder specialist and the otolaryngologist. He knew that you could handle yourself, but Yoba, did it shatter Sebastian’s heart into pieces when he would find you collapsed by the toilet after vomiting from the nausea or when he would see you cry your tears out because everything around you was moving too fast.

Sebastian peered down at you, his angel. He grabbed the discarded blanket from off the floor and covered the two of you with it. The song slowly came to an end with a final piano and violin harmony. Sebastian’s eyes grew heavy with sleep.

“I got you,” he mumbled aloud, “I got you, angel,” he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep.