#I had the jokes memorized when I was fourteen

[absolutepokemontrash]

MC, having gone back in time in Nightbringer: Okay MC, remain calm, remember the advice Barbatos gave to you on your wedding day…

Flashback Barbatos: If you ever go back in time, DON’T TOUCH ANYTHING.

#God I love that episode of the Simpsons so much #I had the jokes memorized when I was fourteen #obey me #obey me! #obey me! shall we date? #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me Barbatos #obey me nightbringer #obey me incorrect quotes #obey me! incorrect quotes #source: the simpsons

[gripefroot]

Sleepy Law?

For once, he doesn’t wake when the sun hits his face. 

For all his pretending and blustering and attitude, he’d been tired. Of course. The more he protested something, the more it was true. Something about a man that saw danger around every corner if he lowered his guard for even a moment, even with you. 

There was something comedic about the juxtaposition. His barking from the afternoon before: “No, I’m not tired! I’m fine!” compared to the sun rising long past dawn after he’d been out cold for nearly fourteen hours. But it was less amusing when the dark lines beneath his eyes were so visible, when the bright sun cleared his face into something almost boyish. 

He pushes himself too hard. He always did. 

The sun warms the bed, too, making it too hot for this time of year. But rather than get up and disturb Law’s rare rest, you stick a foot out of the blankets for some coolness and move closer to him. 

Every moment is precious. Every stolen evening, every late morning pried from the clutches of fate and time. “I’ll be back in three days,” or “I’ll try to be back by summer solstice.” Sometimes he made it, sometimes he didn’t. When he was late, the nights he should have been there were spent at the window, watching weather roll across the sea. Each blot was his ship returning - until it wasn’t. Anger and resentment broiled like hurricanes, then, but by the time he eventually came, gratitude that he was alive and safe and present overwhelmed everything else. Besides, greeting him by throwing a pot at his head wouldn’t guarantee he’d ever come again. 

This parting had been the longest yet. A year at sea, with only two headlines months apart to prove he had drowned or been killed or wasted away from some disease. No, he was whole, relatively healthy (if thinner than before) and walking up the crooked steps to your house, he’d even smiled. 

“I was worried you’d moved away,” he’d said. His sword balanced on his shoulder, which was unusual. Before, he’d left it on his ship.

“How would you find me then?” you’d teased back. Clay dried on your hands from a half-finished project, but it could be completed later. Law could only be greeted now. 

“I’d follow the dead greenery.” He nodded at the yard; yellow patches now outnumbered green, the first victim in dumping leftover glaze that didn’t fire the right color or scraps of impure clay. He hoisted the sword from his shoulder to set by the doorframe, where you stood, and that was when he’d smiled. 

It was fortunate he’d never minded mud on his clothes. 

He smelled of brine and fresh air. Not the most pleasant, but beneath it was him, and difficult to pull away. 

“Mind if I stay over?” he’d asked between kisses. Your foot had caught on the lip of the door, stumbling backwards, but his arms had kept you upright and squashed against his chest. 

“Have I ever?” The words came out strained. His kisses stole breath as much as they stole sanity. Rugged as his worn coat, harsh as the tattoos long-memorized. 

“There’s a first for everything.” 

“Well, not today.” Your hands on his chest, feeling him like you would mounds of fresh clay. Something he’d joked about before: his lips twisted, ready to joke again. “Do you want to wash up first?” 

“Yes. Then I have a present for you.”

Surely not the sword. What use would you have for a sword? Spending days and nights with clay, turning pots and glazing and firing them in the tiny hut nearby wasn’t the life of a warrior, and living alone in a rickety cottage on a bluff above a port town so small it could scarcely be called a port not the prime target of pirates. 

Law had ducked his head beneath the water pump in the yard, not even waiting for you to fetch a bar of soap, and yelped at how freezing cold the water was. 

He had, miraculously, survived. 

But no present came. Dinner had been eaten early between yawns and crabby remarks about how he wasn’t tired. Then he’d gone straight to your bed, knocking into tables on his way, and halfway through what had sounded like a salacious invitation he’d started snoring. Pants still on and everything. 

So you’d smiled and washed up quietly before crawling into bed next to him. It was easier to sleep when he was there…

He clutches a worn pillow to his face, stretched out on his belly with his torso bare. Lingering flakes from a sunburn grace his shoulders, and a new scar stretched over his ribs. Your fingers want to trace it, but you don’t, hovering in the air above the graceful shape. You’ll learn it better soon enough. 

“Were you going to say anything or just keep staring?” 

Oops. His even breathing had ceased. Lifting your head, you see his eyes slitted open, glinting beneath his long lashes. 

“You have a new one,” you say. 

“Of course you noticed.” His voice is a rumble, fresh from slumber. 

“Of course I noticed,” you repeat, cheeks warming with embarrassment. But the corners of his mouth lift in a lazy smile. “It’s huge.” 

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” 

“Can I?” A vague request, but he understands. Law responds with a grunt. His kind of affirmation. 

The new skin is smooth beneath your practiced fingertips, but where new meets old a thick, calloused rope of skin rivers around his ribs. Like a snake of clay to be shaped into a handle or a spigot. A handsome scar, to add to his others. Your fingers trace back up around his waist and to his back, to the very end of the scar. His skin breaks out in goosebumps, his ragged inhale breaking your concentration. 

Immediately you pull your hand away. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” He rolls onto his side, taking the interest of the scar away to face you. His eyes are more open now, but not by much, his hair sticking out every which way. Law props his head on his hand, surveying you with just as much scrutiny as you had him. But why? You have no scars, no discernable differences to clock from last year. 

The bed is small, not really built for two, but it has never bothered you or him. He can never be outside of arm’s reach. Instinctively your hand traces over his chest, finding comfort in the pattern of him. Patterns that find their way onto cups and mugs and bowls whenever missing him hurts too much. Most sold, some kept. You stop over his heart. 

He’s smiling again. 

“How long can you stay?” you ask. 

His smile disappears. It takes your contentment with it. 

“I have time,” Law says. 

Time. The only thing that could give you enough of him, and the only thing he couldn’t give. He gave his attention, his company, his loyalty, and his affection. Your hand rises to his face, stroking over old whiskers on his cheek with your thumb. He catches your wrist, holding it to nuzzle your palm with his nose, and then his lips. 

“You smell the same,” Law mutters, eyes closed. “Like the earth.” 

“You smell the same,” you whisper back. The effect of his nuzzle is the same as you touching his scar: goosebumps race up your arm and down your back. “Like freedom.” 

His eyes open. Dark and assuring, and always a little sad. “C’mere,” he grunts, and reaches for you. 

It was like he’d never been away. Nothing forgotten, nothing misremembered. His mouth finds the right places on your throat, your shoulders; skillfully he thumbs away the sleeves of your shirt to bare more skin to him. If anything proves his absence, it's how quickly the heat between your bodies becomes unbearable, how your blood pulses almost painfully. With a whimper of a sigh, your fingers hook into the waistband of his pants, his hair tickling your chin. 

“All in good time,” he promises your breasts, hand coming up to cup one. If you weren’t already so dizzy from the prelude, you’d tease him for addressing them rather than you. It had been an excellent joke for so long…

Soon the only noises are your soft pants, his quiet groans as the reacquaintion became clumsy. Clothes hit the floor, blankets pushed away, the awkward patters of skin-on-skin. No matter how bright the morning light through the window, there is no time to feel shamefully naked: only wonderfully so, and perfectly worshipped. His hair is thick between your fingers, his mouth hot on your sternum, and then your belly button. 

“But,” you lick your lips, wishing your throat wasn’t so dry and creaky. “But, we just - ”

“Just what?” Law kisses the inside of your thigh, eyes darting up to your face with a quirk of his brow. “Don’t want me to?” 

“I do, it’s only - ”

“Only what?” He prompts when words fail you. His hands cradle your hips, lifting and straightening them before him like a treasure map. 

“I want you,” you manage to whisper. The sun makes his black hair red at the edges, a trick of the light. 

“You’re getting me,” Law says. “And I’m getting you. Let’s start slow, huh?” 

As if you could refuse him when you aren’t a puddle on the bed. Slow is the last thing you want, but he made it sound like a dream. It is a dream; fast or slow or hurried or lazy. Always enough to make the little time you have sweeter. And never enough. Always and never, always and never. 

“Let me know,” his voice is as jagged as his scar, his hands shaking until he digs his fingers into your thighs. “Let me know…if you want me to stop.” 

He doesn't look like a man who could stop. And the pounding, the rushing - you couldn’t have asked him to stop for anything. 

His knees hit the floor with a thunk. Yours go over his shoulder as he sucked in a trembling breath, his shoulders twitching enough to make the dark lines look like they were convulsing. 

“Oh…” is all he says, and it’s the same noise you make when his lips touch yours, his tongue barely a hint of a caress. Your spine arches, pushing yourself closer to his mouth. He takes the hint, delving in with less ‘slow’ and more ‘I-haven’t-seen-you-in-a-year.’ He remembers. He remembers; every bit that makes your head spin and he does it like a conqueror, until the sheets are fisted in your hands and your breathing has gone frantic. 

“Law.” Your head twists to the side, air growing scarce and body feeling out of control. Wild and frenzied like an animal, jumping at every stroke of his tongue. “Please, oh - ”

He knows. He knows, he remembers. With a reverberating grunt that you can feel through your legs and belly, his fingers grip your thighs. It doesn’t feel possible, but the intensity swells and grows like the waves of the sea. 

“Stop biting your lip.” Law’s pause is enough to bring you down enough to comprehend his words. “Stop that. I wanna hear you. Here.” 

One of your fists is unclenched from the sheets, to weave your fingers between his, instead. A grip on reality, an anchor while sensation crashes through you. It’s only a moment later the wave hits: the force of pleasure battering through your body again and again. He doesn’t stop. He never does, not while each of your cries echo to the roof and back down again. 

When it becomes too much you gasp, and he stops. 

He knows. 

Law lifts his head, kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed and wiping his mouth on his discarded shirt. He smirks. “If nothing else,” he says casually, as if he hadn’t just made you climax with more fervor than a hurricane, “that makes me want to take you with me.”

Take you? With him? Where? Not on his ship, surely. 

Your expression must betray your bafflement, because he gives a rough laugh, tossing his shirt back down. 

“Oh, come on,” he says. “Surely you’ve thought of it yourself.” 

You hadn’t. 

His head tilts to the side, smirk fading. 

“You don’t want to come with me,” Law says. 

“No!” you blurt. “I mean - yes! I mean…that’s not what I’m saying. I’ve just never thought of it before. I hadn’t thought it was…possible.”

“And if it is?” 

Your heart hammers, from the aftershocks of orgasm and his question. “Possible?”

“Yeah. If I asked you to come with me.” He climbs over the bed on all fours. Normally you admire him; his tattoos and sculpted muscles. But your eyes are riveted on his face, on the strange sincerity shining in his eyes. 

“What would I do?” you ask. 

Law stops, hovering above you. You’re effectively trapped, but rather than confining, it’s comforting. Boundaries to bump up against, walls to keep you safe. His hair flops over his forehead, shadowing his features from the sun.

“Let me lick you anytime I want,” he jokes. 

So maybe it wasn’t sincerity after all. But you laugh, anyway, because laughing with him is always delicious, despite the heavy disappointment in your stomach. Reading into his joke would only hurt more. So you wind your arms around his neck, bringing him down for a languid, salty kiss. The weight of his body resting on yours transcends everything else, the craving for him lighting through your veins like popping fireworks. 

“How do you want me?” he asks before his teeth sink into the side of your neck. With his erection jabbing into your leg, the idea of options is surprising. 

“Like this,” you say. “Just like this.” 

Law releases your neck, his hips tucking between yours with familiarity. When his forehead rests against yours, his eyes are deep and bottomless for a moment before he closes them. 

“I mean it,” he murmurs. His hands unwrap your arms from his neck, bringing them down to the pillow to pin in place. “I’ll take you with me. You don’t have to do anything.” 

Does he mean that? Would he take you to sea just to…to what? Is he tired of coming back to this small island? Are you no longer worth it? 

Where is this going? A question flung into the stars, night after night, when Law is there and when he isn’t. Hope is difficult to cultivate year after year, but it blooms all the same at times like this. 

Where will you take me? 

A few thrusts gets him inside, enough to keep going. A few more have you moaning, tense in his grip as you move your hips to take him further. He groans, the further he gets, adding his own noises to yours. If this is where time stopped, if this could be forever, this is what you’d choose. Time and time again you’d choose. The sense of fullness, of complete joining - nothing has ever, ever, compared.

Law stops when he’s fully sheathed, panting for breath as his grip loosens on your wrists. Then his eyes open again; a mix of fierceness and tenderness that makes your heart want to explode. 

“Hey,” you say softly, wriggling your arms free to cup his face. He blinks several times. 

“Hey,” he says back, uncertain.  

“Thank you for coming back.” 

He huffs a laugh, a hint of a smile bringing more brightness than the sun. Resting his elbow by your head, he dips his to kiss your mouth. “I can’t stay away,” he says between that kiss and the next. 

His thrusts start slow, almost teasing. But they build fast, soon stroking a speed that breaks free as his kisses turn biting and his fingers find your hair. However he did it, each touch is a thousand starbursts at once, deepening the sensation in your core to spread across every limb, every muscle, every cell. Each stroke brings a small gasp from your lips to spill between his. 

“Don’t stop,” you beg at a higher-pitch than normal. Fingernails dig into his shoulders, hanging on for purchase as the legs of the bed scrape across the floor. Not the first time he’s done that, but it makes you want to laugh, all the same. 

“I’m not gonna!” His tongue is heavy against yours, his taste filling your senses. Touch, smell, all of it. With a shudder the bed hits the wall, and your shriek of unconstrained laughter has Law dragging himself away from you with a glare. But who wants to glare in the middle of sex? With another laugh you pull his head back down, lifting your hips against his for an angle that turns that kiss into a careening gasp. 

He knows. He knows, and remembers. He doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t slow. Your climax springs without warning, unable to continue the kissing in this condition. He doesn’t seem to mind, his head lowering to rest by yours as his groans start with a rumble. 

He continues long enough after the end of your orgasm for the delicious sensation to begin again before he jerks to a stop. A few more thrusts break his voice into a shivering bleat. 

The battering against the wall stops. And aren’t you so glad you have no neighbors? 

Your fingers run up and down his damp back, noting every rise and fall of muscle as he catches his breath. Even now, his weight isn’t uncomfortable. Because it’s him. It’s him and he’ll never be too much or too heavy. Blissfully your eyes drift shut, blocking out the morning light the tufts of black hair trying to cover it up. 

Law litters kisses along your hairline. Behind your ear, above it, and to your forehead, which must be as sweaty as his back. It doesn’t stop him. 

Then he kisses your eyes; first one, then the other. 

“Look at me?” A soft-spoken request. 

Look at him. And see what you don’t want. 

Your eyes open, hating that time brought this back. 

But Law smiles. He smiles as he gently smooths down your hair, his eyes skating over your face as if to memorize every pore. “Do you love me?” he asks. 

Now that is a question! Tempting you laugh, but you don’t. 

“Do the stars love one another?” you ask back, not quite hiding the bitterness in your voice. “Tracing and chasing their paths across the sky, never to touch except in dreams?” 

Law says nothing to that, but waits. 

“I love you,” you say. 

“That’s all I need,” he says. 

“What about what I need?” 

His face untwists from his smile into something confused, something a little belligerent. “I asked if you want to sail with me,” he says. “But I…”

“Didn’t mean it,” you finish. These conversations were like walking on broken glass. Delicate. Tentative. Someone was always bound to be hurt if rushed through. “The sea isn’t for me,” you tell him, hoping it will prevent a shard from breaking skin. 

But it seems to, anyway. Law frowns. “I wish it was,” he says.

So do I. But more than that, I wish you were for me. Not just sometimes, but always. 

He peels away at last, though if you had your way, he’d be in your bed forever. But he doesn’t go far: striding to the side of the bed where his pants had been tossed irreverently, scooping them up to rifle through the pockets. He pulled out something glinting, concealing it in his fist as he grins, returning to bed. Curious, you prop yourself onto an elbow. 

“Hold out your hand,” Law says. 

Dubiously you look for deception in his face, and see none. You put out your hand. 

Something cool and clinking drops into it. When he moves his hand away you see gold. Gold coins, strung together on a gold chain. A small one. 

“I can’t wear bracelets,” you say, bubbling into laughter. “Law! It’ll get covered in clay in ten seconds!” 

“It’s not a bracelet, you menace.” Law laughs, too, seizing your hand to pull your arm straight. He takes the bracelet-not-a-bracelet back. Evidently you’ve been judged too nonsensical to appreciate the gift yourself: he loops the chain around your upper arm, securing it with warm fingers. 

Oh. Not a bracelet. 

“I’m not stupid enough to get you a bracelet,” he says, quirking a brow in your direction. “Or a necklace. You’ve complained about those hanging into your work too. This won’t fall or dangle, so I thought it was the best option.” 

“You know what else doesn’t dangle?” Your fingers trace the gold coins. They’re hammered for texture; thin and delicate, reflecting the sunlight beautifully. “A crown. Next time, I want a crown.” 

Law’s laugh breaks into a bellow, filling every corner of the room with his mirth. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard that noise coming from him, and it prickles your skin with pleasure. 

“Fine,” he says, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Next time, a crown.” 

“Thank you,” you tell him. “For the gift. I mean it. I’m sorry for teasing.” 

“Don’t be. I love it.” 

“Do you love me?” The question blurts out without thinking. He jolts in surprise, eyes widening. “It’s only fair,” you say, trying to soften the abruptness of it. “You asked me. I get to ask you.” 

But his answer doesn’t come. Not right away. 

“Well, I’m not bringing jewelry for every woman in town,” Law says at last. 

“I hope you’re not licking them, either.”

He glares. You smirk. 

“I’ll answer your question,” he says. “But not today.” 

“When?” 

“When I return.” 

“Is there a reason you’re delaying?” you ask. “Do you need to break a prior engagement first? Let down any other lovers?” 

“No,” Law says. “None of that.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip. Something your teeth would like to do. He runs his fingers through his hair, sticking it on end. “If I tell you I love you,” he starts. Pauses. Takes a deep breath. “If I tell you I love you then I can’t leave. I wouldn’t.” Another pause, one that sinks his words past dread and into misery. “And I can’t…I can’t stay. Not yet.” 

“So,” you say. Your voice cracks a little. “You get to know I love you, but I have to wait in suspense for however?” 

His smile returns like the dawn. He leans over to kiss your forehead, wafting his manly scent over you. Inhaling deeply, the scent brands itself on your lungs. Never enough. “Luckily I know you like surprises. Besides, I thought you’d figure it out by now.”

Figure what out? Could he be any more vague? It was like searching for answers from a squirrel. A handsome, generous squirrel, but a squirrel all the same. 

“Oh, stop pouting,” Law laughs, attempting to smooth out your frown with a thumb. “Does the stream out back still have fish in it? I’ll catch breakfast.” He rises before you can answer, grabbing his pants once more. This time to pull them on. 

Ugh. Pants are the worst. 

“I’ll cook them too, if you want,” he says, buttoning the waistband with nimble fingers. You drag your eyes from his navel up to his face, with a very intelligent, 

“Huh?”

“Nothing.” He smiles. “You have clay beneath your fingernails.” 

Law disappears out the door before you can retort, and the view of his backside in his tight pants erases all thoughts from your head.

#trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #one piece #drabble requests

[allwaswell16]

Are there any fics where you wish you could go and back read for the first time again?

Ohhhhh, anon. How much time do you have? I'm going to narrow this down into a certain kind of fic. I think there are some fics that had that real slap you in the face moment(s) that I wish I could relive. You can reread the fic, but you can't really relive that moment.

💜 Love After the End of the World by @mercurial-madhouse (E, 168k)

Society shattered when all electricity suddenly cut off across the globe, plunging the world into darkness. Now, Prometheus Industries is the sole remaining supply of power, a saving grace to those who survived Lights Out. As fugitives in no-man’s land struggling to break into Prometheus HQ, death lurks around every corner for Louis and Zayn. Things get complicated when a routine recon falls apart and Louis collides with Harry and his mates Niall and Liam, survivors with their own agenda.

When staying alive is already a constant battle, the deadliest weakness is to be in love. For Harry and Louis, finding each other sits on top of the endless list of What Else Could Go Wrong.

💜 This Multiplicity of Powers by @helloamhere (E, 149k)

Maybe in another universe he isn’t different. Maybe he hadn’t been given an impossible choice. Maybe he wouldn’t have lost everything and broken everything and then fallen impossibly, irrevocably in love with the first next thing that was kind. Maybe in that universe he doesn’t feel like he’s never breathing, always pretending, teaching the kids even though they all have to learn alone, trying hard not to read the headlines, and so afraid, every day, that he won’t be a good enough teammate to the superhero he can’t live without. He knows that love isn’t supposed to feel this way, slid secret under your skin like a surgical razor, an invisible war held close over the tender vein that keeps you alive. On the other hand, Louis wonders, had he ever known how to do it any other way?

Maybe there’s a universe where he doesn’t have to keep all his secrets on the inside.

But this isn’t that universe. //an X-Men AU.

💜 There's Such a Lot of World to See by @crinkle-eyed-boo (E, 125k)

Louis has seen a great many things throughout his travels in time and space, but only one he can’t explain: He keeps meeting the same boy, who says the same thing to him each time. The boy should be impossible.

Maybe he is.

A love story that defies the boundaries of space and time. Doctor Who AU.

💜 Nothing But You On My Mind by nonsensedarling / @absoloutenonsense (E, 83k)

Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

💜 The Second Hand Unwinds by @kingsofeverything (E, 51k)

Louis Tomlinson is one of the first members of NASA's top secret Chrono Exploration Program. When things go wrong and he's sent further back in time than planned, he has no other option than to show up on his ex-boyfriend's doorstep.

💜 And That's The Tea by @2tiedships2 (M, 27k)

I’d like an Earl Grey with milk and sugar, please.

Louis had the phrase memorized, even though it had disappeared off its place on his upper arm over thirteen years ago now.

At fourteen he didn’t understand. Soulmarks don’t just disappear. Not unless…

Unless one of them dies.

Or, the one where Louis loses his soulmate before even getting the chance to meet them, and he is in no way prepared for the kind of distraction his new friend Harry proves to be.

💜 The Risen (series) by @creamcoffeelou (E, 20k)

In search of the next breaking story, Harry goes off to do something no one else has been able to do: get the scoop on Louis Tomlinson and his devoted group of followers.

💜 I Am the Blinking Light by @dearmrsawyer (G, 19k)

There is a legend of a lighthouse far out to sea. It can’t be found on any map, and those who do find it never return. They say a ghost haunts the lighthouse, and you can hear it calling out in loneliness on the ocean waves.

💜 Bot (series) by tomlinsunshine / @tornlinsunshine (NR, 11k)

Zayn builds robots; Harry is a big fan of his latest model.

💜 No One But You Got Me Feeling This Way by runaway_train / @runaway-train-works (E, 3k)

Harry is well aware he should be studying or watching T.V or cleaning the kitchen or doing literally anything from a list as long as his arm instead of this, but he is. The list of reasons why he shouldn’t be doing this is probably at least double that, but here he most definitely is. He’s sitting on his bed, legs straight out in front of him, back propped up against the headboard and some fluffed-up pillows and his MacBook is resting on his thighs. His jittery fingers drum lightly on the edge of the keyboard as he stares at the tiny digital clock in the top right-hand corner of the screen, willing the seconds to tick by faster. He wants to get into this and get it over with in equal measures.

Or The one where Harry has a particular desire that only Louis can fulfil.

#ficrec #runaway-train-works #creamcoffeelou #2tiedships2 #mercurial-madhouse #crinkle-eyed-boo #kingsofeverything #tornlinsunshine #dearmrsawyer #absoloutenonsense #helloamhere #these all ended up being larry fics #I looked through all my rare pair recs but I just couldn't put my finger on any that gave me quite this feeling #maybe this one lilo one... #but anyway #ask #anon

[amandayetagain]

A Blissful Eternity | Keefitz Oneshot

Fitz isn’t taking care of himself and Keefe intervenes. Hurt/comfort with the tiniest bit of pining.

————————————————————————-

Keefe remembers being taller than Fitz. Even though he was a year older, Fitz hadn’t been able to shoot up as fast as the rest of the kids, his rounded cheeks taking their time to mold to his sharp jaw.

He would rest an elbow on Fitz’s head while he studied, or sit behind the newly manifested Telepath to rest his chin on Fitz’s hair, looking down on whatever textbook the boy was memorizing.

Fitz was a sponge, he had joked once. Absorbing knowledge even while tired and incoherent. To get the grades Keefe got just by virtue of his photographic memory, Fitz had to study for hours upon hours. He was so dedicated, so responsible, so desperately scared of disappointing his father, that he held himself to impossibly high standards.

Which was why he was still awake at three in the morning, taking painstakingly perfect notes for his level six coursework.

“Fitz,” Biana asked blearily, rubbing her eyes. She hadn’t bothered with her bedhead, too out of it to notice. “Why are you still up?”

“I was gone. I have to make up for it,” he explained, not bothering to lift his eyes from the paper.

“You need to sleep.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m done, B. Go back to bed.”

It scared Biana a little, the fourteen-year-old that she was. And rightfully so. Her brother sleep-deprived and robotic- she knew he hadn’t slept the day before. So she called Keefe. And Keefe, being Keefe, came as soon as he heard.

“Hey Fitzy,” he called, swaggering into the room. “Oof- who put that there?”

It was dark, and his hip was throbbing, having hit the corner of . . . something? He was more worried with the fact Fitz was reading by a jar of light. It had to be terrible for his eyes.

“Are you alright?”

Fitz had jumped up, rushing to turn around and feel for where Keefe was hurt. The empath smiled half-heartedly, gently bringing Fitz’s hand to a spot sure to bruise.

“Only you would be studying this late- or should I say, this early?”

“It’s not important,” Fitz mumbled, lifting Keefe’s shirt the tiniest bit. His fingers ran across skin lightly, and Keefe’s breath caught. This boy was going to give him a heart attack.

“Hey.” Keefe lifted Fitz’s chin to meet his eyes. “It’s important. Talk to me.”

Fitz’s hand clenched in Keefe’s shirt and he crumpled, leaning against the only person he trusted to be there, unable to support his own weight.

“Hey, hey,” Keefe said, eyebrows drawn in concern. “I’m here.” He brushed Fitz’s hair to the side, cradling his head in his hand. “What can I do?”

“You’re here,” Fitz managed, eyes watering. “Why?”

The blonde choked back a sob, pressing his lips together as not to make a sound. The mere thought of Fitz thinking he wouldn’t come- wouldn’t be there, wouldn’t care- it hurt more than he could tell.

Especially because of the parallels. It was a feeling he knew all too well. And it was absolute torture to know Fitz was going through it.

“Because I love you.”

It was simple. It was true.

“I’m tired,” he whispered.

“Let’s get you to bed then, shall we?”

Keefe guided Fitz to his bed, letting him down in the most gentle of ways.

“Can we get these on,” he asked, holding out a perfectly folded pair of pajamas he’d found in the dresser.

Fitz nodded, blushing slightly. Keefe turned away, listening to the pull of fabric and busying himself with looking around the room.

He felt a tug on his sleeve, and turned around to see Fitz’s buttons askew, matched to the wrong places. His lips quirked upwards at the sight. It was undeniably cute.

“Yeah?”

He saw something in Fitz’s eyes, some need the boy couldn’t bring himself to voice.

Keefe unscrewed the jar to let the light fade and crawled in besides Fitz, pulling the blankets up over them and pressing a kiss atop Fitz’s head.

“Better?”

“Mhmm.”

Keefe draped his arm around Fitz’s frame, smiling faintly as the telepath clutched at his hand.

This was how it was supposed to be. Them two against the world. It was the only thing about Keefe’s life that felt totally, inherently right. He wished they could stay that way, melt into that feeling, forever.

It would be such a blissful eternity.

#Keefitz #hurt/comfort #kotlc #fanfic #au is a little strong but we’re just going to pretend they didn’t find Sophie until she was sixteen like they were supposed to #Amanda writes yet again #Fitz needs sleep #Please ignore the inconsistent tenses

[marciabrady]

What you said about Moana is very interesting considering that it is the last film that Ron and John directed before John's retirement from Disney. I always loved their films, I love The Little Mermaid, Hercules, Treasure Planet and The Princess and the Frog, and I like what they did in The Great Mouse Detective and Aladdin, but for some reason Moana didn't resonated with me the same way than their previous films. I didn't felt for Moana as a protagonist the way I felt for Ariel and Tiana or for Hercules and Jim, she was just "fine" for me, and the movie itself was just ok, but not at the same level of the others. What do you think that happened? Maybe Ron and John got caught in executive meddling to make their film more in tune with the trend of the 2010s 3D Disney films? Or maybe they were just tired? I truly wanted to love Moana because they are my favorite director duo of Disney but for some reason I just didn't cared too much about it.

I totally agree with you! Moana was definitely better than the Frozen movies for me, but her character leaves a lot to be desired. I think a lot of different factors weighed down production though.

To first brush upon why it didn't feel like Ron and John's other features...Ron and John have done interviews stating they were fired when Disney decided to clear house when it came to their creative teams so that their new movies would feel more like Dreamworks. Ron and John were among the first to be let go because The Little Mermaid signaled the Disney Renaissance which was faithful to the Disney legacy and built upon the tradition. Disney, instead, wanted to make movies that were irreverent, crude, and childish, which I think we can see in Moana (the gas jokes, the pee jokes, how Moana herself is so infantilized). Like, there isn't a world in which Shrek doesn't exist but Moana does. So, I think once Ron and John did come back, they were already burned and felt way too fearful of abiding by their innate creativity and kinda just did what they thought would keep Disney appeased.

I also think the casting of two creative talents lead to, in my eyes, the downfall but this is purely just my opinion based on my personal taste. I don't like Lin Manuel and I find his musical style tacky tbh. Again, this is just my opinion! I barely remembered any of the songs apart from How Far I'll Go. And, even in that song, lyrics like: "Everyone on this island has a role on this island so I guess I'll roll with mine" just irk me, personally??? The second person I think that contributed to the lackluster nature of the film is Auli'i. Listen, I think she's a talented, wonderful person but she's just not a Disney Princess. For starters, she was fourteen when she was cast and I'm just disturbed by that??? She was sixteen after her film came out and that's the same treatment Elle Fanning's Aurora had in Maleficent and I personally hate this trend. I think established talent should be chosen that's equal parts learned and innately gifted. When someone's that young, it just continues to push this idea that Disney films are for little kids and I think it also furthers the nature of like...babyfying the Disney art form. I also get a little put off by Auli'i, and again this might be due to how young she is, but as opposed to having a defined personality I feel like she just kinda mimics whatever is socially cool at the moment. Like, she memorizes memes and tweets to substitute a personality instead of actually having one??? And I definitely think she injected that in Moana and just performed her in a way that was irritating to me, personally. I think it continued the current trend of having Disney Princesses just respond to criticisms metatextually instead of being an actual character. Like, doesn't she even say in the film that she's not a princess?

#ask #anonymous

[atime2write]

The Spectator

She’s the youngest in our circle, younger than me by fourteen years. We’ve known her for five years but became closer last year after hanging out more often. She organized a memorable party for her flatmate, who is also our friend. They were spectators, but this conversation involved only her.

I reached out to her first, mentioning the Joker had contacted me. She asked how I was, and I explained that my frustration wasn't with them but with my friend of seven years. I told her I wouldn't justify my emotions or act out of self-interest. I hoped my friend would reflect on her behavior towards me. I said I wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t disrespectful; she needs to own her actions.

That’s why I ignored her apology. She blamed the joke and my mood but didn’t take responsibility for her behavior. The spectator was shocked by my reaction. I explained that this had happened many times before, and I usually let it pass, knowing how insensitive she was. But it can't continue. She needs to learn social cues. When will she take responsibility? Recognize disrespect? Realize her insensitivity hurts others?

The spectator was concerned about a party we're attending next week with a friend visiting from Spain. We don’t know how my friend of seven years and I will react when we see each other. I said I’m still upset and sometimes feel like being harsh. She advised, “Save it for later when our friend leaves, but still, you should talk properly.” I replied I’d ignore her but joked, “What if she mocks my clothes again or asks me to buy something?” Sometimes I want to be the joker too. She said, “You both need to cool down first.” Then she mentioned the Joker again, joking that she’s to blame for inviting people when it wasn’t her party.

The blame circulates, but one thing is clear: that Sunday, I felt humiliated and hurt, and I might have to end a friendship. It’s no longer a two-way relationship. I have good intentions for her, wanting her in healthy relationships, but I can't stay friends. I hope she realizes how her insensitivity ruins relationships. The spectator said, “You’ve known her for a long time, and that’s who she is.” I replied, “I’ve known her for seven years and kept her grounded. But now, her insensitivity hurts me, and she doesn’t seem sensible and sorry at all.”

Our conversation ends here. We’re looking forward to the gathering next week. For now, she’s the spectator.

#friendship #relationship #sevenyearsoffriendshipseries #life lessons #life #digital diary

[preetkumars]

the lyrical essay

 The Lyrical Essay

   I looked so forward to turning eighteen this year and for some reason I never really understood why. Ever since I was younger everyone would point to the level of maturity I had. People were always amazed at how young I was and how maturely I spoke and acted. But I never knew why I acted that way. It wasn’t just so I could receive validation from people to boost my ego ( I’m a Leo, but I don’t know much or care about astrology). But I feel like this was a sign from God himself preparing me to be the person I am today. 

   When I was fourteen, my life had done a complete 360 and although the series of events was traumatic, it opened my eyes in a way I never expected it to. On July 19th 2019, my father had an acute ischemic stroke. My father was a very strong man, both physically and mentally. Seeing him go from being so healthy to so sick in the span of one day broke me. I spent the next month, taking care of my parents' Indian clothing business, as well as taking care of my father. Memorizing the 11 mandatory medications he was on, to making sure his diet was clean and healthy, taking him to his bi-yearly neurologist appointments, taking him to doctors that at the time I never knew existed. I lived in constant fear that one day my father would die. Always made sure to hold his hand when walking, whether that was on a flat road or down the stairs, because if he fell, I knew he’d be paralyzed for the rest of his life. 

   Now today those fears that 14 year old me had, no longer remain. My father passed on July 24th 2022. For the past 2 months now, I’ve been in denial. I acknowledged that he’s gone, but for some reason I cannot believe it. I mean I literally remember pressing the button to cremate him, but I feel like I won’t accept it anytime soon. I don’t mean to turn this into a sob story, but my fathers death has revealed so much about me, that I never would’ve discovered on my own. I genuinely feel like I have developed into a new person because of him. I no longer fear life because, one day my body will be turned into ashes and just like that, there would be no traces of me. Now that doesn’t mean I won’t proceed with caution or won’t stress or fear, but I want to be able to live a meaningful life, doing things that I love. 

   That specifically, being a provider. I also talked passionately about being a doctor since I was younger. And although I won't be an MD (because I physically cannot stand doing a residency) at least I’ll be a DDS. I remember my dad telling me how he wanted to put DDS plates on my car and we’d joke about hiring him as my receptionist at my practice. Although he won’t ever be able to see me graduate and become one. I realized that I want to do this more than anything else. The way his face would light up when he’d see me. The way he’d smile from ear to ear. Even though the last 3 years were a blur for him, the one thing he’d always talk about to others with was how his daughter, was going to be a doctor. 

 I remember, how you’d honk outside waiting for me while I was still finishing up my breakfast

I remember, how you would turn around and smile at me while mom helped me into the car

I remember, you always asking me if I had my belt on

I remember, walking with mom to our store after school ended

I remember, running in and sitting on your lap

I remember, how you’d kiss my forehead, and ask me what I wanted to eat

And I’d say nothing

I remember, Sunday mornings, going to the gurdwara with you and doing seva

I remember, how’d you cook food for the homeless and give it out

I remember, how people stopped walking to shake your hand

I remember, how people addressed you as Kumar Sahb

I remember, when you’d cook Thai curry for us on your days off which I absolutely hated, but

grew to love

I remember how much you hated kidney beans

I remember how much you loved sweets

I remember, you coming into my room before I went to sleep and pressing my legs

I remember, vividly 3 years ago when you got sick,

I everyday remember, of how much pain you were in,

I remember you, telling everyone that I’d make a great doctor one day, because of the way I took care of you.

 I remember, the day before you left

I remember, how you sang your favorite song for the last time,

I remember the last thing you ate.

I remember the last words I said to you.

 I  will always remember how much you loved me.

Growing up, my father would take my mom, my brother and I to the Gurdwara every Sunday before he got sick. After moving to Long Island, there were many Gurdwaras by us that we’d visit often. When I was younger of course I couldn’t understand gurbani much, because it was a different language from punjabi, and was recited in gurmukhi. But now that I am older and more mature, I’ve found my relationship with god getting stronger, and that is through listening and understanding baani. Here are my favorite quotes that help me when I feel overwhelmed or stressed, or just feel lost. 

- -ਜੋ ਆਇਆ ਸੋ ਚਲਸੀ ਸਭੁ ਕੋਈ ਆਈ ਵਾਰੀਐ ॥(474-2)

jo aa-i-aa so chalsee sabh ko-ee aa-ee vaaree-ai.

Whoever has come, shall depart; all shall have their turn.

- ਮਰਣੁ ਲਿਖਾਇ ਮੰਡਲ ਮਹਿ ਆਏ ॥

Maran Likhaae Manddal Mehi Aaeae ||

With their death already ordained, mortals come into this world. 

ਮਾਰੂ ਸੋਲਹੇ (ਮਃ ੧) (੩) ੭:੧ – ਗੁਰੂ ਗ੍ਰੰਥ ਸਾਹਿਬ : ਅੰਗ ੧੦੨੨ ਪੰ. ੧੮

Raag Maaroo Guru Nanak Dev

- “Man breaks flowers with one hand and offers them with the other, but the flowers perfume both hands alike. The axe cuts the sandal tree, yet the sandal perfumes the axe.“ Guru Har Rai Ji

-“It is nearly impossible to be here now when you think there is somewhere else to be.” Guru Gobind Singh Ji

-“Dwell in peace in the home of your own being, and the Messenger of Death will not be able to touch you.” Guru Gobind Singh Ji

52 HUKAMS 

- # 1 Dharam dee kirat karnee – Make an honest living.

-#21: “Kisae dee ninda, chugalee, atae eirkhaa nahee karnee”. “Do not gossip, nor slander, or be spiteful to anyone.”

#40 “Chugalee kar kisae da kam nahee vigaarnaa”: “Do not ruin anyone’s work by gossiping.”

-#44 “Pardaesee, lorvaan, dukhee, apung manukh dee yataahshkat seva karnee”: “Do as much possible to serve and aid foreigners, those in need, or in trouble.”

-52. Langar Parshaad ik ras vartaaunaa – Serve langar [free community kitchen of a gurdwara] and prashad with impartiality.

 -Maan neeva Maat uchi (ਮੱਨ ਨੀਵਾਂ ਮੱਤ ਉੱਚੀ) this translates to mind low, morality high

[shepherds-of-haven]

I hope you’re having a great day Lena! I was just wondering if we could have any fluff facts about the shepherds as a whole! Like fun tidbits of how they interact with each other, what some of them do if they have the same day off, does anyone host weekly game nights?? I hope that makes sense! Reading the recent short story on Patreon I love seeing how the characters interact with one another and now I need moreeeeeee🙏

Ooh, great question! I’m feeling curiously tapped dry at the moment, so I’ll probably have to reblog this as more ideas come to me; I’m so happy you’re enjoying the short story, btw!! 💖

Some group dynamic headcanons:

Many of them steal clothes from each other. Briony wears a cute sweater of Shery's (she asked), Ayla gets cold so she just takes one of Red's jackets from a chair (she didn't ask), Chase gives Tallys his scarf one day and Riel corders Trouble a pair of gloves from a fashion line he favors because his old ones are holey and they get into an argument about it... This leads to some recruits mistakenly thinking that the captains are all involved in some sort of mass relationship because they keep walking out of each other's rooms wearing each other's clothes. (The recruits believe a lot of really dumb stuff, if you couldn't tell. They LOVE gossip. It's like a competitive sport in the compound)

There is a weekly card game night, initiated and organized first by Chase, but it grows bigger over time, with snacks, cakes, drinks, and new games being procured! I'd actually say it's more like every ten-fourteen days or so than on any set weekday, and is typically proposed by anyone who senses that they or others need to blow off some steam. They all tend to meet in a private common room and either just chill and play some card games and casually drink and listen to music, or they get LOUD and raucous and play more risque non-card games (like Question or Command/Truth or Dare). The loud nights are more like once a month or bi-monthly, though! They take place in the captains' lounge so dumb recruits don't get to join! It's rare that they're in there all doing the same thing, though: maybe half will be at the table playing card games while others will be broken up into smaller groups, say arm-wrestling in the corner or playing chess at the smaller table or reading, but they're all there! Game nights are almost never held unless everyone is there, which is extraordinarily difficult to schedule, but they all make an effort to make it happen--even those who first had to be dragged into it, like Blade or Riel!

Speaking of chess games, Red and Riel have a standing game where they complete at least four more moves every night that they're around and able to meet up after dinner. Planning their next move helps them both break up the monotony of the day, and it's something they enjoy immensely. However, whenever he gets called away on a mission, Red gets sick with worry that Riel's been cooking up all sorts of schemes while he's been gone, so sometimes on the road he has, like, a schematic that he doodles on trying to anticipate Riel's next move, and it's very nerdy and ramps up in joking Anxiety. Riel, graciously, goes easier on him on nights after he comes back from long trips, though he denies it

Similarly, Blade and Trouble have a standing training session once a week where they just beat the crap out of each other. This is generally where they do the majority of their talking

Briony and Ayla first had an agreement that they would get the other one up if they overslept (Briony tends to be the one who oversleeps while Ayla is better about being up at dawn, but Ayla is really grouchy if she went to bed late and Briony is the only one who can handle her), which morphed into doing runs and sparring together at dawn and having breakfast frequently!

The girls have a standing spa night once a month where they all get together in a room (usually Shery’s) and basically do sleepover stuff and relax and chat and catch up for a few hours. This also sometimes involves showing each other new outfits that they bought that month! Sometimes there are even group baths in the big common bath, but these are rarer because Shery is shy and Tallys doesn’t like sitting in hot water getting pruny

Chase and Trouble drag Red and Halek to go drinking with them around once a month; sometimes Blade is persuaded to go if Trouble can get the drop on him and punch him hard enough to wind him. It’s complicated

Riel and Shery, of course, have tea together once a week! You’re not allowed if you can’t bring a chill vibe (Riel’s rules). Tallys, Lavinet, Halek, and Red are occasional visitors; Briony is allowed on a good day. Blade would be allowed but he has 0 interest

Similarly, Lavinet hosts a weekly brunch, either in a courtyard or at some restaurant in town! Typically it’s a girl thing and Ayla, Briony, and Shery are the most consistent attendees, but Chase has snuck his way in there often, and Riel, Halek, or Red pop up occasionally!

Tallys and Halek cook together! It’s not all that often and doesn’t seem to have any set way of materializing--it just happens somehow--but they both very much enjoy it! Sometimes they cook dinner for the whole group and have a little dinner party that they both secretly get excited for! Sometimes Shery bakes the dessert!

Riel noticed that Tallys has a little garden that she spends time weeding, so he sends gardening tools or special seeds when he thinks she needs them and she leaves baskets of vegetables or vases of flowers in his office. All of this is done without exchanging a word

Chase sporadically teaches Briony acrobatics and things like tightrope walking, just randomly whenever they’re both idle. She teaches him how to gut people with bare fists and also sometimes they paint! 

Caine caught Red grazing in the pantry late one night and now it’s like a Thing where they pass each other in the kitchen and Red sort of just looks the other way re: Caine’s bedtime and what on earth he’s doing up so late and Caine doesn’t tell anybody that Red is just absent-mindedly eating a loaf of bread at 2 AM because he was too busy working to remember to eat dinner. It’ll be like, “there’s some turkey leftover from dinner in the cold box” “oh hey, Caine. thanks. ...so, what’s the news from the midnight watch tonight?” “i’m going to go hunt ghosts on the seventh floor with my friends!” “...okay! have fun!”

Lavinet has a monthly shopping trip where she updates her wardrobe, and it is very common for others to accompany her around the city and just shop while they drop! Common partners are Shery, Briony, Riel, Chase, and once memorably Blade, who didn’t know what he was in for!

Trouble and Ayla are wildly competitive and keep arm-wrestling each other for money; this becomes a bi-weekly sporting event that is eagerly attended and bet upon by third parties

There was ONE group karaoke night. ONE. Most of them got so blackout drunk that they swore to never do it again. Even now, several of them go green whenever they hear a popular bar song (“Don’t Piss Where You Plant Your Flowers”) being sung, especially badly

The game of "telephone" gets really bad in their group. It's like, Shery will say to Briony that she's worried because she thought Riel looked a bit peaky and feverish. Briony will say in passing to Trouble that Riel is getting sick and Shery is worried. Trouble will say to Tallys that Shery is worried sick because Riel is bedridden. Tallys will be mixing herbs and Chase will ask what for and Tallys will reply that Riel is sick, but because she's mixing herbs, Chase will surmise that the sickness must be quite advanced, and will later say, "Damn, have you seen Riel? Seems like he's really sick." Red will interpret this as "I have seen Riel for myself and have determined that he's extremely ill." At least four people will bust into Riel's room, expecting him to be on the verge of death, despite the fact that they saw Riel that morning. Riel will be fine and very annoyed at the intrusion.

They rarely go out as a group to bars and establishments outside of the compound (too chaotic as well as risky, for one thing, and also, recruits don't need to see their superiors like hanging out of bushes and dancing on tabletops drunk out of their minds, and also, "Mages can't drink" (lol)), but when they do deem it a worthy occasion (Trouble's birthday, say), the girls are very punctual when getting ready, and the boys are almost always extremely late due to various shenanigans (Chase forgot that he put a booby trap on Red’s door, covering Red with flour, or a cat somehow slips into Trouble’s room and steals, like, a detonator or an important key, and they have to go chasing it across the city). This has led to the girls coming late on purpose in order to even out their arrival, but mysteriously, this has only led to even later start times, meaning they often don’t get started until like 10 or 11 PM when the most well-intentioned souls meant to be in bed by midnight... that never happens, either!

One such night once led to them ending up on a ridge in the Sun’s Embrace, like a mile outside of the city, in order to watch the sun rise together, because hiking in the dark while blasted out of their minds sounded like a really good idea. They all made it, and the dawn was spectacular, but the moment was ruined when Tallys said softly, “It’s the beginning of a beautiful new day--” punctuated by Trouble abruptly throwing up in a bush and Riel just flat-out passing out

#Shepherds of Haven #group #group dynamic #all characters #found family #drinking #cw: alcohol #drunk #shenanigans #party #parties #long #long post

[yourforgottenbookshelf]

Nothing Lasts – Newt x Paige!Reader (The Death Cure AU) (Part 1)

Gif not mine. Credits to the original owner.

Summary: The story takes place in the Last City, where Newt and the reader, Ava Paige's daughter have built their lives. Reader suspects that Newt may be contracting the Flare. {Requested}

(I'm not good at summaries. Read the ficlet yourself :))

Word count: 2.057

Pairing and other characters mentioned: Newt x Reader, Ava Paige

Warnings: none I can think of

A/N: Sorry for the lack of updates. I'm on my senior year and math is kicking my ass. Leave some feedback if you liked this, tho, it took me like, three weeks to write. :)

Also, if you wanna be added on the taglist, let me know.

Song recommendation: Look Outside, the World is Ending - Owsey

“Do you think they’ll ever find a cure?”

You reluctantly looked up from the pipette you were holding. “I’d like to believe that,” you answered, your impenetrable tone disclosing you weren’t to talk about this.

This new girl, whose name you didn’t bother memorizing, asked a lot of questions. You couldn’t blame her, though. From what you had heard, she had settled in the City about a month- or so- ago. Yet, she hadn’t been able to enroll in school until the beginning of the current week. This was due to the strict precaution measures. WCKD had to make sure neither she nor any of her family members were contracting the Flare.

“How long have you been living here?”

You wanted her to quit asking questions. You couldn’t concentrate. However, you forced a smile. “Fourteen years,” was all you said. After the Sun Flares, you thought.

The truth was, you had been living in this city, the Last City, for most of your life. You were three years old when the Solar Storms occurred. The aftermath was devastating- your small town became a desert-like wasteland filled with the burnout remains of your house, your school, the movie theatre your parents used to take you to every weekend. Even as a toddler, it broke your heart. And you still ached thinking about it.

The bell rang, signaling the end of your last period. You quickly removed the latex gloves from your hands and tossed them away to realize they were covered in sweat. You grabbed the rubbing alcohol and scrubbed your hands until your skin felt completely dehydrated.

The new girl observed every move you made while quietly collecting her AP Chemistry books from your desk. “Germophobe?” she questioned as if she was joking, yet her expression was neutral. You arched your eyebrow at her. She was clearly clueless about the hygienic protocol of the school.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N,” she murmured as you exited the lab together and you parted ways.

You hurried down the busy hallway to your locker. All you wanted to do was find Newt and go home. But, oddly enough, he didn’t wait for you by your locker. You simply stood there for a couple of minutes, until you decided to search for him in his last class for the day.

“Hey, have you seen Newt?” you asked Oliver, a friend of Newt’s who didn’t really interact with, but you guessed he was your best chance of finding out where he was.

Oliver shot you a hesitant glance like he was trying to decide if he should tell you or not. “He got sent home by the nurse. He had a headache or something.”

A headache.

At that moment, you swore you felt your heart dropping in your stomach. You tried remaining calm, but Oliver saw the color draining from your face and put a hand on your shoulder- usually, you’d never allow anyone physical contact, but you didn’t react.

“A headache does not necessarily mean he’s infected. It can be just a headache.”

But he’s been getting headaches for over a week now, and they keep getting worse.

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you turned around and left without saying a word.

Oliver called out your name, but you ignored him. You needed to get to your car as soon as possible, so you got to Newt. As you sprinted to the parking lot, a million thoughts crossed your mind- where could he possibly get exposed to the virus, who could have likely transmitted it to him- and most importantly, what were the chances of you contracting it.

His being infected didn’t make enough sense in your mind. You hadn’t been separated a single moment throughout your days for over a year now. Sometimes, not even at nights, because your mother had a deep feeling of sympathy for Newt and couldn’t bear knowing he was alone in this cold, empty apartment on the outskirts of the City.

So, if Newt had somehow gotten infected somewhere, you had gotten infected too. You tried recalling any symptoms you might have been experiencing lately, but there was nothing. Nor fatigue or headaches, or irritability. The thought eased your mind some.

Your Mercedes tires squealed as you made a U-turn and exited the school’s parking lot, ignoring the countless honking horns. **

You fidgeted nervously with the ring on your finger while waiting for the traffic light to turn green. The route to Newt’s apartment wasn’t a long one. But during rush hours, it could take you up to twenty minutes to get there.

Your finger hovered over the call button for a good minute before you finally had enough courage to dial your mother’s number. She probably wouldn’t pick up, but you figured there was a chance she was on her lunch break.

“This is Dr. Ava Paige. Unfortunately, I can’t answer your call right now. Please, leave your message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

You let out a sigh. Leaving a message was an option but not a good one. Newt needed medical attention immediately, and he wouldn’t be able to get it if you didn’t manage to contact her. Going to the hospital as an uninsured citizen to get tested for the Flare was impossible. Newt couldn’t afford it, and his pride wouldn’t allow him to let you pay for it either.

You hadn’t managed to get a hold of her until you reached your destination. You did leave her a voice mail to call you as soon as she heard it.

The door to Newt’s apartment building was squeaky. You were well aware, however, of the fact that nobody would bother to fix it. Not many of the residents were left there, anyway- it was only Newt, an elderly lady and her cat, and a single mother of two boys. For the most part, however, the place seemed utterly abandoned. The corridors lights didn’t turn on anymore, and the elevator didn’t work. You had to turn on your phone’s flashlight to get safely to the fourth floor, where Newt’s apartment was.

For a moment, you remained still in the dimly lit corridor. You felt like time had stopped as you stared at the door opposite Newt’s apartment. His neighbor, a middle-aged man whose name you never asked, was exiled last week. He worked as a guard at the WCKD headquarters, and he had somehow gotten infected. Within two hours, the Government had emptied his whole apartment. You hadn’t paid attention then, the moment it was happening, but now it hit you. This would happen to Newt, too. He’d get exiled, and they’d erase his existence.

You suppressed the thought at the back of your mind, and with every bit of courage you had left, you knocked on his door.

Newt didn’t answer the door on the first knock, the second one, or the third one. By that point, your anxiety had gone through the roof. Using the extra set of keys he had given you for emergencies, you unlocked his door to reveal nothing but darkness.

“Newt?” you called out. If he hadn’t heard you knocking, he had definitely heard you calling out for him. It wasn’t a big apartment, after all- about 30 square meters. Sure enough, you heard the bathroom sink shut off, and a few moments later, Newt appeared in the dark hallway.

“Hi,” he said. His voice was husky as if he had just woken up. Without thinking twice about it, you pulled him in a tight embrace. He hesitated to return the hug, but eventually, he gave in.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly. You didn’t know what he was sorry about, but you didn’t ask.

Newt ran his fingers through your hair. He must have been trying to make you sleep. And he’d succeed, if he hadn’t broken the silence.

“You only connect me to this world.”

His voice was barely above a whisper, which made you wonder if he was talking to you or himself. You didn’t know what he meant by that. Thus you didn’t know what to reply to him either. So, to let him know you’re awake, you intertwined your fingers with his.

“It’s weird. I love the sense of aliveness. I feel like I’m walking through the world, but I don’t quite connect.”

He missed the Glade. You had tried denying it over and over, but there was no denying anymore.

There was a long moment of silence.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you, Newt.”

Newt fixated his eyes on you.

There was no hate in them.

But there was no love, either.

There was nothing.

“There’s no need to apologize,” he murmured. “You saved me, Y/N.”

You had indeed saved him. He wouldn’t have survived Phase Two of the Trials had you not pursued your mother to exclude him from the experiments. However, as grateful as Newt could be, he wouldn’t allow himself to forget about the friends he left behind.

The vital difference between him and his friends was that they were immune to the Flare. The experiments were to be conducted on immunes because they had a chance of survival. The ones susceptible to the virus would participate in the Trials solely for observation and die a slow and painful death.

Newt would prefer to become a guinea pig with an expiration date than live a somewhat normal life. And he had hated himself for getting out of it, though he wasn’t really given a choice.

“I know the feeling,” you whispered. Newt arched his eyebrows, which was your cue- you had captivated his attention. “I had always felt like a thin sheet of glass was between me and life. As clearly as I could see it, I couldn’t touch it. I kept scratching, but I couldn’t get in.”

Newt grasped the idea of what you were saying but couldn’t understand the actual meaning of the metaphor.

The truth was, you had been watching him. Throughout the three years he was trapped in the Glade, you had been watching him through the glass, through the screen monitors in the WCKD headquarters. Day by day, you fell for him harder. You had been anticipating for him to get out, and before he even knew it, his fate was determined.

Of course, he had no idea about any of this. And you weren’t planning on telling him.

“Are they alive?” he questioned, a hint of desperation in his voice. You gave him a sad smile. “I don’t know,” you responded truthfully. “I wish I could give you the answers you want. But I really don’t know, Newt.”

He let out a sigh. “You’re a good person, Y/N. I wish your love was real,” he whispered, his eyes not meeting yours anymore.

You blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Newt shot a sitting position on the bed, and the small lamp on his nightstand illuminated his facial features. He was paler than usual.

“You’ve loved me from the beginning, without even knowing me,” he pointed out, “and the reason for that is because you were lonely.”

He wasn’t wrong, but he was missing the point. Newt had been led to believe you loved him because your loneliness had left you no other choice. You were, indeed, suffering from the kind of loneliness that never went away. However, it wasn’t the reason why you fell for him.

You took a shaky breath. “You’re wrong.”

“The trouble I had fitting was putting me into a box with no way out,” you spoke softly. “And I know you felt the same way.”

Newt lit a cigarette. “How would you possibly know that?” he questioned, offering you one. You were silent for a long moment. Your cigarette had almost turned into ashes when you finally replied. “Because you tried killing yourself.”

taglist: @caramelcal thanks for the feedback girl<3

#the maze runner #tmr #the death cure #the scorch trials #tmr newt #tmr next #tmr newt x reader #newt x reader #tmr thomas #the maze runner newt #newt the maze runner #the maze runner imagines #the maze runner fanfiction #teresa agnes #the maze runner minho #the maze runner fanart #the maze runner fandom

[j-amespotter]

★ exile - s. b.

“you’re not my homeland anymore.”

Pairings: Sirius Black x Reader, Reader x Male!OC

x. x. x.

Summary: Sirius is caught in the middle of a quarrel between two lovers; AU where Harry is raised by his godmother.

Genre/Warnings: angst, language, mentions of death & war, dumbledore-bashing 

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: this can be read as a stand-alone, but i plan on writing a part 2 based on the song ivy (for those who would like a semi-happier ending). let me know if you want to be on my general/a character-specific taglist. 

masterlist

Sirius probably should not have stayed behind. All context clues pointed to the fact that he probably should leave the dining room. However, it was his dining room. It wasn’t his fault you were having a full-fledged argument with someone that was a complete stranger to him in his house. 

To be fair, he was still processing. Twelve years in Azkaban had him always prepared for the worst, but with Remus’s forgiveness and Harry’s acceptance of him, he was on a high. A high that, unfortunately, came crashing down the minute he discovered his girlfriend (Ex-girlfriend? There wasn’t ever actually a break-up, but Sirius got the hint pretty fast) had married in the fourteen years they spent apart. 

He supposed he should be thankful. Thanks to you and your husband, Harry grew up in a loving household. Harry had a family. 

John. His name was John. The name itself disgusted him. As he got to know John, it comforted him to find out that he was every bit a square as his name suggested. He was nice, though. Sirius couldn’t deny that. Stable. Perfect. Blonde. 

It was thrilling, actually. Watching his perfection deteriorate right there, in Sirius’s dining room. And besides the personal delight it brought to see you frown at John, Sirius had a right to be there. You were fighting about matters that concerned his godson, and he had already failed Harry for twelve years. 

“I’m telling you, (Y/N). We need to trust Dumbledore,” John argued with his wife. He sounded tired. Sirius hoped he wasn’t smirking, but at the same time, he didn’t really care. As perfect as this man seemed to be, he very obviously lacked the stamina to keep up with you. This fact satisfied him immensely. 

Sirius watched as you scoffed. “Dumbledore has got nothing to do with this. He’s my godson. I’m the one that raised him. Dumbledore stepped in when it was convenient for him – now when Harry’s grown up and useful.” 

John looked at you with an odd, doubtful expression on his face. “You weren’t the only one that raised him,” he said quietly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that…” you trailed off nervously. Sirius found it strange to see you back down so easily. He dared to hope that there was some trouble in paradise but was too well-acquainted with disappointment to let it flourish.

The three of you sat in silence for what felt like an eternity. Sirius, having remained uncharacteristically quiet in the encounter thus far, wondered if he should intervene. Before he could form a coherent thought, John broke the silence. “I don’t see why we should tell Harry the prophecy if you haven’t even told me yet.” 

For the first time all night, and quite involuntarily, you met Sirius’s eye. Out of the five people who knew of the prophecy’s full contents, only three survived. Fortunately for you, your husband did not notice the interaction – Sirius gathered that John remained blissfully unaware of your romantic history. “Nobody in the Order knows,” you said, “and nobody is supposed to know. I don’t want to tell Harry the prophecy. I just want him to know what to expect. There is danger in the Department of Mysteries, and if Dumbledore thinks Voldemort will try to lure him there, he should know it. You know how Harry is, John. If we don’t give him answers, he’ll go looking for them himself.” 

John winced at the invocation of the Dark Lord’s name. “But Dumbledore…”

“I agree with (Y/N),” interrupted Sirius finally. “It is not Dumbledore’s decision; it is ours. (Y/N)’s and mine. We are his godparents.”

John, who had no reason to dislike Sirius, stared at him in irritation. “Fine, if that’s what you think. You reap what you sow, I suppose.” With a firm glance, he turned to you. “I have sacrificed so much for you and Harry, yet you always keep me at arm’s length. Let me know when you’re ready to be a family.” With that, he got up and left the dining room. 

You flushed. Sirius felt a wave of fury at the man. How dare he throw that in your face? Selfish bastard. He waited for John’s footsteps to fade away. “Some guy you’ve got there,” he remarked sarcastically. 

Your eyes snapped in his direction. “He’s not ‘some guy.’ He’s my husband. And what business did you have, stepping in like that? I can handle myself.” 

“You didn’t ask me to leave,” Sirius pointed out without missing a beat. 

“I let you stay out of courtesy, Black. You are Harry’s godfather. I can’t change that.” 

“Good. Merlin knows you tried,” he said, glancing in the general direction of the door John just walked out. “See, we even argue better.”  

“Excuse me?”

“You don’t love him,” said Sirius matter-of-factly.

Anger flared in your eyes. “Yes, I do.” 

“Bullshit,” said Sirius, invigorated by your blazing look. “You're forgetting that I’ve seen it when you’re in love. Was on the receiving end, in fact. If you love him, you absolutely worshipped me.”

You looked at him, scandalized by the insinuation. “You’re an arse.” 

“Maybe, but one that speaks cold, hard facts.” He watched you, his pale eyes attempting to memorize your features. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you snapped. 

“Can’t help it, love,” he said casually. It felt like fitting into an old rhythm. Sirius refused to believe you couldn’t feel the same way. 

You sat in silence for a while, but not like the awkward silence that enveloped the room when John occupied the space. You stared at your glass, lost in thought. “At least he didn’t leave.” 

Sirius swallowed heavily. “You didn’t stop me.” 

You looked indignant. “You must be joking.” 

“You’re freaking me out, Sirius. What the hell happened?” You clutched his arm, shaking him for answers. 

Sirius was inconsolable. “J-James and Lily… d-dead.” His voice cracked. 

Tears spilled out of your eyes. “N-No, that’s not possible. You said they were safe, that everything was fine!” 

He was trembling. You could barely make out his words. “The little rat…” 

“W-Who?” You were crying. Lily… your best friend… She couldn’t be dead. Bright, bubbly, perfect Lily Potter could not be dead. 

Suddenly, Sirius was standing up, wiping his eyes. “I have to go.” 

Your eyes widened. “What? Where? Where’s Harry?” 

“With Dumbledore. I have to go.” 

“Wait, don’t leave me here–” But with a crack, he was gone. 

Sirius sighed, rubbing his unkempt beard. “You didn’t come after me. You didn’t stop them from taking me. You didn’t get me out.” 

“How the hell was I supposed to do that? You didn’t tell me about switching the Secret-Keepers. You didn’t have an orphaned baby in your lap. And I saw your picture in the paper. Do you even know how deranged you looked? What was I supposed to do?”

“Goddamnit, I don’t know! Everything went wrong…” Sirius said, raising his voice slightly. “I lost my best friend.” 

“So did I,” you whispered. “Harry lost his parents. We both needed you.” 

“But I wasn’t there…” 

You shook your head. “No, you weren’t.” 

“And John was?” 

“Yes.” 

“I’m here now,” said Sirius in a resigned voice. 

“I can see that,” you joked with a sad smile. “I’m glad. We both are – Harry and me.” 

“You raised him well,” said Sirius sincerely. “James and Lily would’ve been proud of him.” 

You smiled at him like never before. His heart thudded against his chest. “I hope so. Thank you.” 

“Does he make you happy?” 

You stared at a spot over his shoulder, refusing to make eye contact. “It’s none of your concern, Sirius.” 

“It always will be, you know that.” You deserve better, he wanted to say. Better than him and me. 

You deserved someone who completed you, not just someone who fits the mold. As you bid him goodnight, Sirius couldn’t help the twinge of envy brewing in his chest. Beyond his jealousy and hatred of John, he felt sad. Sirius recognized the unhappiness in your eyes, and he felt helpless. There was nothing he could do for you anymore. 

Taglist: @iwritesiriusly​ @lunalovecroft​

#sirius black #sirius black x reader #sirius black angst #marauders fanfiction #sirius black x fem!reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter songfic #sirius x reader #folklore x hp is always everything #folklore x marauders #sirius black one shot #sirius black one-shot #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black x you #sirius black songfic #sirius black x y/n #sirius black/y/n #sirius x y/n #post-azkaban #sirius/reader #sirius/y/n #post-azkaban!sirius #post-azkaban!sirius black x reader #post-azkaban!sirius x reader

[liquid-luck-00]

WonderBug

Angst Edition

Diana Prince (Wonder Woman) x Marinette Dupain-Cheng (Ladybug)

I am late. SO, so , so late but here it is

1: Soulmates @maribat-angst-fluff-april

My partner is the wonderful @thedragonbug

Ao3

Fuffy Edition

Soulmates exist, and Marinette hates hers. You see everyone is born with their half or part of a complete soul mark. The other parts would appear when you were closer to your soulmate and be permanent when they were close emotionally. For everyone, the appearance or 'drawing' of the mark was light and warm. But not for her, no her drawing was heavy and hot, like a hot knife digging into her arm.

Her parents knew this, and it was concerning, to know that their child was in pain because of their soulmate. Seeing as the marks were not supposed to be painful. Yet as there was no good reason given by medical and mark professionals, and the fact that her soulmate didn't stay near her for long there was nothing that they could do. They did tell her that few, this phenomenon affects one in a million people and she was just lucky enough to be one of them.

Over the years she grew used to the pain, but every time she did it would come back even stronger than the last. She slowly hated her mark and in turn her soulmate. Marinette would cover her mark, ignore it, even wish it away. All her soulmate did was bring her pain. Sure, it upped her pain tolerance, but it hurt her still.

When she turned fourteen, she became Ladybug. She then recognized that her mark was actually the wire of her yo-yo.

The first time Chat Noir claimed they were soulmates she broke down in tears. luckily for her he told her during patrol and not an attack.

"We aren't soulmates, Chat, and I'm glad we aren't." She nearly whispered.

"Why Bug?"

"Because I hate my soulmate, and I don’t want to ever hate you."

"Why would you hate your soulmate?" He seemed genuinely curious. But no one outside her parents knew, not a single person knew what happens to her.

"Because it hurts when they are close, it hurts so badly. The drawing is painful. I never want to meet the person who keeps hunting me." Tears formed in her eyes and Chat hugged her.

"I'm not your soulmate, then." She shook her head. "Good thing I'm your partner, and Plagg help me I am going to be your best friend. Got that Bugaboo?"

A half-hearted chuckle and a small smile escaped her. "Sounds good Kitty." The first person she has ever told, the person who was convinced that they were soulmates, cares for her, to help alleviate some of her pain.

The two became inseparable after that, to the point that most of Paris believed they were in a relationship.

When Nadia asked them about it during an interview, their reactions were memorable. Both all but gagged, turned to face each other, and then laughed almost falling out of the seats.

"I believe we have missed the joke." Nadia commented, worried, and confused.

"Why would I date my sister?"

"Sister?"

"Ladybug and I consider each other siblings in all but blood."

"Everything between us is simply platonic, not even close to romantic.” Ladybug answered after Chat.

“Then why would the whole of Paris believe you to be soulmates?” She may be good at hiding her pain, but the question must have made her react slightly, or Chat knew how sensitive the topic was to her.

“We aren’t soulmates, not the bonded ones that everyone thinks of.” He began. “We are the holders of the black cat and ladybug respectively because our souls resonate with the miraculous. Sure, they are two parts of a whole, but we are practically twins, two halves of coin. She is the sister I choose, she is my partner, and that is our relationship.”

“He’s completely right, now I think it’s time for us to start our patrol, BugOut!” Her smile now in place and their excuse to leave perfectly timed and respectful they made their exit.

They went on their patrol as normal, except just as they arrived at the Eiffel Tower to end the patrol. She was about to land on the platform when a searing pain flashed and radiating affecting her entire body blinding her momentarily. A single moment caused her to collapse on the tower landing, crumpling on the platform.

“LB!” Her breath came out in short bursts, she was clutching her upper arm eyes squeezed shut. This was the worst it has ever happened before, and she wanted it to end. As soon as the cause of pain came it disappeared. Leaving only the memory and a phantom pain.

"Just give me a minute." She slowly got her breathing under control, starting to get accustomed to the new level of pain.

"You weren't kidding that is the worst I’ve ever seen you hurt."

"Yeah not fun."

---

A month after that her mark burned again. This time during class. The teachers knew she would randomly stop due to pain, but they were told they were random migraines. To the point Mari would hold her head and rub her arm to sooth herself, while playing up a headache. Adrien stayed back after the class let out." You know you don't always need to put on a brave face Bugaboo."

Her attention snapped to him. "Well it's easier than constantly answering questions Kitty." She figured quickly.

Sure, they found out one another's identity, but that worked in their favor. After Tikki got sick, Fu started training Mari, and after a month Marinette was given guardianship. Fu still hasn’t lost his memories because Mari let Wayzz stay with him, for the time being, he eventually returns it to Mari in order to move on with his life, his memories fading gradually.

When Adrien got his hands on the grimoire, he of course showed it to Marinette.

“Kitty I know you don’t want to hear this, but I think your dad might be Hawkmoth.” This seemed to perfect for him to have without him being a villain.

“I know, but…”

“Adrien is there any motive anything that might be what he would wish for?”

“My mom. Dad closed himself off when she disappeared. I bet he would wish for her back.”

“Okay, so I’m going to be blunt okay.” He nodded. “So, if your mom is dead there isn’t anything that can be done without the wish, meaning at least one other person is dying.”

“So…”

“But if she is anything but.” She flipped through the grimoire recalling the studies she’s did with Fu. “There are ways we can find or even heal her.”

“This is all riding on an if.” He looked unsure as if this was too much to accept.

“Do you trust me?”

“If I didn’t, I would have turned tail and run a long time ago.”

“You dork.” She lightly shoved him, but he swayed dramatically.

“You two are close.” The new student in their class came up to them.

“Lila, right?”

“That’s right.” She answered sickly sweet, almost fake. “Are you two soulmates by any chance?”

“No.” Adrien answered. “Why?”

“You’re Adrien Agreste! Why would you be in public school?” She finally seemed to recognize.

“Let’s just say it’s a bit of rebellion.” He chuckled.

“We’re still on for video games, right?” She brought up to end the conversation seeing that Adrien was getting uncomfortable.

“Your winning streak is going down.” He announced.

“You want to join us, Lila?” She offered.

“Why?”

“Because your new and I want to get to know you.” Marinette answered honestly.

“Why?”

“Because we know you lied but still want to know you, the real you.” Adrien added.

“Why?” She asked suspiciously now.

“Question! Is it a felony to kidnap her to play video games, have snacks, get to know her, then let her go?”

“Well the kidnapping part is but if she goes willingly, I call that a hangout session.” Adrien mused.

“True, true.” She hummed. “So, what do you say, because now I am determined to get to know you.”

“Wh…”

“Kidnapping it is.” Adrien decided and grabbed the new girl’s wrist pulling her out of the library. Mari picking up their bags.

Lila herself wasn’t too bad once she started telling the truth, lying is a coping mechanism she created, because she is constantly moving schools, cities, and even countries. She is pretty interesting when she isn’t exaggerating. She was on a Hollywood movie set, but she was there on accident, she was looking for the bathroom in a restaurant and they were filming there that day. She did save a kitten on a tarmac once, but one it wasn’t Jagged Stones, it was a kitten who spooked out of their carrier and rushed down the stairs. Lila dove and caught it before it could leave the passenger unloading area to get the tram to the airport. (Some small airports unload passengers in a certain area of the tarmac and either shuttle them to the building or have a sectioned of walkway that is cleared for passengers, to walk back in only.)

After almost two hours Lila left for home when Adrien’s father called, and he was angry. Together she and Adrien ran back to the Agreste Mansion.

“Adrien!” Gabriel came out disheveled and slightly panicked. “And Miss Dupain-Cheng.” He slightly composed himself.

“Sorry I kept him.” She apologized. “He showed me this really cool book and you know how it is when inspiration hits.”

“Ah yes the inspiring fashion designer friend.” Adrien had walked up and handed his father the grimoire.

“It’s quite an interesting spell book.”

“You can read it?”

“Yes, I can. (Come on out little butterfly.)” Nooroo flew out from his hiding spot. “Hello kwamii of transmission and to you as well Hawkmoth.” She was calm deathly calm.

“How?!” Gabriel growled.

“Calm down. I have a question for you first. You want the jewels used by Ladybug and Chat Noir, why?”

“Would my answer change your plan of action to urn me into authorities and to the heroes?”

“My response may change, but you’ll have to answer to find out.”

“My wife wielder the peacock miraculous, it is broken, and she fell ill, and is in a comatose state.”

“Ah! So here is what is going to happen.” She took the grimoire from Gabriel and flipped over pages. “There is a way to revive her without resorting to using the wish.”

“How do you know this?”

She simply smiled. “You mind gathering these ingredients please Adrien?” She text him a list.

“Sure.”

“How do I know that this isn’t a ruse?”

“One I hate liars, and two because all magic has a cost, and this way is less than if you were to use the wish.”

“What do you mean cost?”

“Just like using your transformation wears on the kwamii, and the power affects your limit. Magic has its cost. The wish because it will always rewrite reality, the price is steep. Bringing back one life means you lose at minimum one other person from your life most likely more.”

“And this?”

“From what I understand. Everyone involved in the spell will have their energies deprecated so they will sleep for a day to a week.”

“Randomly?”

“No, the more people the less each person sleeps.”

“Here they are!” Adrien burst back in the room.

“Do you have the peacock miraculous?” Gabriel nodded. “Okay we’ll need that first, so lead the way to the kitchen.” Both men shuffled confused. “You do know where the kitchen is right?”

“Um well find it eventually.” Adrien chuckled. They were lucky and form it easily and Gabriel left while she and Adrien began to individually brew two separate potions. Adrien the more complex one for his mother’s revival. And she did the simpler one to fix the miraculous. Sue her Adrien is the better one in chemistry, sure he can’t cook to save himself, but he has a gift for chem, and Tikki help her she will teach him to cook. It’s practically edible chemistry, right?!

She took the Brock from Gabriel and fixed it, allowing Duusu out. “Okay so who is going to do this?”

“We will,” Adrien answered for himself and his Father, who nodded.

“Please let be help as well.” Miss Sancoeur offered.

Nooroo, Duusu, Tikki, and Plagg (they came out of hiding now) came to her. “We can help.”

She nodded and saw that Gabriel and Natalie were staring wide eyed between her and Adrien. She thought she heard Natalie say, ‘That explains so much’ but she isn’t sure.

Long story short they were able to wake up Emile, but she took back the peacock and butterfly, leaving Plagg with Adrien. Funnily enough the Agreste’s became a second family to her, once Gabriel finally grasped how to be a father. They told Paris that they had found Hawkmoth, but he would be tried by the order of Miraculous, meaning he would be stripped of the gem and his memories of the miraculous erased. It was a lie but Tikki told her that was what would have happened. There was some outcry, but they explained that they would have no recollection of it, and it wouldn’t make sense to try them.

The next few years of her life were blissfully normal, aside from the fact she had a contract under the Gabriel brand as the designer MDC, who was also endorsed by Style Queen. Chloe isn’t as bad as she puts on when she isn’t masking the hurt of being constantly ignored and bought by her parents.

- - -

It wasn’t until she was twenty-two and accompanying Adrien to a Wayne charity gala, one he didn’t want to go alone and two she was invited anyways, Chloe, Kagami, and Luka were also there on their own merits and invitations so they all stuck relatively together. Since arriving there Marinette was a constant pain, her arm burned and ached, but she forced herself to simply breathe and tried her hardest to push it out of her mind. But her luck wouldn’t hold, three hours into the event she was approached by who she recognized as Bruce Wayne, the host of the gala, and a woman to his left, the pain was almost unbearable the closer the two approached. Her friends noticed, they knew what her pain actually meant, as she opened up to them about it after a while, but she grit her teeth and tried to push through it.

“Mr. Agreste, Miss Bourgeois It is good to see you both again.” Bruce Wayne acknowledged. “It’s nice to meet all of you as well, Bruce Wayne.” He introduced to the rest, shaking hands. “And this is a good friend of mine.”

“Diana Prince.” She also went to shake everyone’s hands and had left Marinette for the last. The moment their hands touched she almost crumpled, she shrunk back and into Adrien and Chloe. “Is she okay?”

“Diana?” Bruce pointed towards her upper arm, the mark most of them overlooked before was now complete and glowing lightly. What Marinette remembered was that there was her yo-yo string and a golden rope that she only saw once before on her own arm. She felt sick, Diana was staring at her now, she recognized that Marinette was her soulmate.

“Melody?” Luka now stepped up.

“I want to leave.” She answered flatly.

“You are…”

She completely turned away, but by now her friends knew what was going on and were glaring at Diana. “I want to leave, now.” She repeated.

“Come on bug, let’s get you away from… this.” He threw a look at Diana, who was looking confused and seemingly alarmed.

The other three were putting as much space as they could between their friend and who is unknowingly causing her pain.

“Please is she alright?” Diana asked stepping forward barely grazing her hand covering her mark. This time it felt as if the skin itself was burning and stung almost like it was being pricked over and over and over again.

“Don’t touch me and stay away from me.” On the outside she looks clam and relaxed, but her voice was soft and raw, her eyes burned in pain. “You and that completed mark can stay far from me.”

“Luka, Kagami mind taking her back to the house?” The two in question led her away and once a safe distance away she broke down in tears, sobbing from the pain she was biting down.

- - -

The two that stayed were simultaneously glaring at her and watching their friends leave the gala.

“Is she alright?” Bruce finally bole the tension.

“As soon as she is far enough away from her.” The girl, Chloe, snapped at her. “Now that we know who is the the person causing her pain, we can keep her from them.” She snapped towards her, but it was a slap to Diana.

“I don’t follow. We are…”

“Soulmates, yeah we figured.” Adrien this time spoke.

“They why would she want to leave, without speaking?”

“One one in a million people are in pain when they are close to their soulmates.” Adrien spoke calmly but stoically. “No one knows why.” He began to fidget with a ring on hi# finger, she couldn’t recall if she saw any jewelry on her soulmate, Marinette, but she has a suspicion. After all she feels similar to her Mother’s aura and presence, that of a Ladybug.

“You are wrong. There is an explanation, but only a few know why that is.” She feels certain that she knows what this is.

“Let me guess you know why.” Chloe remarked, sarcastically and unamused.

“Allow me to explain this another time and place, as this is neither.”

“Fine call this number at noon est tomorrow.” Adrien handed her a phone number and the two turned and left.

“Diana?” Bruce snapped her attention. “What was that about?” He was still calm and collected but she knew he would be the one to ask, figuring out what was the next step, what had the best options of success.

“Magic.”

- - -

The next day she called the number and she was invited to a video call by the recipient. It turned out to be Marinette.

“Hello Diana.” Her voice was not cold but it was emotionless, as if she was forced into this conversation. Granted she did think she would be speaking with Adrien and Chloe.

“I never wanted to harm you, I swear that on the river Styx.” she began but before she could continue Marinette cut in.

“Let’s be clear, I don’t care about your apologies. I just want to know why this is happening and how to either get rid of it or to never have contact with you in any way or proximity.”

“I am apologizing because this is known as the curse of the ladybug and black cat.” She saw the young woman tense at that. “The reason I know of this is from by Mother, Queen Hippolyta Of the Amazon’s.” She allowed that to sink in and the other woman allowed her to drop her defense, nodding to what is said.

“When you say the curse of the ladybug and black cat what do you mean by that?”

“True souls of the miraculous, when in their life they come into contract with their given gems, cause a reaction.” Diana explained. “For the ladybug they receive the pain of their soulmate through their marks. Which is what I assume is going on.”

“Yes you’re right, but this has been going ever since I could remember.”

“Call it what you will fate, destiny, but you were always going to wield the ladybug jewel, that is why the curse manifested itself.”

“What about the black cat?”

“I am unsure, the black cat of my Mother’s time died before meeting their soulmate, but I would assume it would be similar to our situation.”

“Then how do we solve this?”

~~~~~~~~~~

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[unrequitedloveletter]

Page Eighty-Three- Kaz Brekker

Real (Page Eighty-Three series, part 3)

And thus, here we arrive at the end of the Page Eighty-Three series! I’ve been working on it almost a week now, and had the idea brewing in my brain for two weeks beforehand, so, considering the way that I’ve chosen to publish all the parts, it’s not gonna be a very emotional goodbye for you guys, but for me, oddly enough, it is?

Its the first fic I’ve done that’s been more than two parts, and I guess that adds to it? I don’t know! But, anyways, on with it!

Also, a gentle reminder, I only have Kaz being a little on the touchier side because this is a bit of an AU of sorts, and they’re around twenty four in this last part, which gave him time to work on his trauma more and get comfortable with touch!

Fic type- fluffy as fuck

Warnings- a very brief mention of the flashback in the first chapter (to be specific, nina says ‘stopped you from getting hatecrimed’) and a brief sexual innuendo

T H R E E Y E A R S L A T E R 

You knocked out after you’d killed your father, and went home completely unconscious on Inej’s boat, tucked onto a cot with Kaz at your side. Genya had decided to spend a little time around Ketterdam, get to know the ins and outs and provide intel for Nikolai when he asked for it, and Nina had decided that her home could be Ketterdam for four months of every year. 

Inej did her thing, catching and killing slavers all around the globe, but her visits to Ketterdam became more frequent after you’d gotten back. 

Jesper took your amplifier and made it a project for himself, removing the claw from the obsidian and instead using his fabrikator abilities to turn it into a bracelet that you wore on your right hand, made of gold, with the claw dulled out so that it didn’t poke you when you moved your wrist.

A year after you’d returned home, when yourself and Kaz had gone into his office one morning, book clutched in one of your hands, the other interlaced with Kaz’s fingers, you found a box sitting on his desk.

A note from Zoya was taped to the top of it. 

A top tier bitch deserves a top tier amplifier, it read. Bracelet. Wear it on your right wrist. It’ll go with the bear claw wrapped in gold.

You kept the note, reading it to yourself whenever you needed a laugh, giggling about it with Nina when she needed a laugh, too. 

All of those small moments ended up leading to a much bigger one, though. The day that Kaz proposed. 

It was a pretty simple proposal, but you loved it. 

--

“I had to get advice from Jes about this,” was how he started it, even before he’d gotten down onto one knee. “He proposed to Wylan in the fall, and I know that the Winter makes Ketterdam look absolutely stunning, and I know that you like the scenery, so, well, here we are.” 

You’d been walking around Ketterdam, the clicking of Kaz’s cane against the pavement a soothing sound for the both of you. 

You’d managed to make it near the outskirts of Ketterdam just by walking, as Kaz’s leg was being decent to him and he wanted to walk until you’d arrived at one of the more scenic spots. You indulged him for the sake of it, making sure you took breaks and that he got water when he was tired. 

It’d been snowing, and the sky had yet to darken beyond a light grey. You and Kaz both had snow in your hair, but to one another, it just added to handsomeness, so neither of you moved to brush the snow out of your hair or off your faces. 

“When we were seventeen,” he began, feeling for the box in his pocket. The one with a ring inside, cushioned by red, velvety fabric. “You read me a quote from the book I’d gotten you that day. You’ve memorized just about every poem in it since, and I happen to have done the same thing.” 

“The quote that you read to me was from The Sun and Her Flowers. It was on page eighty three,” he grinned at you, a fully fledged smile. Something he saved for you and you exclusively.

“I’m going to change the wording a bit, because it’s in the past tense, and we’re not past tense. The quote was ‘you were mine, and my life was full,’,” he said. “I’m changing it to ‘you are mine, and my life is full.’ Because thats how I feel.”

“Kaz?” You asked. “Do you have something planned?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he clutched the box.

“I suck at words, so, from Rupi Kaurs book Milk and Honey, I offer you this,” he carefully got down onto a knee, using his cane to keep him steady for a few quiet moments as you realized what was happening. 

“‘You are every hope and dream I’ve ever had, in human form.” He pulled out the ring, opening the box and holding it out to you. “That’s page forty nine, love.” 

“If you can’t think of an answer, please, just-- anything works,” if Jesper had told sixteen year old Kaz Brekker that he’d end up on his knees, begging you for a response to his proposal at just twenty two, he’d have called Jesper crazy.

“Yes,” you mumbled. “Yes, Kaz Brekker. If you’re asking me to marry you, it’s an immediate yes.” He used his cane to get himself up to standing again, slipping the ring onto your ring finger and accepting the hug that you pulled him into.

You were going to marry Kaz Brekker, the love of your life, and you couldn’t wait for it. 

--

The day seemed to come at you quickly, even though you’d not set the date until Winter of year that you turned twenty four. 

First, it was calling Nikolai and asking if you could cash in the reward for killing your father and doing him and the world a justice that they deserved, then it was finding suitable tuxedos and sending out invitations and planning a million different things at once. 

But, eventually, you, Jesper, Wylan, Genya, and Nina, were all on Inejs boat, headed toward the Little Palace.

Then, all of the sudden, you were in the last stretch of time before the wedding. Alina, Mal, Genya, Zoya, and Nina were talking as Genya tailored you, getting rid of some of the blemishes and fixing up little things about your face that you’d asked her to tailor until the end of the ceremony. 

“It’s weird,” Alina said, pressing a kiss to Mals cheek as she glanced at her own wedding ring. “I remember you as this fourteen year old boy who used to gawk at the attractive guys in the Second Army, the boy who resented his powers and swore at his father at any chance that he got, and now you’re and you’re completely different.”

“Different how?”

“Kaz Brekker,” Genya said, running her finger under one of your eyes gently, as to get rid of your eyebags. “He’s good for you.”

“And you don’t resent your powers anymore,” Zoya adds. “You don’t use them often, but you don’t resent them.” 

“You use them, don’t you, mate?” Mal quipped. “Or were my eyes tricking me when I went to wake you and Brekker up this morning, only to find you keeping light out of your room with a flick of your bloody wrist?” 

“I was tired,” you pouted. “Kaz and I both were!”

“Ah, newlyweds,” Nina joked.

“It’s not like that!” You shouted. “Zoya, help me out!”

“He’s able to kiss you now,” she said. “Like, with tongue and stuff. Theres no reason he wouldn’t be able to enjoy a fun little tumble with you here and there!”

“’Tongue, and stuff,’” Mal repeated. “Yes, Zoya, because, as a twenty six year old woman, that’s totally adult phrasing.”

“I wouldn’t have been able to describe it any better,” Nina quipped. Genya and Alina hummed their agreement as Genya moved to your hair, fluffing it and styling it so it that it looked nice as you adjusted the cuffs on your dress shirt. 

“Wheres my blazer?” You asked, grabbing your tie from Genyas lap, tying it as she evened out some of the color near your roots. 

“Closet,” Alina answered. “I’ll get it for you!” Mal checked his watch.

“We’ve got three minutes to get down there,” he said. “Lets make the most of Y/Ns remaining 180 seconds unmarried.” You laughed, rolling your eyes as Genya stood, helping you up after.

Nina shot Genya a glance, and she took the hint, ushering Alina, Mal and Zoya out of the room and passing Nina your blazer as she left. 

Nina helped you into your blazer, running her thumb along your cheek with a smile. 

“I never thought I’d see Kaz Brekker married,” she said. “But hey, I guess stopping you from getting hatecrimed had it’s benefits, didn’t it?” 

You laughed, shrugging.

“I think that we’ll rebuild some of the Slat,” you said. “Make the rooms bigger. Get plaques declaring whos room is whos.”

“A golden plaque with Nina Zenik emblazoned on it?”

“Bolted to your bedroom door, Neens.” 

“I love you, Morozova.” She said, trapping you into a tight hug.

“I love you back, Zenik.” You said. “Now, c’mon. I don’t think anyone would take too kindly to me being late for my own bloody wedding, would they?” 

--

The wedding was small, taking place close to the entrance of the Little Palace. There were no chairs to sit on, but the few guests you’d invited didn’t mind it whatsoever. 

The guest list was fairly small, considering your tight knit little family. Wylan was Kaz’s best man, Your best woman was Nina. The people standing in the small crowd were all familiar faces.

Wylans mother, Marya Hendriks, and Jespers father, Colm Fahey were the oldest there. Among them were Nikolai, Alina, Mal, Genya, Rotty and Specht, and the two members of the Dregs who’d originated the King of the Barrel nicknames. Their names were Terrowin and Kira, and when you caught their eyes, they were beaming at you both.

Jesper was officiating, and as you met his gaze, you remembered how he was practically bouncing off the walls the day that you’d asked him to officiate. 

“Okay, now that they’re both here, we can begin!” Jesper couldn’t hide his excitement.

“Mr. Brekker,” Jesper laughed through the words. He’d not called Kaz ‘Mr. Brekker’ unless he was doing so in a jokey context. You knew that, had it been anyone elses wedding, they’d probably have gotten angry at Jesper for giggling through the words, but for you and Kaz, it just added to an already perfect day. “Do you take Y/N as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“I do,” he said. 

“Mr. Morozova,” Jesper glanced at you, and you met his gaze, having to stifle laughter when you realized just how wide his grin was. How happy he seemed. He looked like he was about to start bouncing off the walls and screaming with joy. “Do you take Kaz as your lawfully wedded husband?”

“Hells yes,” you said, giggling slightly. For a moment, Kaz let his lips lift into a grin. You matched it with your own smile and took his hand into yours.

“You’ve prepared your own vows, so, Mr. Brekker, sir, you go first!” Kaz glanced at Jesper inquisitively, grin still on his face as he started talking and met your eye.

“I’ve loved you as long as I’ve known you,” he said. “And when my heart says something, I’ve learned to listen to it. I love you with my entire heart and so much more, and I hate that I’m not good with words, because that’s all I can say. Nothing else accurately cultivates the feelings I’ve felt for you since that night, when you were broken and bruised underneath that saintsforsaken lamplight. I promise to love you every minute of every day, Brekker.” You’d agreed to change your last name to his. You’d be Y/N Brekker by the end of the night.

“Mr. Brekker,” Jesper said. “Since you’ll be married in a few minutes and I have to get used to that last name on you, you may say your vows!” 

“When I was fifteen, I was caught and beat broken by a group of eight eighteen year olds,” you began. “But you saved my ass before I was killed, and it seems as though our relationship has been a series of saves ever since. Kaz Brekker, with the ring I’m about to put on your finger, I’m promising that I’ll do that forever. Please, though, try to avoid getting yourself kidnapped too often, okay?” His chest shook in silent laughter as he nodded.

“The rings, gentlepeople?” Jesper asked, Nina passed you the ring you’d slip into Kaz’s finger, and Wylan passed Kaz the one he’d put onto yours.

“Put them on,” Jesper said. You and Kaz both glanced at him once more, meeting each others eye thereafter, grinning and shaking your heads. It’d become very clear to you that the twenty four year old who you’d recruited to officiate your wedding was damn near close to letting out an excited squeal. 

Kaz put the ring onto your ring finger and you did the same for him, waiting for Jespers next words as you took a half a step closer to Kaz. 

“Kiss, you idiots!” Jesper said. Kaz laughed, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

He’d kiss you like nothing else later in the evening, when the only thing to bug you was a lamp that you’d left on, but you both agreed that a forehead kiss would be as far as you’d go in front of others. Kisses, to Kaz, were personal, and you respected and loved that about him. 

“Saints, bless this fuckin’ union!” Jesper shouted. You glanced at Alina, who shot you a thumbs up and a nod as the party part of the wedding kicked off. 

Terrowin and Kira were the first people that you and Kaz talked to.

“Did you secure it?” He asked.

“The property?” Terrowin was a Zemeni boy, with skin dark as night and eyes as warm as the sun. 

“Or the trip?” Asked Kira, a girl from Shu Han with hair black as the feathers on a crow and blue eyes as cold as the Fjerdan ice. 

“The property, first and foremost,” he said. “Did you get it? Did you give it the name I asked you to?”

“Yes, and yes,” said Terrowin. “Beside The Silver Six is a bookstore called Page Eighty-Three. It’s scheduled to open in the fall.” Your eyes widened as you made the connection.

“Page eighty-three?” You asked, smirk on your lips. Kaz shrugged.

“And the request?”

“The line from the poem will be put on the wall behind the clerks counter,” Kira said. “Just as you requested.”

“And the trip?”

“Your boat for Novyi Zem leaves in two days, Boss,” Kira said. “Two bells in the afternoon. It’s directly routed to Coftons docks.” Kaz nodded.

“Thank you,” he said. “We’ll see you when Page Eighty-Three opens.” 

“Damn right we will,” you said. Terrowin and Kira laughed as they walked away.

You glanced around the room, spotting Jesper and Wylan perched at a piano, playing the music that everyone was dancing to. Marya and Colm dancing close to them. Nina and Zoya dancing like idiots and laughing throughout. Mal and Inej making conversation and Genya and Alina heading your way.

“Congrats, you two,” Genya said. “Can I expect to see you both tanned and rested up when you get back from Novyi Zem?” 

“You’ll be in Ketterdam?” You asked. Genya nodded.

“For a couple of months, to make sure that your Jesper friend doesn’t colossally fuck things up while your friend Inej is doing her thing on the open ocean,” Alina said. “I’m there to visit for a bit, under the radar.” 

“Thank you, Alina,” he said. “Thank you both. For everything that you’ve done in these past years.” 

“No biggie, Brekker,” Alina said. “I don’t know you that well, but I see how happy you make Y/N, and he’s like a little brother. I care about his happiness.” 

“You two are absolutely bloody adorable,” Genya said. “Now, back to my question, will you be tan, or at the very least, well rested, upon your return?”

“Kaz is pale,” you said. “He’ll burn like a crisp. Me? I don’t really know. I guess it depends.” 

“We’ll be well rested,” Kaz said. “He’s a darkling. He can create shadow. I fully intend to use that to keep the sun out in the mornings.” 

“I won’t do whatever you ask of me!” You quipped.

“You had no issue with that last night,” he said, raising a teasing eyebrow. “Or this morning!”

“Mal was right!” Alina shouted, her and Genya bursting into giggles. “Damn it, I hate it when that happens!” You laughed.

You took another glance around you, spotting your friends.

No, wait. Scratch that.

Not your friends.

Your family. 

Your family was having a good time, eating, talking, dancing, laughing. They were enjoying themselves and congratulating you as you talked to Alina and Genya. 

Kaz had an arm around your waist, his cheek pressed against the side of your head as his other hand gently turned your wedding ring around on your finger. He was talking to people without arguing with them. He was holding you like you were the only thing that mattered to him.

Your life was perfect.

Kaz was yours, you were his, and your life was full. 

--------

tags: @whateverfandom00 @a-c-lee @incorrectquotesconaisseur @the7seannas​ @teatimeforusreaders​ @hunnybunimdun​

#kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #shadow and bone #six of crows #shadow and bone netflix

[msdanvers]

Apollo x Daphne AU — goddess of music

A gentle breeze touches Lena’s flushed and clammy skin, but it brings no relief – even the air itself is stiflingly hot today. Tree leaves brush against her arms and her cheeks, tickle the soles of her feet, get tangled in her hair. Lena breathes in slowly and lets the scent of the mountains ground her as she makes her way home.

Time has given her the opportunity to memorize the world around her in ways no mortal ever could. She knows the ways rivers flow in winter, after a rainstorm, during a draught. She knows the way they used to flow, and remembers every change. She knows where they end, where they start, when they started.

She would know the way through these mountains blindfolded, on the darkest nights.

Her connection with these forests allows her to notice when something has changed within them – a new presence, or the loss of an old one. Today is one of those moments. Lena isn’t sure what it is. The grass is still scratchy and yellow in the same places as yesterday, still green and soft in others. The cypress trees are still in the same place, and so are the barn owls nesting in their hollows. Even the gray wolves haven’t moved from their resting place since this morning when she left.

Whatever it is, she decides, there is no use dwelling on it now. Lena lets her thoughts drift as she climbs over a fallen tree. Its mossy trunk feels warm on her thighs and hands – familiar, she imagines, like the touch of a lover would feel after centuries of closeness. Intimate, trusting, in a way she herself has never felt with anyone. The thought of it feels familiar even so – she has dreamed of a love like that so often, she can almost feel its warmth.

But romance happens in stories, and a watered-down version of it happens to the other nymphs around her, and nothing like it will ever happen to Lena. She has made peace with that knowledge a long time ago, and if you asked her, she wouldn’t say she’s lonely. Lena treasures the time she spends in solitude, free of judgement and expectations, free of performances. The sweltering heat of today’s noon should be spent just like that, alone.

As she makes her way across a grassy glade, she finally hears the murmur of her river. Lena sighs in relief. She has detested the summer for as long as she can remember, and today’s blinding sun does nothing to change her mind. She can’t wait to dip her tired body in the cold, rushing river water, floating in it with her eyes closed and her mind wandering.

Which is, of course, when she hears it.

Lena stops in her tracks to listen. It’s barely noticeable at first, drowned out by the sounds of singing birds and flowing water, but once she picks it up, it’s unmistakable. Music. Who could it be? Who came to her small corner of the world, only to fill the usual silence with their lyre?  

She starts walking again, a bit quicker this time, frowning as she tries to follow the sound to its source. It’s an instrument she has always enjoyed listening to and yet, Lena realizes the longer she listens, this is like nothing she has ever heard. All the satyrs that have played for her seem like children in comparison, now, like novices trying their hand at an instrument they don’t fully understand. No, this, this is what music is supposed to sound like.

Lena pauses when she catches sight of the river, one hand touching the rough bark of a tree. Her last lingering thoughts of turning the other way slip from her mind the moment she looks upstream, and finds a woman.

On a rock in the middle of the river, with her back to Lena, is the white-dressed and golden-haired lyre player. Sunlight plays with her curls and it almost looks like she’s glowing, like the source of light is not the faraway sun but this woman, playing a melody for herself and the world, unaware of her audience.

Silent, transfixed, Lena walks into the water, barely noting its cool touch as she makes her way upstream.

When the woman stops playing, there is a split second of silence in which Lena realizes there is only a few feet of space between herself and this complete stranger. Is it too late to turn away now? Why did she come this close anyway – could this woman be some kind of siren? Did she walk right into her trap?

Those nervous thoughts are forgotten the moment the woman turns around, lowering her legs into the river with a smile on her face. If she is a siren, Lena finds herself thinking, then let it be so. Let this siren lure her in with the sweetness of her song, let her ship be wrecked in the unforgiving ocean waves. She will not resent her for it.

But, like good things tend to do, the smile on the woman’s face vanishes the moment she lays eyes on Lena. Of course. This is not one of her daydreams, this is reality, in its usual painful bluntness. An all too familiar feeling takes hold of Lena’s heart – if she had to choose a word to describe it, she would say it’s disappointment. It’s deeper than that, though, and more expected.

Lena opens her mouth to say – what, she doesn’t know, but something cruel and yet indifferent enough to get this stranger to leave her alone. She doesn’t get the chance.

A sudden note, strange and off-key, paired with the sound of crushing wood, makes Lena look down at the woman’s hands. Her knuckles are white, and the lyre is completely destroyed. Lena feels her eyes widen at both the loss of such a beautiful instrument and the strength it must have taken to break it so easily. The woman doesn’t even seem to be aware of it, her eyes still focused on Lena.

This time when she studies the stranger’s face, Lena starts to wonder if she was too fast in interpreting her expression. Her smile might have fallen, but it never fell into the uninterested, slightly repulsed look that other nymphs generally give her. What she finds is more like shock, or maybe… awe? Lena feels embarrassed even thinking something as hopeful and desperate as that.

“You broke your lyre,” she says, at loss for anything bright to say.

The woman seems startled at her voice, and for one breathtaking heartbeat, she keeps staring at Lena. Then she looks down at the broken pieces of lyre in her hands. She doesn’t seem too bothered as she lays them down behind her and looks back up. “Hi.”

Lena chuckles. “Hi.”

“You have a leaf stuck in your hair.” The woman blinks after she speaks, like she wasn’t expecting herself to say that either.

“Oh.” Lena combs through her hair quickly, suddenly aware that she spent the morning walking through the forest, and probably looks the part. “Where–” she starts, but when she looks up, she suddenly finds herself face to face with the stranger’s very distracting blue eyes.

“Here,” she answers. The woman’s hand brushes against Lena’s before she runs her fingers through her hair. Lena’s eyes flutter closed unconsciously at the woman’s touch, and she exhales slowly, feeling tension leave her body that she hadn’t even been aware of.

“Look.” Lena opens her eyes to the woman’s radiant smile, and she can’t help but return it. She reaches for the leaf that the woman is holding, accidentally-purposely touching her hand more than necessary in the process.

“Thank you,” she says, unconsciously lowering her voice, and – is that a blush on the woman’s cheeks? “You play beautifully, by the way. Sorry for listening in.”

The woman smiles at her. “Well, I’ve had some practice.” It sounds like she’s joking, but Lena missed the punchline. She smiles back anyway.

“What’s your name?”

“Kara,” the woman answers.

Lena laughs, but her smile vanishes when the woman doesn’t join her. “What?” she says, feeling the leaf slip from her fingers. Water splashes around her thighs as she takes a hurried step back. Oh, no. “Kara?”

The woman nods. “What’s yours?”

“You’re an Olympian,” Lena whispers. It makes sense, in the end. Who else but the Olympian goddess of music, the inventor of the instrument itself, could play the lyre so skillfully? Who else but the goddess of the sun, Zeus’ favored daughter, could have such divine beauty – such entrancing charm?

The stranger before her is no stranger at all, but the twin of Artemis the huntress. She is the goddess that killed the mighty Python, son of Gaia herself.

“Yes. And you must be a naiad. I mean, this is a river, and you are very –” the goddess cuts herself off suddenly, frowning a little. “Are you all right?”

Lena takes another step back, her heart beating in her throat. “Forgive me,” she says. She tries to recall everything she said to Kara. Has she offended the goddess, thinking her just another nymph? Should she have bowed for her, paid her respects, offered her food?

Lena knows enough about the wrath of gods to be cautious.

Zeus pursued a girl, refused to take her ‘no’ for an answer, and in retaliation Hera transformed the girl into a cow and drove her to madness. Artemis was disturbed by an unsuspecting hunter while she was bathing, and he was torn to pieces by his own dogs. Kara herself, joined by her twin sister, had slaughtered all fourteen children of the mother who had dared to insult theirs.

Will Lena become the next name to be whispered around fires, remembered for ages for her misfortune and mistakes?

“You are frightened. Of me.” Lena looks up, but finds no ire in Kara’s eyes.

Surely, that can’t be right. Lena has laughed at her, tried to flirt with her. She can only think of one reason the goddess wouldn’t have minded that, but she doesn’t let herself believe it.

“Forgive me,” she says again, because she doesn’t know what else to say.

“There is nothing to forgive. And I’m not going to hurt you.” Kara gently puts a hand on Lena’s arm. “Look at me? There is nothing to forgive.” Lena can’t believe the goddess of archery is looking so… tender. While looking at her. “Breathe.”

Realizing that she did, indeed, forget to do that, Lena takes a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that,” Kara laughs.

“Are you sure I haven’t offended you? I didn’t know…”

“I’m sure.” Then she smiles mischievously. “But I could exact my revenge anyway, if that would make you feel better.”

Lena opens her mouth, and gets hit in the face with a splash of water before she can ask questions.

She spits the water out, too startled to react at first. But Kara is biting her lip, clearly trying not to laugh, and a high and nervous giggle escapes Lena’s lips before she can stop it.

Her hand shoots up to her mouth immediately, as if she could still cover up the sound that has already escaped. But Kara bursts out laughing too, loud and lovely, and Lena couldn’t keep a straight face while hearing that if her life depended on it.

“Now, I bet even a water nymph can’t have better aim than me.”

Lena smiles at her, one eyebrow raised. Her hands are already underwater, her muscles already tightened, before she thinks – this is a god, what am I doing? – and redirects the throw downwards at the very last moment. Managing to avoid Kara’s face, unfortunately, has the side-effect of splashing water all over her dress instead.

Kara looks down at the wet linen clinging to her figure, then back up at Lena, who is trying very hard not to look at it. “I must say, I was expecting better.”

Kara has barely finished her sentence when Lena hits her again, square in the face this time. Lena lets out a short, joyous laugh at the shocked expression on Kara’s face. Then, before the goddess can retaliate, she dives into the river and swims away as fast as she can. She feels the water shift behind her and knows she’s being pursued.

The muffled sounds of the underwater world mix with the fast beating of her excited heart as they shoot through the river. The water gets deeper the further she goes, rocks and plants flashing by as she swims and swims and swims. She feels strong and alive and her smile doesn’t fade until she finds her way blocked by a school of fresh-water fish.

Lena doesn’t really feel like swimming into them face-first, so she dives down to the bottom of the river. Her hands disappear in squishy mud before finding solid rock, and she pushes herself upwards again.

But the move slowed her down, and when she looks over her shoulder, a flash of white and gold is all the warning she gets before muscular arms catch her around the waist and a body slams into hers.

She barely has time to register Kara’s closeness before she realizes what’s happening. Kara was coming from beside her, and now they’re going way too fast in what is decidedly not the direction they should be going. They’re headed straight for the shore.

Kara manages to turn Lena around in her arms and pull her close before they collide with the riverside pebbles, spraying them everywhere.

It doesn’t hurt – both her head and her back have somehow made a soft landing, even though Kara ended up on top of her. They’re both panting when she opens her eyes and finds Kara’s face close to hers, her cheeks flushed and her eyes concerned.

“Are you okay?”

Lena nods and smiles. Kara smiles back and they don’t say a word, but then they’re laughing again, uncontrollably and without shame. She doesn’t just hear Kara’s laugh, she feels it, reverberating through the parts of their bodies that are touching.

When Kara wriggles her arms free from under Lena’s body, one of her hands disappears from its place under Lena’s head.

Oh. That explains the lack of pain. Kara must have taken the brunt of the impact.

“Are you okay?” Lena asks, frowning.

“Of course,” Kara answers with a lopsided smile. She is leaning on her forearms, now, hovering over Lena. The sun above her is like a halo, a crown of light that paints the edges of her silhouette golden. Lena breathes in the forest air, the familiar scent of the river joined by an unfamiliar sweetness, a sweetness that must be Kara.

Their bodies are intertwined, the river still flowing past their legs while most of Lena’s body is resting on the sun-warmed shore they crashed into. And most of Kara’s body is resting on Lena, her warmth seeping through the fabric of their clothes.

A drop of water falls from Kara’s nose and lands on Lena’s cheek. Lena chuckles, and Kara smiles with her whole face, her eyes twinkling as she wipes it away with a finger. It’s unnecessary, seeing as Lena’s whole face is still dripping with river water anyway, but she can’t bring herself to care.

Then Kara breathes out and Lena feels it.

The air brushes against her lips, and her eyes flick down to Kara’s mouth. Her heart beats in her chest like it’s trying to escape, and Lena briefly wonders if Kara can feel it too, wonders if some of what she feels is Kara’s heart, not just her own. Then she wonders what it would feel like if Kara were to lean down just a little, what she would taste like if they closed the distance and…

“I’m sorry. I should go,” Kara says.

Lena’s hands slip away from Kara’s waist when she pushes herself up, leaving Lena behind, startled and breathless. Her wet dress feels sticky and cold against her skin in the absence of Kara’s touch, the pebbles in her back suddenly too sharp, the sunlight too bright.

How could she have misread the situation so badly?

Lena sits up too, feeling her whole face flush in embarrassment. She can’t bring herself to look at Kara. She lets her hair fall between them like a shield, and looks down at her fiddling hands instead.

“Can I visit you again?”

Her gaze shoots up when Kara breaks the silence, and she finds the goddess looking at her with a tentative smile.

Lena is silent, stunned, for a long moment. Too long, probably, because Kara nods to herself and starts to get up.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Kara says, and it sounds like a farewell – why does it sound like a farewell?

“Wait,” Lena says softly.

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. I’ll just –” Kara starts walking away, and Lena’s heart skips a beat.

“No, wait!” Lena captures Kara’s hand and she almost forgets how to breathe when Kara’s eyes meet hers. “I’d… love to see you again.”

For a moment, all she hears is the rustling leaves and the river. Kara’s hand is warm and soft and still dripping with river water, and Lena wishes it were hers to hold for as long as it took to dry, and for longer after that.

“Really,” Kara breathes.

“Really.”

Kara breathes out a laugh, and it almost sounds relieved. “Then I’ll see you soon.”

Smiling, Lena squeezes Kara’s hand softly, something fluttering inside of her when Kara squeezes back and strokes the back of her hand with her thumb before letting go. Lena watches her walk away, watches her turn around one last time when she reaches the trees, watches her smile. Then she watches her disappear, like all of this was just another daydream.

But it wasn’t. Lena lifts a hand to her face, touches it where Kara touched her, and sits down slowly. She closes her eyes, and sighs.

#listen if you read all of this know that i love u ok. #supergirl fic #supergirl #supercorp fic #supercorp #apollo x daphne AU #supercorp fanfic #kara x lena #kara danvers #lena luthor #supercorp au #my words #supergirl au #kara #lena #mine

[myundeadgayson]

DC Street Racing AU — Bart Allen’s Backstory

alright, i know practically nothing about cars. i’ve also never even seen a Fast and the Furious movie, but SOMEONE has gotta fill the void on lack of DC Street Racing AUs, and i’m gonna do it. (if there are some out there though, please let me know! i can barely find ANYTHING, and i’d love to see stuff for this kind of AU!)

so,,, i’m just saying,,, the Teen Titans and Young Justice Crews as Street Racers.

we’ll start off with the characters that sent me into this spiral in the first place: Bart Allen and Wally West.

again, i know practically nothing about this kind of stuff. i know nothing about street racing, or cars, but i’m just saying… i really love imagining Street Racer!Wally being Bart’s inspiration for wanting to race.

even though Iris was never approving of Wally’s racing (she’s supportive, but extremely concerned for his safety), Wally would occasionally bring Bart along to the races that he’d have with friends. sometimes Bart would sneak his way into going without Wally realizing, but either way, Bart would come along.

after years of growing up and watching Wally race, Bart decided he wanted to race too. (note: to save myself a headache since this is No Powers AU and Time Travel doesn’t take place, we’re just gonna pretend that Barry and Iris adopted Bart. i want to say that his parents were close family members of Iris and Wally. perhaps one of the parents was another cousin of theirs, but both Bart’s parents ended up dying in some sort of accident. since then, Bart’s been living with Barry, Iris, and their newly born twins.)

i have so much more to say about this AU, but i want to warn you because this is about to be a VERY long post. however, if you wanna know Bart Allen’s Street Racer AU backstory and more about Wally (and his racing group, The Titans), please read more!

      (TW: small car accident — completely non-graphic, no injuries involved, everything is okay, but it does happen)     Bart’s been interested in racing for YEARS. ever since he was a kid, he’s always craved to know what it’s like — to feel the wind in your hair, the rush of adrenaline in your veins, the feeling of your heart racing as you watch the speedometer go up and up and up. the exhilaration filling your lungs as some part of you realizes “this is dangerous”.

he wants those feelings. he wants that experience that makes Wally’s eyes light up like there’s pure lightening rushing through his veins.

he wants to go Fast.

when Bart was thirteen, Wally let him sit in the driver’s seat for the first time.

Wally didn’t let him drive it, of course. Bart wasn’t tall enough yet to reach the petals even if he wanted to, but he was excited nonetheless. Wally had laughed at him as he grinned, asking how to work everything.

the car wasn’t on — Wally wasn’t dumb enough to give him even the slightest chance of trying to start it. it was a good choice. Bart would be a liar to say that he wouldn’t have instantly tried to drive it. instead, Wally let Bart mess with the gears and pretend he was in a race of his own. he’d adjust the mirror to try to see himself. he was too short to fully be seen in it, but if he sat up tall enough he could see his eyes.

years later, Bart would do the same. he’d look into his reflection and see his eyes, sparkling with that same determination that he had all those years ago.

Wally had explained everything to him. Bart started off by eagerly pointing at things (like the gear, the numbers, and all the weird symbols he could see) and ask questions, and Wally would answer every one. Wally explained other things too, like what made Wally’s special car better for racing than some random car. Bart hung on every word, trying his best to imagine all the pieces, even if he didn’t know what some were at all. he tried to commemorate every bit of information to memory bc maybe one day, he could make himself a cool car too.

the first time Bart actually drove a car was a disaster.

he was barely fourteen. it was hardly even a few months after Wally had verbally explained to him how to work a car.

no one expected him to put that knowledge to use so quickly.

somehow he got ahold of Iris’ keys. he would never explain how he got him (they were RIGHT THERE on the counter. how was he supposed to say no when they made it so easy?), but somehow it happened.

his joyride didn’t last long enough. for a short moment though, he was beyond excited to be beyond the wheel. after lots of adjusting the seat and awkwardly shuffling to sit as close to the wheel as possible to be able to see over the hood, Bart started to drive.

he managed to get down the street. he was a little slow at first. the car wobbled in an unsteady line as it trudged down the road at barely 10mph. Bart’s eyes flickered constantly between the road and the mirror, his small hands gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

the anxiousness he felt subsided as he reached the end of the neighborhood. there was no sign of Iris in sight, and he managed to drive just fine. stunned laughter bubbled from his lips as his eyes flickered back down to the road ahead— he was doing it! he was really doing it! he was driving!

with a newfound confidence urging him on, he turned onto a connected street to keep going. he started pressing on the gas pedal more, trying to gain some speed. the car started going from a slow crawl to a decently safe speed. Bart started pressing down on it harder and harder, going faster and faster. he remembered laughing in delight. the windows were cracked halfway, allowing the air to rush in. it tousled his hair, and for a moment he felt like he was flying.

until he wasn’t.

he hadn’t really considered the thought of other cars. he hadn’t considered a lot of things actually, such as the fact it was the middle of the day and people would be driving.

he didn’t crash into anyone, but it was a close call. when he started getting closer to the main road and noticed the cars zooming across, he panicked.

he hit the brakes. he did what Wally said. he didn’t slam them, but he was still going too fast. the cars were getting closer! Bart pressed his foot door harder and finally, stomped on the brakes altogether.

he yanked the wheel away from the road, shutting his eyes tight.

the wheels spun. he went off the road into the grass, tire skidding rough tracks across the grass and dirt. he didn’t hit a car, but he did hit the stop sign at the end of the street.

it was a miracle he didn’t get hurt, or worse. he ended up a bit banged up hitting the wheel and the seatbelt yanking too tight, but he was overall fine. unfortunately, Iris definitely wasn’t happy.

Bart didn’t drive for a long while after that.

occasionally, Wally would still take him on drives though.

some of Bart’s best memories are riding in the passenger seat late at night. along barren backroads and empty highways, Wally would race through the streets. with the windows rolled down, the two of them would laugh, voices carried through the wind that whipped their hair like reckless flames.

under the passing lights, Bart would grin wide and holler his excitement into the night sky without a care in the world.

the world would need to try pretty hard to catch them.

Bart would also get to attend a few of Wally’s races. it isn’t as often as he used to with Iris and Barry watching him more closely, but he still got to go some times.

he’d only really watch Wally race against friends.

they called themselves the Titans. Wally said the name wasn’t planned, it just happened to stick. Bart assumed it was more because as time went on, they really did become like the titans to beat if you wanted to prove yourself as a racer.

it was who made up the team that once surprised him.

Dick Grayson, Wally’s best friend of many years and infamous son of Gotham’s Bruce Wayne, was the unofficial leader of the group. The Dick Grayson, with his car as dark as the night. the darkness of the car was only disrupted by a few brilliant blue decals. the most memorable one was always the striking blue silhouette of a bird on the hood. (“Nightwing,” Dick affectionately called the car.)

Koriand’r, an incredibly kind woman with hair that was almost more fiery than Bart’s own. her car was a vibrant purple with flames racing along the sides as if it’d caught fire. (“they call me Starfire”, she told him once when caught him fawning over the car, awed as ever. “i like to imagine that if i drive just fast enough, i can see flames.”)

Victor Stone, who indulged all his questions and answered every single one with the same enthusiasm. he’d lost an arm to an accident, but replaced it with an amazing cybernetic one. his designed his own car to have similar robotic style. incredibly futuristic and constantly updated with the best parts he could find. (“someone called me Cyborg,” Victor told him once while working on the car. he let Bart sit in the garage with him, occasionally offering whatever help he could. “i think it was an insult at first, but the name sort of stuck, kind of like with the Titans. so i made it my own.”)

and at last, Garfield Logan, the youngest of the group. with his dark green hair and toothy smile, Garfield was always quick to make him feel welcome and make him laugh with an endless amount of dumb jokes. his charisma and bright personality showed in his car. like his hair, it was a deep green. when he turned it on, the underneath glowed a neon green. black pawprints walked along the sides towards the end of the car. (“they’re actually tiger pawprints,” Gar corrected him once, looking excited as ever to explain. “there’s a few other animals too. i wanted it to look like the animals were really here, or like maybe i’m the animal? i dunno. i told everyone to call me Beast Boy, so i guess this would be my beast.”) they had another friend, Raven, that never raced with them. dressed in black with dark hair that he swore shone purple in certain lights, Raven was much more quiet and reserved than the rest of the group. Bart enjoyed her rare company, despite it being more of a companionable silence. he’d take it none the less. sometimes if Bart was able to hang out with Wally and the group outside of racing nights, he’d occasionally he’d bring along homework, a book, or a comic to read if Wally was meant to be busy at some point. he’d end up hanging out in one of their apartments while they were busy, and sometimes Raven would be there. they’d quietly read in each other’s company, never having to say a word. he’d asked Wally once why she didn’t race too. Wally had only laughed. (”we’re lucky that she doesn’t,” Wally told him, “if Raven raced, we’d all be doomed, trust me. you should never underestimate her.” Bart figured that meant that Raven was an undeniable part of the group too. he hoped he’d see her race one day.)

all of them were amazing, but Bart was a little stunned by each of them had their own unique style. they all had their own story and reason for being inspired to race. the one thing they all shared though was that same spark in their eyes Wally had.

needless to say, Bart would try to spend as much time with them as possible to try and learn from them.

his dream was to race, but his other dream was now to become just like them. he wanted to be a Titan.

he was too young at that time, but he would aim to prove that he could be good enough to join them one day. he would be a Titan.

or at least, he’d be close enough to being a Titan, he’d decide upon meeting a few other faces around his age, but that’s a story for another day.             ...and that’s all we have for now, folks!

if you’re wondering why i chose only those Teen Titans, i didn’t want to make the group too big. i originally considered the OG Young Justice group, but found that i really wanted to save Superboy (Conner Kent, my beloved) to be apart of Bart’s friend group later. (not to mention, i REALLY wanted to talk about Street Racer! Kori existing in this AU. Beast Boy’s another favorite that i just HAD to include, thus we have the animated Teen Titans team, just with Wally and Dick having the same kind of friendship as kids like in YJ.)

let me know if you want any more from his idea! i’d love to know what you guys think of all this so far. if you ever want me to talk about anyone in particular, please feel free to ask! i’d totally be up to come up with more ideas! i’d also love to know if anyone has any thoughts about other characters might be like from this AU!

i really just came up with all this on the fly, but i’m honestly becoming attached to this AU already, so i’d be more than excited to talk more about it!

thanks for reading!!

#dc comics #dc street racing au #bart allen #wally west #dc impulse #kid flash #teen titans #i don't really know what all to tag this... #starfire #nightwing #beast boy #dc raven #dc cyborg #i guess??? they're mentioned #but also hella important to Bart's growth in this AU #i love them so much #they're all best friends your honor #jake's rambles

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics), Nightwing - Fandom Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Donna Troy & Dick Grayson Characters: Donna Troy, Dick Grayson, Roy Harper (mentioned), Garth (mentioned), Joey Wilson (mentioned) Additional Tags: non-graphic injury, Stitches, Donna and Dick are plutonic soulmates, Dick is emotionally repressed, mention of vomiting, Bruce is a good dad, POV Donna Troy, childhood best friends to adult best friends, Whipped Cream, a little fluff at the end, Teen Titans as Family, technically they're adults though, no beta we die like DONNA SORRY HONEY, Dick Grayson is Bad at Feelings, Donna Troy is slightly better at feelings Summary:

The one where Dick gives Donna stitches as she reflects on how he's changed throughout the years.

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“Donna, sweetheart, I love you, now hold still.” Dick carefully positioned her forearm on an examination table. A deep gash left blood steadily trickling down, squeezing out through his iron grasp. He wiped down the area with disinfectant, smiling at her fondly and projecting the perfect image of calm.

 Donna marveled for a moment. He was a well-oiled machine, moving with explicit confidence and practiced precision. She could easily believe him to be a paramedic, or even a doctor, if she didn’t know he’d dropped out of college. She remained stony face as he injected the local anesthetic, acutely aware of his eyes flicking from the gash to her face. Despite the painful stinging radiating through her arm, she was proud to say she didn’t flinch.

She was tired of hurting her best friend. She was the one who wasn’t careful enough, hadn’t dodged in time. But none of that ever mattered to Dick, perhaps it wasn’t fair, but if she flinched, he’d feel even worse.

 She still remembered the look on his face the first time he gave Roy stitches.

 There’d been tears welling in his eyes, his brow furrowed in determination and his skin lacking any color; he’d bit his lip so hard it bled. The instant he was finished, he raced out of the room, faster than she’d ever seen. Garth had followed, only to have the bathroom door slammed in his face; Dick had sobbed and vomited until he was left dry heaving.

 And here he stood, expressionless before her. “Can you feel it?” He gently pressed a finger near the wound. <em>Can you?</em> She wondered, trying to read past the blank haze in his eyes. “Donna?” He asked more firmly, voice even and unrevealing.

 “Nope.” She popped the p and kept the tone light, watching as suspicion flashed behind his eyes. He knew she wouldn’t complain, even if she could feel her arm. “Dick, I really can’t feel it, I promise.”

 Dick’s eyes always reminded her of a hawk. He inspected her face, and finding it clear from deceit, he turned his eyes to the wound, flicking on a bright lamp, and began wordlessly cleaning it.

 That first time, Dick hadn’t come out of the bathroom for hours and when he finally opened the door, he announced he was quitting the team. He was back the next day with a medical textbook, refusing to do anything until he finished memorizing it. They had to call Bruce in the middle of their sleepover because he wouldn’t sleep.

 He’d been grounded from Robin; they hadn’t seen him for a week. She’d been angry at the time, but now she realized Bruce was probably just trying to give him a break. The day he came back the book was memorized, and he had a little fake pad to practice stitching on. Bruce bought him his own surgical tools and gave him extra lessons. He had a small, jagged scar where he’d let Dick give him his first set of sutures.

 Dick was thirteen when he’d frantically given Roy stitches (later she realized he only knew how from watching Alfred), fourteen the first time he’d practice on Bruce, and sixteen by the time he began doing it apathetically. He did a lot of things seemingly apathetic these days, but if she was careful, she could spot the crinkle at the corner of his eyes, or the downward twitch of his lip.

 Slowly, Dick’s tweezers found and picked out the last metal shard. He was twenty-two now, and as he was readying their x-ray machine, the equipment was purchased by Victor’s father and not his own. The Titan’s Tower had been destroyed several times over, but by some miracle of engineering, the medical bay’s equipment always survived. He wrapped the wound, and draped lead over her, hesitating briefly before speaking.

 “I’ll be back in a second, it won’t take long.” He promised. She nodded; not like she was going anywhere. They’d done this before; Dick always doubled checked. But she couldn’t recall a single time he’d found something more.

 One time, he’d skipped the double check, and she’d heard Roy yelling at 3am, having been woken up when Dick’s worry got too intense to wait. But Roy had given in, the x-ray done a few minutes later. Sometimes, it was just easier to give into Dick’s paranoid behavior. One of these days, she liked to joke, they’d just put lead in their sheets or MRI equipment in the walls.

 Dick strode back in, evidently pleased with the results, and they began their silent tradition. Well almost silent; he turned on some ambient music, the same kind he listened to when studying. She let her mind wander, and his fingers never wavered as he removed the bandage and began the first stitch.

 She closed her eyes, thinking about times when things were simpler. When they went on picnics in the park and played frisbee together, how Dick would braid her hair and paint her nails before dates with Roy, had laughed loud, cried hard, and loved freely. He was the same as before but could flip on a dime and shut away who he used to be. She found herself missing the little boy who cried after giving stitches.  

 “Done.” She opened her eyes to an apologetic smile. He began wrapping the wound once again. “Lay off it for a while.” It was an order and a request, sometime long ago the distinction had faded away. She rolled her eyes to finish the routine.

 Her arm stung, but the weight in her chest was heavier and more distracting than the steady throb of pain. She wasn’t thirteen anymore, and neither was Dick, but she could pretend for the rest of the night that they were young and invincible (despite having physical evidence contradicting her).  

 So, she grabbed his hand tight and before he realized what was happening, began dragging him across the room.

 “Donna, I have work tomorrow.” He protested. Well, that would be easy enough to deal with.

 “Call in sick.” She suggested, not slackening her grip, lest Dick escape and fly off somewhere far away.

 “I’m out of sick days.” He stumbled along, doing his best to protest without causing harm. “And I have to patrol tonight.” Donna laughed, but not unkindly.

 “Let the city watch itself. Take a day without pay. Honey, you’re rich.” She suggested.

 “Doooonnnnnaaaaaaaaaa.” He groaned, as they made it into the hall. “I have a life, I can’t just…”

 “Drop everything to spend time with me?” She asked sweetly. “Sweetie, you have before. What makes tonight any different.” Dick opened his mouth and closed it. She steered them into the kitchen, finally releasing him. “We’re going to make hot fudge sundaes, and watch Scooby Doo, and fall asleep on the couch talking about boys.” Dick wrinkled his nose.

 “You hate Scooby Doo, and only <em>you</em> talk about boys.” She gave him an unimpressed look. She saw the way he used to look at Joey. “Donna, I know what you’re trying to do, and it’s great but I-”

 “Need to take time to take care of yourself?” She asked incredulously. “Wow, me too.” She held up her arm. “What a coincidence, less talking, more cartoons.” Dick stared at her. She counted the seconds as she stared back.

 He sighed, breaking first. She’d won this battle, though she had no idea where she stood in the war.

 “I’m going to lose my job.” He muttered. A bonus in her eyes, it would do him good to sleep more than three hours a night. She rummaged around for ingredients in the fridge.

 “Cry me a river.” An empty demand, he never would, not anymore.

 “Why are you so mean to me?” He pouted. She grabbed a can of whip cream and pointed it at him threateningly.

 “Because you have terrible bedside manners.” He stuck out his tongue and stole the can, dangling it over her face as she laughed and opened her mouth. He accidentally squirted some up her nose, but she didn’t mind.

 And as he pulled out the bowls, they fell into familiar conversation; the space gained through the years seeming to slip away as she was reacquainted with the man who gives her stitches.

#my writing #Dick Grayson #Donna Troy #Titans #DC give us more fab five content please #tw: injury #tw: blood #tw: vomiting #it isn't graphic i promise #Nightwing #Wonder Girl #Troia

[deafwestnewsies]

be my first last kiss

You can plan on a change in the weather or time, but you'd never planned on him changing his mind.

jack kelly x davey jacobs

read it on my ao3!

Earnest to goodness, Jack Kelly was going to murder Racetrack Higgins.

No, Anthony Higgins, this was the sort of thing that makes you pull out the tarnished christian name of a friend (or so you thought) you’ve known since he was toppling over on baby-fattened legs. Anthony Higgins would die by the sword of Jack Kelly.

He just had to get this godforsaken Youtube video filmed first.

You’re doing this for the cash, Jack grumbled to himself as he passed through the metal doors of a nondescript building on the Lower East Side- it was the kind of place being slowly taken over by hip and fun corporations promising Asian-fusion bars and eco-friendly thrift stores while edging out the relic businesses built on the backs of immigrant dreams. Jack couldn’t stand areas like this, the air thick with wasted luxury, so he rarely left the barrio. Why would he? Spot Conlon slept in the bedroom next to his. Katherine Plumber and Sarah Jacobs ran the bookstore that bought his baked goods and sold them for decent money. Medda lived down the street with her plethora of children, and Racetrack still beat the known path, doing tricks on the street corner for spare change and internet views. Davey- David. David Jacobs wasn’t there. It was right where Jack wanted to be.

Much unlike the dim studio where he now shuffled his feet, waiting for the perky young PA with bright red streaks in her hair to come back with further information about the video he would be shooting. Jack wasn’t a stranger to this small production company; He participated in a few Youtube videos back before they had millions of subscribers, he played truth or dare with lots of liquor and a complete stranger, he confessed about the first time he fell in love so it could be put to pathetic music.

Cash where you could get it, right?

“Kelly, right?” Cherry Streaks was back with a vengeance.

“Jack, actually,” he corrected.

“So you’re going to stand over there where the little blue X marks the spot and wait until the producer, Adam, starts asking you a few questions. The first one might be a test for our boom guy. Answer honestly, we can pretty much tell when you’re making up a story by this point. After that, the main part of the video will begin. Got it?” She was pointing wildly with a Number 2 pencil that had previously been stuck through her ponytail, and she smelled faintly of jasmine. Jack felt dizzy.

“Wait, I thought this was one of those ‘Choose who’s the best kisser out of ten strangers’ type of deal?” I mean, that’s what Race told me- oh God. Oh Santa Maria. Oh Saint Francis.

The young woman smiled like she was keeping an excellent secret. “Have fun, Jack Kelly.”

Walking off at her ominous dismissal, Jack stood where he was directed. The fluorescent lighting made him sweat under the knowledge that he had virtually no idea what he was doing there, Race had lied to him so that he would participate in some sort of sick, horrible scheme, and for all he knew, behind door number three could be his third grade teacher with a baseball bat and a basic multiplication grudge.

“Jack! It’s nice to see you again.”

Romeo was walking towards him with that easy gait Jack had memorized so long ago- Romeo had shot the original videos on an Amazon tripod and the unfounded hope of human connection, and now he owned the entire shebang. Jack dropped his tense shoulders to give him a warm smile. “Romeo. Boy, am I glad to see a friendly face.” Jack lowered his voice to a stage whisper. “You’ve got a production assistant who actually does work, so I’m assuming we’ve died and you earned a really nice deal in Heaven?”

Romeo barked out a laugh. “If I’ve died, do not resuscitate. I’ll never be able to look at another bodega meatball sub after cooking food bought in a real grocery store.”

“Rub it in, why don’tcha?” Jack punched the shorter man on the shoulder. “Listen, Romeo, you gotta tell me what I’m in for, a buddy totally sold me out for the cash and I have no clue what this project is gonna be like.”

Before Romeo could respond, a tall, lofty man behind the camera cleared his throat. “Darling? We’re ready to begin when you are.”

“Jack, meet Specs. Or Adam, but we all know how well nicknames stick. Specs, this is the old friend I was telling you about.” Romeo ended right above Specs’ elbow, and it was all Jack could do not to laugh.

The man fixed his thoughtful gaze on him. “It’s nice to meet you, Jack. You’ve got a real presence on the camera. Have you ever considered acting?”

“I’m afraid I’m, uh,” Jack flexed a paint-stained hand. “Strictly canvas, as they say.”

Nodding as if that was a phrase people commonly used and not something Jack invented on the fly, Specs then clapped his hands together. “Folks, let’s film this sonofabitch.”

---

“I’m Jack, and I’m a twenty-four year old artist living in New York City.”

“Have you ever been in a relationship?” Specs questioned from behind the camera.

Jack blinked in surprise. “Sure. One throughout high school, another in college and a little bit beyond. I wouldn’t call myself a heartbreaker or anything.”

“Do you stay friends with your exes?”

“One of ‘em, yea. It was more of an amicable thing, you know. She ended up being a lesbian. And I am… not.” His clumsy fingers tugged at a constricting collar.

“And the other?”

“Just because I’m not a heartbreaker doesn’t mean I can’t be a real asshole sometimes,” Jack nervously chuckled. (Davey had laid out rose petals, for God’s sake. Rose petals.)

“Was this girl the high school girlfriend, or the college one?”

“Boy,” Jack quickly corrected. “Man. I guess. He was in college- four and a half years.” (It took him four days to clear away the rotting flowers, the bleeding color slowly seeping into his carpet. Katherine found him delirious with whiskey on the bathroom floor; Sarah couldn’t bear to walk through his front door.)

“How’d you meet him?”

(He twisted in his high-backed blue chair. “It’s habláis in el presente.”) “Freshman year of high school actually. Spanish class. Funny story, actually, that other girl I dated? His sister. Broke her heart for his. He was so mad at me that we didn’t talk for like, months after.”

“It was six and a half months, actually.”

Of things Jack was expecting to see today, Spiderman was more likely than David. A flash mob singing death metal, maybe. Pigs flying through the polluted air.

“I was told to come in. I now see why.” David’s eyes narrowed behind his thin wire frames, different from the heavy Ray-Bans that he had dedicated himself to sophomore year of high school. Jack hated that he looked older, wiser, and all around… better.

Specs cleared his throat before the bewildered set of men (one more angry than the other, both desperately avoiding eye contact) could demand what sort of sick joke this was. “Can you introduce yourself?”

They broke up on a Tuesday, an insignificant, momentary Tuesday. Fourteen months ago. (Yes, fourteen months, like their terrible split was a baby that Jack was nurturing bit by bit. He refused to round down- fourteen months ago, he left David Jacobs.) So when David ran his thumb across his jawline, a nervous tick older than his younger brother, Jack couldn’t fathom why he felt so relieved. Some things never did change. “David. Jacobs.” David’s jaw flexed as he looked into the camera. “I dated Jack for almost five years.”

“Tell us about your other relationships.”

“Unfortunately, I spent the better part of high school and college pining after a total cocksock. Not a whole lot of time for casual dating in between.”

A deep silence permeated the studio as two boom mic operators swapped awkward glances. Jack didn’t attempt to defend himself- he was sort of a cocksock. David Jacobs had asked him to uproot what little life he had in New York and move to Santa Fe for a prestigious, so-accolated-you-could-cry medical school, and Jack Kelly broke up with him over containers of kung pao chicken and scattered rose petals. He was a cocksock, a dickhead, and complete asshole. An ex-boyfriend of mass proportions.

“Okay, so.” Specs was wiping at his glasses with the tail of his shirt. Jack wanted to snap them in half. “Today’s video is entitled ‘Exes kiss for the first time since their breakup’. If you need more explanation…”

“I think we’ve got it.” David snapped, clenching his fists rapidly.

Jack stepped half an inch closer to David and began murmuring under his breath. “Davey, if you don’t want-”

“Don’t call me Davey.” His eyes were alight with flame- Jack’s chest caught fire.

Of all the things that felt domestic when dating Davey Jacobs, kissing him never managed to become routine. Davey kissed like he earnestly meant it. The gears in his brilliant mind would grind to a halt so he could dedicate himself to the lilting curve of Jack’s mouth, a gentle sweep of warmth when the artist’s mouth was otherwise preoccupied with his needless words, and the world would spin on a delicate axis. (Jack’s shoulders rose to meet Davey, the physical ache of being someone’s other half drawing him forward. Davey had avoided him for so long, Jack living on a diet of lingering stares and a brief touch of the hand, that kissing him felt like a dying man knelt at a replenished well. How did they exist for so long without this innate knowledge of the universe? Could he stand to go on a single second longer without the praise of Davey Jacob’s lips?) Of all the things Jack missed about spending his life with Davey Jacobs, kissing him was certainly one of them.

There was a moment where the pads of Jack’s fingertips brushed the nape of David’s neck, a habit borne from the small noise it would draw from the back of his throat, and the steely corporate floor felt more like the worn carpet in the old thirty-second street apartment. Jack could feel his thready pulse with the gentle press of a thumb.

Davey was a fan of the dramatics- he would pull away from a passionate kiss in the middle of a busy New York street to stare into Jack’s eyes, foreheads gently touching and cheeks furiously blushing. Now, he simply drew back. Took a step away. Swiped at his lips with the back of his hand.

Jack felt like he was falling. (“If you ever break up with me,” Jack began. He laughed at Davey’s unexpected shudder, the honest and visceral kind. “Make it quick.”

“What about when you break up with me?” Davey peered over his glasses.

Crinkling his nose, Jack quickly answered before the other boy could detail any breakup preferences. “I’m not an idiot, Dave. ‘M not going anywhere.”)

---

He stared at the limp fifty dollars in his hand. Romeo had apologized, explaining that the people who had organized this got half the cut, and handed them both an envelope- Jack, one with “Tony Higgins” that he planned to run through his shredder, and David, one with “Sarah Jacobs,” which made Jack gawk in disbelief.

Jack didn’t want to walk away; David’s feet were shuffling against the worn pavement.

“It’s funny,” David started. “I listened to a lot of Taylor Swift to get over you.”

He winced. “Sorry?”

“Please. I know she’s been your top artist since 2013.”

(Katherine walked through a worryingly unlocked apartment door. “Is that... Begin Again? Jack, what the fuck are you doing?” She had seconds to worry about the cluster of wilted flower petals her heel had put a hole through before Sarah pointed at the pair of legs sticking out of the bathroom’s entrance.) “Yeah, okay. Fair. But… funny? Did I miss a joke?”

David closed his eyes to roll them, as he so often did when he was trying to be polite, and it hurt to be on the receiving end. “We just had our last kiss. You know, like-”

“I’m Joe Jonas?” Jack interrupted, bewildered. The semi-glare he received in return was all he needed to know- “Right. Dickhead. Listen, Dave- David, why didn’t you tell me you were back in town?”

There was a brief moment where something unrecognizable flashed over David’s face- pity? Regret? Dejection? It was quickly replaced by a soft smile tugging at the edge of his lips, his eyes glazed over with a practiced professionalism. “I’ll see you around, Jack. Have a good day.”

David turned and walked down the street, and Jack just missed the passing moment he chose to look back.

---

Comment on EXES KISS FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE THEIR BREAKUP by IncredibleKinsey: those two dudes are all mad and then just make out like that????? yeah okay call me when the wedding happens

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