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kumeko · 5 months

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A/N: For the @gotonyzine zine! Crowley definitely fell first and realized first. Unfortunately his angel is a bit of a dense block.

…

The weather was warm, the clouds non-existent, and Crowley imagined this was a rare nice British summer day. He wasn’t sure when or why he’d decided to stick to the UK after centuries of traveling across the world. While it wasn’t the warmest place he’d been, it also wasn’t the coldest. It was an insufferable middling, the kind of nothing that came from staying on the fence for too long.

In a sense, it was the perfect place for a demon from hell and an angel from heaven to meet. A neutral place, a mid ground.

That didn’t make the country any better, but it made him feel smart and that was worth much more.

Speaking of his angel, Crowley leaned back on the metal bench in the park, amused as he watched Aziraphale hurry across the park to him. “You’re late,” he mildly reprimanded, more to tease his companion than anything else.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry about that.” Aziraphale dabbed his handkerchief to his face and neck as he stopped in front of the bench. He breathed heavily, exerted from however far he had to run to get here. It was mildly flattering. “I wanted to try that ‘skateboarding’ thing that everyone talks about.”

Crowley barked a laugh. “You can’t be serious.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I am.”

“You? Skateboarding?” He rubbed his moustache, unable to imagine it. “Please. You know how much work I had to put in to make it a thing? And priss you wants to try it?”

“What?” Aziraphale paled. He paced back and forth as Crowley watched. “I should have known you were behind this too.”

“What can I say? I had to make up for our recent losses.” Crowley shrugged. For all the nice things that had happened in the past decade, the 70s looked to undo so many of his tiny accomplishments. “We lost the Beatles. Elvis died. A war ended. Nixon stepped down. Don’t get me wrong, they all did their part and it was great, but…the 70s hasn’t been good for my side.”

Aziraphale spared him a glance while he paced. “The Beatles?”

The angel’s tone was flat, a muted surprise at best. Crowley smiled. “You know how it is. Musicians. Us. I’m a damn fine muse, if I say so myself.”

“Yes, I’ve seen you in a dress.” Aziraphale exhaled tiredly, running a hand through his hair. “Of course, all artists are yours. I should remember that better.”

Crowley studied the angel. How should he take that? Aziraphale liked the dress? He liked him in the dress? He was just being kind? It was hard to tell with him sometimes—Crowley had long known that angels were stuffy, rigid things, but Aziraphale took that to a different level.

“You know, for all of those ‘losses’, it doesn’t feel like my side’s winning,” Aziraphale pointed out. He finally came to a stop in front of him.

“Well, I didn’t say you were winning, just that my side is starting to lose.” Crowley shrugged. “Give it time. Besides, I can’t be amazing all the time. They’ll get expectations or something like that. I’m trying to have an easy life.”

“But you should want—” Aziraphale cut himself off. Crowley could just guess where the convo had been about to go: you should want to do your job properly.

Only, what sort of angel tried to encourage a demon to do bad?

Answer: the conflicted one biting his tongue in front of him. Crowley snickered.

“Anyways. Let’s get down to it.” Aziraphale plopped down beside him, his back straight, knees perfectly angled, body looking like it was about to escape. Maybe it was. “Our weekly report.”

“Date,” Crowley corrected, stretching his arms above him leisurely.

Aziraphale flushed a fetching shade of red. “Check-up.”

“To-may-to, to-mah-to.” Crowely shrugged, used to their mild quibble. They’d had it for years. It was a concession that Aziraphale had upgraded their meetings to ‘check-up’ as opposed to whatever professionally stuffy thing he had labelled them before.

“Why is that a saying? Does this ever happen?” Aziraphale threw his hands in the air. “No one’s going around correcting tomato pronunciations.”

“Someone must have.” He rolled his eyes. As usual, Aziraphale had a flair for the dramatics. Not that Crowley was one to talk. “We were there for the inquisition. It was probably something blah blah enlightenment blah blah.”

“Those were dark times, now it should be better.” Aziraphale sighed. He pressed his hands into his thighs and exhaled softly. “Alright. Back to it. Are there any big movements on your side?”

“Not really.” Crowley shrugged lazily. He lolled his head back, staring up at the bright blue sky. Hell, it was nice today. Maybe he could give his plants some sunshine, if they behaved. “Like I said, it’s kinda a bad decade for us.”

Azirphale snorted. “Bad decade? You?” He turned to him disbelievingly. “Have you seen the state of the world?”

Crowley pursed his lips. Somewhere in the distance, a group of labourers marched in protest. “Well, admittedly, I hear how that sounds.”

“You hear?” Aziraphale gestured around them. A woman walking three dogs passed by, her smallest dog giving them the stink eye. There were sirens as cops came to handle the protest. Nearby, a small boy kicked another boy before running away.

Crowley curled his lip. “Don’t be dramatic.”

“I’m not being dramatic, I’m being practical. We have bars. With drugs. And so much lust. And pollution. And guns.” Aziraphale trembled, no doubt thinking of just how many sins were walking the earth now. “I’m surprised the horsemen haven’t just touched everything.”

“Well, they would have tried, but I don’t think the big guy down there’s ready yet. And they’re still figuring things out ever since Pestilence left.” Crowley shuddered. No matter how many times he dealt with the horsemen, they were all off-putting in different ways. Certainly not the kind of demons he wanted to hang around and have tea with. Or talk about nothing like he did with Aziraphale. “I still can’t believe that happened.”

Aziraphale hunched over. “Isn’t that a bad thing? Pollution is much stronger than Pestilence is.”

“These days, sure. It’s a lot easier to contaminate than disease…” Crowley trailed off as he noticed Aziraphale’s pose. That wasn’t good. For an angel, he got worried far too often and about inconsequential things. It was endearing at times. At others, Crowley wanted to give him some opium or weed.

“Oh, come on. It’s not nearly that bad.” Crowley reached over and patted his back. “I mean, a war ended. Nixon left. The only nice thing is that the hippies are finally done with their little spiel. I think the 70s is more your decade than ours.”

“I wouldn’t say that…” Aziraphale rested his chin in his hands, pouting. “If we’re doing well, it’s because nothing else is happening. We haven’t done anything big in a while. They’re going to start asking for results soon.”

“Then you’ll just have to do something big,” Crowley suggested lightly, pressing his thumb against Aziraphale’s jacket. The small indentation made him smile.

Aziraphale answered flatly, “If it were that easy, we wouldn’t be here.”

“True.” There was nothing else he could say to that.

They both sat there, watching as pedestrians passed, as children ran across the park fetching with their dogs. Crowley absent-mindedly brushed his moustache. Aziraphale scuffed his shoe. The wind picked up, stirring the flowers and grass.

Aziraphale finally broke the silence. “You don’t think those weird box things are going to catch on, do you?”

“Those what?” Crowley raised a brow, perplexed.

“Those metal things. The ones they press buttons and it has a screen and it changes colours.” Aziraphale stared at a tree blankly as he struggled to remember. “It’s, uh…technology…”

That sounded vaguely familiar. Crowley pursed his lips, running through his memories, before guessing, “A computer?”

“Yeah! That!” Aziraphale exhaled, pleased. “They’re kind of weird looking, aren’t they? Do you think they’d catch on?”

“I don’t know, they’re really big and clunky, right?” In all the centuries that passed, the one thing that hadn’t changed about humans was their penchant for strange ideas. For better and for worse. “I don’t know why anyone would use that. It’s not like they do much.”

“Me neither.” His angel beamed, ecstatic. “I’m sure it’ll go away soon enough.”

The shiver running up Crowley’s spine told him it wouldn’t. Maybe he should look later into taking advantage of the thing. It’d definitely make for an easy accomplishment. For now, though, he merely raised a brow and asked, “You seem eager. Why? The big guys upstairs mandate computers are our work now?”

“No, no.” Aziraphale shook his head quickly. Rubbing his neck nervously, he explained, “It just feels…I don’t know. Big? It feels like it might change everything. And, well, you know how it is. A lot’s changing already.”

“Angel, we’ve been down here for how long?” Crowley raised a brow, pointing at the buildings behind them. At the plane flying above them. “I don’t think these were here before the flood.”

“Well. No, they weren’t,” Aziraphale mumbled, eyes on the ground.

It wasn’t a look Crowley liked. He cocked his head and frowned. “Then, what’s wrong, angel?”

“Most of those changes were really slow.” Aziraphale wrung his hands helplessly. He answered slowly, trying to find the words. “Like, it took them so long to figure out how to make their own fire. Or a house. Or even clothes.”

Crowley wrinkled his nose, remembering those early years. “Remember how long it took them to figure out alcohol? Major success on our part, but we were far too slow about it.”

“That…” Aziraphale shot him a frown. “Anyways, the point is, it took them decades to figure out all of that and now mere years is all it takes before they’re flying planes and driving cars.”

“Well.” Crowley had to concede the point. “That is a bit fast, I suppose.”

“They’re going to space.”

“Fine.” He rolled his eyes at his companion’s theatrics. “A lot fast.”

“Do you think it’s the end of days?” Aziraphale worried his lip nervously. His hair looked like a sheep’s wool in the light. “You haven’t heard anything from downstairs, have you?”

“I told you, the head honcho hasn’t made his move yet.” Seeing Aziraphale only bit his lips harder, Crowley sighed and added, “Trust me, I’m a big deal these days. They’d tell me.”

Probably.

Actually, he wasn’t entirely certain of his status other than they bought his fake reports hook, line, and sinker, so either lower management thought he was doing a great job or they were just waiting to crush him.

Aziraphale still looked gloomy. It wasn’t a look that suited him at all. Crowley crossed his arms behind his head and continued, “Besides, it’s not like all the changes are bad, right? I mean, life has gotten way more interesting now that they’ve started making movies and shows.”

A smile flickered across his angel’s face. “They’re making it harder to sell books.”

“Turn your bookstore into a video store.” Crowley reached up and twirled his mustache. “I got a ‘stache, and that’s definitely a great change.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew wider. “It is a change.”

“Hey.” Crowley glared at him briefly.

“I’m sorry.” Aziraphale leaned closer, almost too close, as he examined the mustache. His breath ghosted Crowley’s skin and he held his own. “I suppose it is good.”

Only when Aziraphale leaned back did he finally let himself a small breath. Lightly, Crowley rebuked, “It’s great and you have no taste.”

“Fine, fine, it’s great,” Aziraphale repeated, chuckling. He reached down and squeezed Crowley’s hands gently. His skin was as cool as a cucumber’s, something Crowley hadn’t quite figured out if it was an angel-thing or an Aziraphale-thing. “Thanks.”

Crowley allowed himself a moment, allowed himself a chance to savour it. Then he got up, letting the angel’s fingers skim his skin. “It’s nothing. Because nothing happened. So, I’ll see you next week, usual time?"

“Yeah.” Aziraphale pursed his lips, his hand still gripping the air. He stared at it, as though it was asking a question, before quietly requesting, “Wait.”

Such a quiet word shouldn’t hold any power, but Crowley froze all the same. This was new. This was different. Aziraphale rarely stayed on the bench after they’d finished exchanging, even rarer had an entire chat with him. Extending the session on his own accord? Next to impossible.

Yet, that was what happened. Perplexed, Crowley stared down at him.

“I…” Aziraphale tugged his collar as he stood. “Look, let’s…let’s watch one of those movies together.”

Something in him jumped at the idea but Crowley kept his feelings in check. “What’s this, angel?”

“For research,” Aziraphale mumbled before shaking his head. “No, that’s not—it’s a thanks. For helping me feel better.” He smiled awkwardly. “We could watch that space movie or something.”

“Star Wars?” Crowley guessed automatically, still processing everything he’d heard.

“Yeah, that one.” Aziraphale smiled, nodding eagerly. “Is that fine?”

Crowley would have watched static if Aziraphale had asked. He grinned. “Lead the way, Angel.”

There were definitely some changes that were better than others. Their ever-adapting relationship was one of them.

He looked forward to seeing just how far it would go.

#good omens #aziraphale #ineffable husbands #crowley #aziraphale x crowley #fanfic #set all in the 70s #so it was fun reviewing exactly which decade certain events happened #and making sure I had my history right #and the references wouldn't have a 'but that happened in the 80s' moment

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skylarbee · 7 months

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Over the years I have seen many fandoms and fans of all kinds, but yes, in fact lately the AM fandom is really becoming something unmanageable for anyone even for those who perhaps follow the band for the music without wanting to know anything about the gossip. I think this is also partly the fault of Tiktok which has led many young people to want to follow the band and therefore to become attached to certain characters without knowing what they have done in the past, they want to throw shit at people they didn't know until two years ago like Miles for example and blaming him for everything is saying disgusting things towards him that really, just reading it brings tears to my eyes. I don't know what will happen as soon as the tour ends, I hope things calm down even if it's hard for me given Amanda and Matt's attitude in the last few days

yes to all of this! the only times that i've searched for gossip were when i already heard a lot of rumours against my will and i wanted to see if they were true (other people should do this too instead of immediately believing/disbelieving something they've read on the internet...). other than that, the moment i open any social media, it's all there without me having to press a single button, and i'm sure that lots of other people have it the same way.

i do think too that tiktok might have something to do with it. i wasn't this deep in the fandom until only like three years ago, so i don't know what the situation was with younger fans before that. i also said a lot of stupid shit on the internet when i was really young, so i can't expect much from the young fans, especially the ones who have no idea about how problematic LV is and love her to bits. the extremely sad thing is that i've seen SO many people who do know a thing or two, and they still think that she's done nothing wrong (like ppl saying that she's a 'queen' for being the one alex cheated with, that she should be proud of it and brag about it, or the ones that congratulate her and say that they would've done even worse things just to get in alex's pants - just some vomit-inducing stuff)

the thing with miles makes me the saddest, i feel you anon. there are loads of people out there who spread false information and call him things that he's not - but what's even worse than this is there are people who have no idea about these things, and still hate on him and make fun of him for absolutely no reason. like he said, we have to accept the fact that this is the way it always will be; i can't even get mad anymore when interviewers constantly bring up alex/tlsp when talking to him. i don't think it will ever change. let's all learn from LV and do the opposite of what she does - when we see people talking shit, we should just click that block/mute button and go about our day without paying attention to it and posting on our stories about it (if i were to sit down and argue with every person on twitter who says something bad about him, i'd do that 24/7). miles' fans are the sweetest people out there (like artist like fan) and we should focus on not ruining the pure and good vibes that miles transmits to us via his IG (reason why i don't tag these posts with his name). if he can take some minutes out of his life (almost) every day to post cute things for us, we should also send him back positive things - out of tens of fake people in am's circle, he continues to be the only genuine, honest, and pure-hearted person - let's not take it for granted.

i imagine that after the tour ends all we'll have will be L&A's stories, specifically LV's stories where she'll position her phone so that we'll be able to see alex's elbow and lose our minds over it; and similar shenanigans. i am not looking forward to it. this community will be rotten for as long as those two will be present in the boys' lives (i wish it wouldn't be true, but everything has been going downhill since 2018/2019)

#sorry it's so long i will defend miles until my last breath #alex turner #arctic monkeys #matt helders #louise verneuil #amanda blank #anon

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jmdbjk · 2 years

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Twitter

Yes, I paid this hellsite (Tumblr) $8 as a joke to acquire two meaningless blue check marks that are apparently only visible on the Tumblr website, but not the app... anyway... I laughed and appreciated Tumblr’s humorous poke at Twitter’s troubles, so here is $8, thank you, Tumblr.

All jokes aside... if you didn’t know Twitter was a hell hole since a long time ago NOWWWW we are seeing in real-time the depths of struggle over there.

My bird app timeline is in shambles. Trending is broken. Paid blue check marks have been taken away? Restored? Discarded again? Whew the whiplash.

News of Twitter staff/executives getting laid off/fired/resigning in the thousands... what a rough time.

BTS Twitter users are panicking trying to decide where to go if Twitter disappears. They are afraid of losing all their ARMY friends. The anxiety is real. I don’t blame them.

What are their choices? Instagram: primarily for images, not so much for words but I think the algorithm is wrong... Facebook: (puh-leez) is the closest thing but for real? nah... Reddit: very wordy, but hard to follow format that is nothing like Twitter... Youtube: duh, made for video not words... Tumblr: definitely made for words but not really made for back and forth banter even though we make it work...

The Twitter environment, though very dynamic, is inherently very fleeting. It is excellent for “in the moment” moments.

I use Twitter to stay informed. But without the aid of a curated timeline and trending topics, it’s not a very good fandom experience at all. It takes some strong curating/blocking accounts/muting words and topics to wade through the shit. And it takes diligence because if you are like me and you are clicky, you click on shit and then the bullshit starts creeping back onto your timeline.

Compromises were made but I have cleared out 613 tons of toxicity and Twitter has been very useful and mostly enjoyable for the last six months. Until now. There is a lot of upheaval. The security of our privacy info is in question.

And even more seriously is the ripple effect. Wall Street Journal reports that the paid for Twitter verified blue check mark has indeed been halted due to accounts impersonating corporations and celebrities. Word is going around that pharmaceutical companies have lost billions in stock market value because imposter accounts are making false statements.

Major takeaways from this is that nothing is permanent. Even $44 billion investments. And Twitter, social media in general, yields a lot of influence in the world whether we like it or not.

I would never pay Twitter for a blue check mark. I talk too much to use Twitter effectively. So I am staying here. With my check marks that mean nothing except that I appreciate when someone seizes the opportunity to take a jab at someone else who is too big for their britches (and who apparently does not have the ability to think through their actions).

Welcome to those of you defecting from Twitter to Tumblr. We might not be light on our feet over here but at least we can write as many words as we want at one time, emphasized with a lot of images, and these posts are easily accessible.

#twitter vs tumblr #those stupid blue check marks were their downfall #who da thunk?#oh i forgot to mention our hashtags are more fun

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persephoneflouwers · 10 months

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Angie I'm genuinely so sad... this is going to sound dramatic and maybe it is but it just feels like they took everything away from us... sweet creature, the complimentary tattoos, the blue bandana... all gone, all reduced to insignificant things, to stunts, to pr, to false narratives. And I know that sounds selfish and childish, because at the end of the day, it is his choice as to what story he wants to tell, and we all know the truth either way, but god, this fucking hurts. It feels like a slap in the face. I just can't believe we went from these two boys who did everything to show us who they really are and thier love for each other, to now doing everything to erase that history. "Thought we were going strong, thought we were holding on, aren't we?" no... it's over :( Is it wrong that I feel gaslit and used? What the fuck happened? I mean, this just tells me more and more that he really doesn't give a fuck about larries. I just hope the next time he starts crying about being sexualized by his fans, needs defending from queerbaiting accusations, has a new website he needs us to uncover, or tries to sell bluegreen merch I won't be giving him shit. Did he forget? Did he forget that the people who have been here supporting him for him are larries? The ones who find the clues, who try to understand his music and him on a deeper level, who fight against the false narratives, who were the first people to create safe spaces for him? Like I get that we aren't a big part of his fanbase anymore but god, I guess it was all in my head :/

I missed this, I’m sorry I’m only seeing your message now.

I want to send you a bug strong hug.

I know some people here might say it’s silly to care about these things but your emotions matter. I hope you’re taking care of yourself first and foremost. Curate your dash (yes, block unfollow mute), avoid twitter (this is valid always), find new interests and let them go. They don’t matter, I promise you. Nothing about this is worthy losing your sparkle, angel.

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deke-rivers-1957 · 11 months

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The Greatest Hero in the Empire Part 1

It's ancient Rome. I'm a young man named Toby who was born a slave. I grew up being mute after being conditioned to never speak. Years pass and I end up becoming a gladiator about to have my first event. The empress is in attendance and the crowd is cheering for death.

My hands are tied as the guards as I'm walked into the arena staring straight ahead with blank eyes. I can hear the guards laugh thinking that I have no chance at winning. They're probably right as I never had to fight anyone before. They drag me up a raised platform, standing before the Empress. She sits in her high box covered with a large purple awning. She has a crown and flowing purple robes. If it wasn't completely wrong for a slave like me to think it, I'd say she was beautiful.

Although, if I was allowed to think that way, it'd only make my situation more embarrassing. Everyone including her watches the guards strip me down to a loincloth. If I wasn't so used to wearing a loincloth if not being completely naked, I'd turn red from embarrassment. I know my place and don't fight it. I can only look up at the empress as someone like me should. The empress makes an announcement as my opponent enter the arena.

"This match will last for 5 minutes. You are to only engage in hand to hand combat. If no one wins the winner will be decided by me."

I can feel my heart beating in my chest. A huge warrior, walks towards me as for the first time since I got on this platform I look away from the empress. I can hear him breathing heavily while he removes his helmet, revealing his scarred face and black beard. The audience in the Coliseum continue to cheer for my death as the guards take me to my opponent.

The guards untie my hands and walk away. It's not just him and me. He slowly walks towards me, holding his hands out, making a fist with his right hand, then opening it and moving it towards me, as if he's taunting me. He's much stronger than me, and this will be a tough fight. I don't know how to express fear, or any other emotion. I'm a slave. I'm a gladiator waiting for my opponent to make his first move. I see him stop as he looks at the Empress. I turn to look at her too willing to follow anything she has to say.

"Let the match begin!"

Trumpets blare as my opponent immediately punches at me. I quickly bring my hands up to block the attack, only managing a weak block. The fight's already turning against me. I stand my ground, though, and continue to attempt to block his attacks with my arms. I can only look emotionless and bear my opponent's attack.

He tries to punch me in the head but I duck, and his fist glances off my head. I try to take advantage of this move and kick my opponent in his shin. This weakens him slightly, and I punch him in the gut, followed up by another quick punch to the side of the head.

As I try to pin him to the ground, I feel him kick me right in the head. This causes me to go completely crazy like something snapped. I feel a surge of rage flow through me and try to punch him in the ribs. I want to kill this man so badly that I lose control, and let out a growl of rage that is completely unplanned. My entire life has been nothing but slavery and pain. Now I'm able to take my fury out on my opponent. I punch so fast that my hands are simply a blur.

After a few moments everything starts to become clear again. The next thing I see is the gladiator twisting my arm and kicking me in the back. I feel a great pain in my back, and the world seems to go black. I turn around to face my opponent again. He is slowly walking towards me. I try to stand up straight and hide the fact that I'm limping from the kick.

He starts punching me again and it's not looking good for me. My head's all bloody and I'm feeling dizzy. He's got me backed into a corner and is about to make a killing blow. I start to see everything slow motion as I use a bruised eye to look at the empress. I think of how I'm just a slave, the years of pain that I've been through and my life flashes before my eyes. I raise my hands above my head to protect it waiting for the deadly blow.

"STOP!"

We hear the empress yell and my opponent knocks me out instead of killing me. I collapse to the ground, unconscious, feeling nothing. It would be mercy if I could simply lie here and die. This life of slavery and fear was so incredibly cruel to me. I'm so eager to escape it. She saved my life with her command, but I'm starting to wish she didn't.

While I was unconscious my opponent was made a guard. The empress spared my life because the match was over and was impressed by my efforts. I can barely hear the empress' words.

"Guards take the slave to the medic."

I black out again as I'm carried to the medic. My condition isn't great as my face is covered in blood. I can't move or react as my mind completely blank. I'm alive, but all I want to do is die.

When I wake up I realize that I'm in a bed. That's the first time that ever happened for me before. I open my eyes and look around, confused. For the first time in my life I haven't woken up on the cold, hard stone floor or a bed of hay. I slowly sit up, and feel the pain in my back where I was kicked by my opponent. A medic walks up to me with a goblet of something.

"Drink slave."

Despite being called slave, I take the goblet and drink. After all who am I to say no to a doctor. He'd know more about my body than I would. As I drink whatever's in the goblet I start to feel a pleasant sensation spreading throughout my body. I'm not sure why but I start feeling calm and relaxed. It's also relieving some of the pain in my body. I look around the room dazed and confused about where I am and how I ended up in this medical room. I'm enjoying this moment of peace and bliss though. When I finish drinking what's in the goblet I fall asleep fast.

For once, I just feel relaxed and at peace. I'm starting to feel grateful towards the empress. This is the longest I've gone without being in a constant state of fear. I wish I could feel this way every time I fall asleep, but I know I never will. I'm still a slave and I don't think that'll ever change.

#elvis fandom #toby kwimper #it's toby as a gladiator. why do I want this so bad lol #the greatest hero in the empire

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mad2001-4 · 1 year

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Another Classifications AU, Cain's quite the jerk in this one and Raven is the only adult in the room

Lux was miserable, throughly embarrassed. It wasn't really the pacifier he'd had popped into his mouth, it actually would've soothed him, were it not for Cain's persistent patronizing comments towards the blonde boy. The uncles had been content to disregard the children's classifications at first, explaining that the first few were more protocol than anything and couldn't be anything to truly go off of. This was the first year they truly counted it towards and anything, and of course, Lux just had to have the luck of being deemed a little for the fourth test in a row. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, but if it was this then he wanted to avoid ever getting such a classification again. Cain's taunting was almost making it feel like it was something he should be ashamed of.

He narrowed his eyes at Cain who had insisted he 'sit down and play while uncle got some peace with his reading'. Now, Lux's imagination was never-ending, even now that he looked closer to his teenage years, so the instructions weren't the issue. It was what Cain had provided for him to play with. Baby's toys. Building blocks and a stacking ring, a baby doll with a few accessories, all things he was confident he hadn't seen since he'd turned 200 years or so.

"I don't hear much playing," Cain hummed, glancing over his book at Lux, a sickly sweet smile pulled at his mouth, "is someone fussy?"

Lux's face flushed deeply looking away in utter frustration and embarrassment, what didn't help was somewhere it also provoked a nice, warm feeling, "No! I just don't want to play with these..!" he motioned towards the babyish items.

Cain snorted then barked out a laugh, grinning sarcastically, "Oh why not? Those are for babies, and your classification says your a baby..." he shrugged loosely, "can't say I'm surprised. Those little temper tantrums you throw? Your little fantasy of being a little prince still? All of it screams little child... I had hoped you would outgrow it like the other children... but no. Seems someone just wants his uncles to baby him the rest of his life... and isn't it just precious?" Cain cooed the last part mockingly.

Lux felt tears unwillingly pricking his eyes, "It got it wrong!! I'll be something different next time!" he raged.

"Ohh unlikely, little one," he cooed, "littles are very difficult to change from even after so many years... not that I'd expect someone like you to understand such a grown up matter..." he chuckled mockingly.

Lux felt his face growing hotter and hotter, lip starting to quiver from behind the pacifier at the tone, and the conflicting feelings he felt towards it, "I do understand!! I'm n-notta baby..!" he hiccupped, shoving the tower that the rings were stacked on in his frustration.

Cain tutted, his eyes sparkling with cruel humor, "Those little tears show otherwise. And I do sense a cranky tantrum coming on. Come along, let's get it over with. Afterwards, I'll decide if a timeout or spanking will be more appropriate depending on how bad your little fit gets..." Lux hiccupped again before breaking into a little cry, losing his pacifier in the process which only made him cry harder.

"Ohhh dear, quite the fit already. Look at that, the baby lost his mute button too," Cain sneered delightedly. Caught up in his 'fun', he failed to hear Raven coming in to find a book for himself. Catching the tail-end of everything, Raven rolled his eyes.

"Really? You have nothing better to do than to pick on little kids? You're sure you aren't a little too, Uncle Cain?" he retorted, voice dull though raised as to be heard over Lux's wailing.

Cain's head immediately whipped around narrowing his eyes gently, "I don't believe I asked you, dear. Besides, a bit of teasing never hurt anyone. It may help toughen him up," he defended.

Raven rolled his eyes, "You told us it isn't something we can help."

Cain hummed softly, "Yes, yes. I did. And it isn't. You, my boy, just don't know how to have a little fun. He's going to have to be babied anyways."

While Lux had stopped his full crying at hearing Raven standing up for him some, his lip trembled anew at Cain's persistence, "D-don't wanna be babied..." he hiccupped, though his voice notably was a bit higher, indicating a slip.

Raven ruffled the blonde's hair gently as he passed by to go to a shelf, "You're fine, Lux. Uncle Cain's just being a jerk," he assured, "stand up for me, bud," he instructed getting a book from the shelf and turning to Lux.

Lux sniffled slightly, shuffling to his feet, Cain narrowed his eyes further, "Ah ah ah. Little ones need supervision."

"And I'll babysit," Raven shrugged, "cmon. Let it be known though. You touch my stuff, you're dead," he warned, retrieving the pacifier from the floor, handing it to Lux. The blonde took it with a little sniffle, slipping it back into his mouth. With a little motion, Lux followed after Raven. Cain smirked a bit once alone in the room, snorting.

"Little brats... damn if I'm not proud of one of them," he mumbled focusing back on the book, "though I do hope he foesnt get too accustomed to playing hero because lord knows Lux isn't changing, and neither am I."

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xoxo-teddybear · 3 years

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The Silent Treatment - Bakugou Katsuki

Bakugou x f!reader

Warnings: slight angst, slice of life, crack(ish?), fluff, cursing

Summary: Bakugou is very much....an asshole. A shithead. A professional dick if you will. And Y/N, being his girlfriend is very much aware of that. So when he takes it too far, she has to make sure he learns his lesson.

A/N: just a quick lil cute thing, totally not spelled check

BAKUGOU’S MASTERLIST

“Hey babe!” Bakugou said as he walked into the living room to find his girlfriend reading a book. He plopped down next to her and just relaxed in the feeling of the soft cushion. The little shit felt like messing with his girlfriend today.

Y/N had already been having a pissy day. After arguing with her boss, forgetting a few items back at the grocery store, and losing her new pair of headphones, she just wanted some peace with her cup of tea and a good book. Now, she has her loving boyfriend to comfort her as well. This day was surely taking a turn...right?

“Hi love, need something?” You asked calmly with the most melodic voice. Your voice. His favorite sound in the world. The sound of you just put a smile on his face which is a huge oxymoron to what this motherfucker is about to say.

“Nah, just wanted to talk to my princess,” he said while resting his head on your stomach, resting in between your legs and wrapping his arms around your waist. You awed at him but didn’t notice his little devil smile. “I had the best dream last night.”

“About what Suki?” You asked while petting his soft hair.

“You.”

“Awweee,”

“Yeahhh. You went mute for the day. Fucking paradise.” Once the words left his mouth you stilled your actions and felt your eye twitch in annoyance. Your hand on his head stilled and slightly tugged at it. In any other circumstance, Bakugou would’ve groaned at the tug (kinky bastard) but he was too busy chuckling into your tummy.

You exhaled roughly through your nose and pushed Bakugou off of you in a very polite way. He rolled onto his back onto the actual couch and watched as you crossed your legs, close your book, and pick up your tea mug.

“Hmph!” Was all that you “said” as you tilted your nose to the air and walked away. Bakugou just snickered as you left. He thought it was adorable when you were mad over tiny inconveniences and thought it was hot as fuck when you were yelling at him, but today, you won’t be doing neither.

—

About 30 minutes had passed and Bakugou had awoken from his nap on the couch. He fell asleep after you walked away but now missed your touch. He sat up, stretched, and went to find you. He walked around the house until he spotted you relaxing in the jacuzzi in the backyard. He grinned at your relaxed look and went to change.

A few minutes later Bakugou had came out to join you in the hot tub. Your eyes were shut as you relaxed in the bubbling water, and so Bakugou was able to get in without being seen. He relaxed into the water as he scooted closer to you, eventually grabbing a hold of your waist.

“Hi baby,” he said as he attempted to place you in his lap but you looked at him with an unimpressed look as you scooted away. “Y/N?”

You grabbed your towel and stepped out of the tub. You wrapped yourself in the cloth as you walked back into the house, completely ignoring Bakugou as he spoke to you.

“Wha- you’re just gonna leave? I just got in with you,” he pouted. He opted to stay in the nice warm water for a bit but once you closed the door he groaned and sunk deeper into the water. He let the water go just above his mouth and right below his nose as he blew bubbles into the tub out of annoyance.

‘The fuck is up with her?’ He thought to himself.

—

Time passed and Bakugou came out the tub. He went back to his room to change into some gray sweats and a black long sleeve (and yes he pulled the sleeves up a bit because he knew you found it attractive and if y’all don’t, well I do).

He walked into the kitchen and spotted you seemingly eating dinner. He noticed a plate for him but kind of frowned at the fact that you didn’t wait for him. He saw you placed the plate on the other side of the island, far away from you, and so he pulled the plate over and took the seat next to you.

“Hey, princess? You gonna tell me what’s wrong?” He asked but you said nothing as you just ate in silence. “Silent treatment huh?” No words.

“Baby, is this about what I said? I was only kidding Y/N,” he said as he tried to wrap his arm around your waist but you pushed it off and he groaned. “Fine. Be that way, you’ll get over it. Come talk to me when you’re done acting like a brat.”

Bakugou just grunted as he ate his dinner in silence right next to you. You finished before him and walked away after you washed your dish and this time it was Bakugou who snubbed his nose in the air at you. If it was the silent treatment that you were gonna give then it was the silent treatment that you were gonna get....sorta.

—

“BABYYYY PLEASSEEEEE!!” He whined while poking at your leg. You were currently in your home office typing away at your computer doing work when Bakugou came in about 25 minutes after he finished his dinner. He couldn’t help himself. He missed you.

You continued to ignore Bakugou as he poked and shook you for attention. You gave him nothing all day and he was getting close to his limit. Please believe he wasn’t getting shit after that brat comment.

“Princessss, c’mon! It was a joke baby, let’s go to sleep, yeah?” He begged. You looked at him with a bored expression and saw his smile as you finally gave him something. You turned back to face your computer and his smile dropped again and was replaced with a scowl. “Y/N, I was just messing with you. I love the sound of your voice and I love you. So quit ignoring me and come give me love!” He demanded.

When he noticed you weren’t budging, he stood from his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose as he mentally counted.

‘1....2...3,’

He gave in and forcefully turned your chair and threw you over his shoulder. You didn’t speak to him but you squirmed and shook trying to get out of his grasp.

“Aye, aye,” he smacked your ass to get you to stop, “quit it. I’m tired, and I want sleep, and we both know I don’t sleep unless my teddy bear is with me, so shush.”

You looked at him when he told you to “shush.” As if you hadn’t been doing that all day. He just squinted his eyes as he knew what you were thinking. “You know what I mean shitty woman!”

Bakugou stormed into your shared bedroom and dropped you onto the mattress. You didn’t even try to run away. You had decided that, yes, you are indeed tired but you refused to give a certain blonde any attention. You stretched on the bed and Bakugou was in awe of your cute state but quickly snapped out of his trance when you turned on your side and gave him your back.

Bakugou got into bed along side you and scooted closer. He pressed himself against your back but once he made contact, you scooted farther away. And so, he scooted himself closer again but just like before, you scooted away. This went on about 2 more times before you scooted and fell off the bed.

“Y/N? You okay, love?” He asked as he looked down at you. You popped up from the floor, on your knees and grumbled to yourself as you vented quietly. You stood up and continued ranting as you tried to walk away to sleep on the couch but before you could get away from the king sized bed, Bakugou grabbed your wrist and pulled you on top of him. “Ignore me all you want but I’m not sleeping without my cuddles.”

You sighed as you gave in. You allowed him to hold you but you refused to speak. Bakugou rubbed circles onto your back as he inhaled your scent but he missed the sound of your voice. The sweet sound that was something similar to honey.

“Baby...I’m sorry.”

You looked at him when he apologized and raised your brow. A verbal, genuine, apology from Katsuki Bakugou? This you’ve gotta see.

“I know I shouldn’t have said that to you and even if I was only kidding......it was pretty fucking mean. ..But I hope you know I love the sound of your damn voice. I love you, dumbass. And I would never ask you to stay silent because....*sigh* ‘cuz your voice, you talking to me, you being with me, and just you in general keeps me sane. So I’m sorry. Okay? And I love you..” he said with a growing blush as he stared at you with a flustered face.

You smiled and went up to peck his lips and then give him a loving kiss. He jumped at the sudden contact but quickly melted into the kiss. He smiled as he finally got to revel in the sweet intimate moments like this. The sweet moments he’s been missing all day.

“I love you too Suki.” Oh how he craved to hear your voice. He loved the sweet sound and missed your loving tone. He pulled you in closer and just held you tight. He doesn’t plan on letting go.

“I’m so sorry. I will never make you upset like that ever again.” He bargained but you only shook your head.

“Katsuki, I was just messing with you today. I had an annoying day and that little joke just sent me over the edge but you know I never take your mean quips to heart. You’re rough around the edges but that’s just who you are and I don’t mind it. I love everything about you, even if you’re a jerk sometimes,” you teased and flicked at his nose. You giggled as he whined and tried to soothe the spot you hit. “You don’t have to censor yourself around me. Okay?”

Bakugou smiled even more. He loves you so damn much. Not only did you know he was just a little abrasive, but you accepted him for all his brunt behavior. You truly did love him. “Thanks princess,”

He sealed the deal with a sweet kiss to your temple as you giggled at the warm feeling of his soft lips. He pulled you down to his chest as you both cuddled up for the night. You sleeping is the only time Bakugou will ever be okay with you being silent. But never again will he ever allow himself to get the silent treatment.

A/N: Guys, I’m so sorry. I’ve been in such a slump and I feel like im reaching a writers block. It’s not even like I don’t have any ideas, I do! And I even have multiple unfinished pieces in my drafts but I just don’t have any motivation to finish :( sorry Cubs, don’t worry, I’ll try my best to finish them as quick as I can. Idk, should I take a break?

I’m already in the middle of a story and I don’t wanna leave those who are reading on a cliffhanger.

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painless-innit-colourful · 3 years

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Invisible

Potions of invisibility grant the user the ability to disappear, functionally: the concealment of one’s self through magic, distilled into a draught easy to swallow. For better and worse, Tommy’s familiar with the taste.

It tastes sour, primarily.

Looking at the ingredient list, no wonder. Nether wart and fermented spider eye. Gross. There are some things a golden carrot just can't balance out.

It's such a disgusting taste he doesn't notice the shimmering feeling, instead focusing his attention on scraping a thin layer of translucent brown sugar-mushroom-spider ick off his tongue. Not until:

"Tommy?" "Y- Bleh- Yeah?" "Oh!" Tubbo waves his arms in a wild arc, smile growing, before his hand collides with Tommy's arm, and he picks up Tommy's wrist. "It worked!" "What do you- Ohhh..."

If he blurs his vision, Tubbo's fingers circle around nothing. If he looks properly, he can just about see the edges of his wrist, the lines of his shirt sleeve. "Dude, how does that work?" "Which bit?" "Clothes. My clothes didn't drink it too." "Dude, I dunno... My turn!"

They learn to spot the tiny signs of an invisible person. They learn to disguise them. Tommy tries to tackle Tubbo and misses completely, and both of them fall about laughing.

Call that a drug van success story.

---

He sprints past it, hoping they aren’t following, panic filling his bloodstream. He chugs the potion as he runs, drops spilling down his front, staining his navy coat with off-white shadows as he shimmers and disappears into thin air.

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

He stumbles into the shallow waters of the lake, wading - disturbing the water, too many signs, you're gonna be seen - towards Tubbo's tunnel. He takes three steps and slips under the surface, landing on his hands and knees on the tunnel floor, waiting, waiting- Where are they?

There's the sound of an arrow seeking its mark and hitting true, and for a split second Tommy sees an arm with deft fingers and a dark blue sleeve fall over the side of the entrance, and then the body is gone and shit shit shit-

Tommy sticks his head back out- Who was that? Wilbur? Tubbo? He feels the shimmering feeling again - "a quick escape", where are the others - and slowly drops back to the tunnel floor.

Make a decision, what if they find you, Little Laddy One Life? He walks away, opting to live to fight another day, hoping that his friends will join him soon.

---

Funnily though, while clothes disappear with the potion, armour doesn't. He doesn't know why; he's not smart enough to. And right now, as he yanks the shoulder straps of his chestplate tight, he doesn't really care.

"Stop!" They don't stop, voices mostly drowned out by the overwhelming sound of rushing water. Dream, his face also hidden, but by his signature mask as opposed to the magic of an invisibility potion, holds his hand towards Tubbo and tells him "I need the disc." Tommy crests the wreckage of the Community House, no longer attempting to stay hidden as the water thunders down around his ankles, pulling him towards the platform in the centre. It's a bizarre version of the Pit. It’s an arena. It's a stage.

"No!" He screams, as Tubbo takes half a step back towards the ender chest. Heads snap to his position, looking at the empty suit of armour that's just appeared beside and above them. Tubbo stutters something in quiet disbelief, and between that and the sudden attention, Tommy falters. If he took off his armour now, could he get out of there? Or would the same fate that once befell Wilbur catch him? The blame for this building is on him, after all.

He jumps in, landing on his feet between Dream and the cabinet of L'Manberg. He is caught in the crossfire of their questions: "Tommy?" "Is that Tommy?"

He shouts, and he screams, and he revolves like a merry-go-round, trying to keep his eyes on everyone, not trusting that his armour'll be enough to protect him from the sheer amount of enemies about. So many people hate him, he realises, it's 30 v 2. Technoblade would like those odds. Technoblade, who's standing beside him, not invisible because he went to get milk. He likes the protection; he thinks.

They don't listen. Tubbo keeps insisting he betrayed them all by teaming with Techno, that he betrayed L'Manberg, but they don't understand, he didn't have a choice, "You don't know what he did to me in exile." Tubbo has the disc in his hands, and without having an inkling of where Dream's eyes are, he watches him consider simply snatching it from Tubbo's hands.

"You're not gonna give him the disc." Tubbo looks at him like it's a dare, and why can't he see? Tommy's practically crying with the effort and exertion of watching his best friend betray him in slow motion, of being this close to his abuser, of being blamed for something he didn't do, of being beaten down every time he gets on his damn feet.

"I don’t need to prove myself to you. This wasn’t me. Trust me. Jesus— for once in your life, Tubbo, trust me." Tubbo's eyes are cold, his mind made up. What happened to us against the world? "I did trust you. Once. The first time all of this happened. And I won’t make the same mistake twice."

There's a little moment where time stops, and everyone draws nearer like a crowd at the coliseum, and Tommy feels his invisibility ripple slightly, warning him it's about to wear off. Who the fuck cares.

Tubbo takes a step towards Dream, and Tommy lunges to put himself between them. "Don't you dare." Tubbo's hand goes to his axe. "You betrayed me, Tubbo, you- Did you just-" Both of their eyes are on Tubbo’s weapon, when he puts the disc away, staring Tommy down plainly with his one hand returning to the axe at his waist, and the other taking out his shield. "I didn't betray you." His voice is level, all business. Okay then, Mr President.

"You betrayed everything that you'd built with presidents prior." Tommy's anger, and hurt, and frustration, and pain finally boils over, so much so that it's visible in the way he shakes as he brings out his axe. "You know what?" He bites into a golden apple, feeling its effects drown out the rushing water and the shimmering sensation of his invis. "You've got your axe up." Technoblade’s tone is surprised but light as he tells Tommy to make this decision wisely, but he’s already gone, his safety and conscience be damned. He throws himself at Tubbo, brandishing his axe as the pigman taught him, like he once practised with the brown-haired boy he’s swinging at, thinking You say I betrayed you? I'll show you a traitor.

Poetically, perhaps, it's less like a fight, and more like a dance. They are a whirlwind - a hurricane - clashing and blocking and pushing and shoving across the otherwise empty floor. Somewhere in the gushing water, Technoblade's bloodlust has seized him, and he's gone for the L'Manbergians and the festival-goers and the unrelated parties that came when they saw the destruction, and he's scattering them this way and that, but who cares about that?

They are not equally matched. Tommy shakes too much: there is too much of him vulnerable here, not just his mortality, something that neither invisibility nor armour can keep from being scratched and damaged. He's losing. He's quite badly losing, despite Tubbo's inferior armour and weapons and allies, and he leaps into the nearest watery wall, letting the Respiration helmet Techno made for him protect him as the water drags him under and away from his attacker. His best friend. He bites into another golden apple, his pleas swallowed by the torrent. He still hears Tubbo's shout though, permeating the water and being relayed through his communicator from wherever Techno is.

"Where are you?"

He pops back up, shaking and soaking wet and sees a familiar sight: an old friend, a brother - once - staring him down with death in his eyes from behind brown hair. He was wrong, oh so wrong, all those weeks ago: at once he is Schlatt, alone at the end of his days, and there's Wilbur, old pals who'll be the death of each other. No.

No.

"I didn’t betray you, you teamed up with the very person that destroyed us the first time!" He feels his invis shimmer one more time, and the timing is immaculate, really. Cinematic, one might say.

"I went for the discs— Tubbo, the discs— The discs were worth more than you ever were!" "No... Wh- Th-" The world stands still, and it feels so good, it's so good to finally say it, to watch Tubbo's face fall, his shield slipping from his hand, listen to the reactions around their little arena, watch as Tubbo shuts his mouth and yanks on the strap of his chestplate and lets it drop to the floor, leaving him defenceless and open to attack and wait- no- wait-

Mutely, Tommy’s gaze drifts skyward, and it should feel good because they know now, they know how he feels, but it's not, it's not good because that- that wasn't true. That wasn't right.

And he looks back at Tubbo, and finally, finally, his invis runs out, and he hopes it shows on his face, that he knows he's fucked up because Tubbo looks destroyed, and a shiver goes through him because he no longer looks angry he just- He just looks sad.

He takes off his helmet, breathing heavily from the ache and exertion, heart burning in regret.

‘The discs were worth more than you ever were.’

How do you fix that? For one crazy moment, he considers the invis again. Turning translucent and running, back to Techno- back to Technoblade who'd congratulate him on 'moving on' and tell Phil like he was proud and probably write that line on the fucking wall, how could he be such a monumental ass-

"Tubbo?" Their eyes meet. Tubbo says nothing.

"Give him the disc."

He looks bewildered, "You want me to give Dream the disc?" He says, the tiniest sliver of something they used to have peeking through, the bearest hint of kindness, and bless him, it's more than Tommy deserves. It makes him want to go invisible again.

He smiles softly, and it can't reach his eyes, but he pours every ounce of good left in him into it and desperately hopes it's enough.

"Yeah." And because he's fucked up, because he knows they can never go back from this: "I'm sorry Tubbo."

---

He's done it again, he keeps fucking up. Sam's hand is holding him down by the shoulder, firm fingers digging into him, keeping him from reaching Ghostbur.

He tried so hard. His throat is sore from not coughing. His muscles hurt from the pure tension and adrenaline coursing through his bloodstream, from his stubborn heart to the ends of his fingers and toes. He thought he'd gotten caught when he drank the potion in the waivers room, and his heart had been beating so loud that he'd thought Sam could hear it.

Yet, they made it. But it doesn't matter, because he pulled out the axe too early, and now he's busted, and Sam's gonna kill him or Wilbur's going to come back or both, and it's all his fault.

Every time he tries. Every time he tries to fix things, or do what's right, or have something for himself, it's taken away, destroyed and he's kicked to the ground. Every time.

It's enough to make anyone want to be invisible.

#and today's writer mood is: liberal use of italics #hell yeah!#so funny story: this was supposed to be a saturday morning ficlet #it ended up being a saturday afternoon fic #oh well lmao #dream smp #dsmp fic #crim writes #tommyinnit #tubbo #this was quite a lot of fun #please rb and comment/reply! it means a lot to have feedback #heaven knows we're all just waiting for validation :)#clingy duo

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tragidean · 2 years

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this love that i give [11.4k] (ao3)

The phone rings.

Eyes open and misty, Dean stares across the diner table, where just seconds before, a man with bright blue eyes sat, their fingers tangled atop the checkerboard vinyl. His phone is nowhere in sight, nowhere within reach—yet it rings, growing increasingly louder as the noise of the diner fades away, as black tinges the corners of his fantasy. “No,” he groans, bowing his head.

Another second, and the dream bleeds away, fading into nothingness. Another ring, and the phone silences, no longer rattling the nightstand. Quiet—blissful quiet, yet Dean refuses to open his eyes, still clinging to the hand he held, the hand that’s no longer there.

Rolling onto his stomach, he places his pillow over his head to block out the fluorescent glow pouring through the sheer curtains. No one snores in the opposite bed tonight. Sam is still back at the bunker, wining and dining Eileen, and Dean—Dean is in Smith Center, to give them space. The world outside of his home is cold, but his own bed is even colder, knowing that there’s nothing to go back to. Just a room with four walls and all of his things, yet he doesn’t want them. Can’t stand to look at them, knowing how he got there and what he left behind. What got stolen, right from his fingertips.

Silence. The occasional car passes on the highway on the other side of the motel, an older couple chat a few doors down in somewhat hushed tones—and the phone rings, rattling the nightstand.

“Come on,” Dean huffs and reaches out, fumbling for the device. Blindly, he answers the call and presses the phone to his ear, hiding under his pillow. “This is Dean.”

“That’s who I was hoping to reach,” the woman says on the other line. His heart skips. “I know it’s late, but—I should introduce myself. My name is Stephanie and I’m a receptionist at Baton Rouge General.”

Dean grunts and debates the merits of smothering himself while on the phone. “How’d you get this number?”

“That’s the thing.” Stephanie mutes her line for a moment, then returns. “We recovered a John Doe from the Mississippi River three days ago, and he had your number in his phone. In fact, you were the only number there, so as soon as we were able to dry it out, we called who we could.”

Again, his heart flutters. “Is the guy dead?”

“Far from it.” She laughs, entirely too chipper for this late in the evening. “We had him on a ventilator for two days, but he woke up earlier this evening. He’s breathing on his own, but he can’t speak, and he doesn’t have any identification on him.”

“So you want me to come pick him up?” Dean asks, rolling onto his back. He presses the pillow to his stomach, holding on for dear life.

“He’ll need someone to take care of him while he recovers, so yes.”

He blinks. “What’s wrong with him?”

Again, the line mutes. Stephanie returns with the sound of rustling papers. “He’s suffered a broken leg and internal organ damage, and we’re afraid he might lose his sight in one eye, if the operation in the morning doesn’t work. From the looks of it, he was attacked and dumped, but we’re not sure, and until he’s fully conscious, we can’t call the police—”

“No, no.” Sitting up, Dean palms the sleep from his eyes. “No, I’ll—I’ll come get him. Don’t need to involve the cops.”

Stephanie sighs. “I’ll take your word for it. When will you be able to make it?”

Dean looks at the nightstand clock and thinks. Baton Rouge is a hard drive on a good day; if he left within the hour, he could make it by noon or later. “I’ll try and make it by lunchtime.”

“Good.” Stephanie rattles off the address, and Dean commits the name to memory and nothing else. “We’ll see you in the morning.”

Stephanie hangs up, and the call screen minimizes, revealing a list of recent calls. Just the usual, Sam, Jody, a butt-dial to Rowena—but the most recent catches him off guard and sends all the blood in his body to his head.

CAS.

“Shit,” he breathes, his lungs rattling. Castiel is alive. Cas is…

It takes him two minutes to gather everything he brought—his duffel, a toothbrush, his coat slung over the back of the desk chair. In the third minute, he deposits the room key into the return box at the office and slides into the front seat of the Impala, and drives.

continue reading on ao3

#my writings #destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #hello it's my first work in two months!!#im not gone i swear!!!

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hyunjilicious · 4 years

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that night [harry styles]

A best friends to something else type of story. Exactly 7.8k (literally 7800 words which is scary) and you know I can’t write that much without SMUT. This takes place during a sleepover at the end of quarantine! Maybe tell me what you thought? :) (I promise I’ll edit this soon!)

“Show me yer phone, love” Harry groaned, sending you the coldest of death stares. The night started off as usual, you two just watching some old documentaries, paying more or less attention to them as you mostly just sat and talked. Things took a turn when your phone started blowing up with messages. Being the kind of person who always replies in an instant, suspicions arose when you decided to completely ignore the texts. Although Harry never violated your privacy and never pushed you for answers you didn’t want to give, when you started laughing and got nervous about whoever it was that kept texting you, he figured it would be worth it to push your buttons.

“I said no” you repeated yourself, standing up from the couch. There were two main reasons you didn’t want to talk about the person texting you, and these 2 reasons were also probably the only two things in the world you wouldn’t want to discuss with him.

“Why no’?” he asked offended, following you into the kitchen, like a small child begging his parents to let him have his way, “What can be tha’ bad? I wouldn’t have asked any questions if yeh hadn’t been so off about it from the start”

You turned and looked at him dead in the eye, contemplating what to say next. He beat you to it.

“Is it a guy? Have you been seein’ someone?” Harry asked as he walked over to you, completely ignoring your personal space. “Is tha’ it? I don’t wanna read yeh texts, just tell me yes or no, and I’ll drop it. Promise”

You took a deep breath. “Yes, it’s a guy” you said calmly, “But we’re not seeing each other”

“Then why does he keep texting yeh like crazy?”

“Crazy…” you sighed, tapping your chin, “Good description”

“Come on, Y/n” Harry whined, tapping your shoulder as he walked past you and towards the refrigerator, “Just tell me, I’m really curious, crazy how?”

“Promise you’re not gonna freak out?” you laughed, grabbing whatever he was pulling out of the fridge and handing to you. You stopped paying attention after three cups of pudding and one bottle of wine.

“When have I ever freaked out?” he joked, mocking himself. He was usually a calm person, more composed than anyone you’ve ever met, and he less than rarely got angry. And from those times when he did lose his temper, 90% of cases were mild and he was still calmer than anyone else in that kind of situation, but that 10% left was pure terror. When his friends told you years ago that nothing’s scarier than Harry when he was truly mad, you didn’t quite believe them. You had to see for yourself to accept it. It only happened a few times in almost 5 years, but you always still did everything you could to keep him from going off again.

“Ok, so” you started speaking as you rummaged around your kitchen for bowls and glasses, “His name is Marcus and we actually met on Tinder-”

“Wait a second” he cut you off, “During the lock down?”

“Oh, no. It happened before all of this madness. Around january, I think”

It was obvious he was already bothered by how this conversation started, but he did his best to control himself so you wouldn’t decide to drop it. “Pretty serious, then, huh?” he said eventually.

“Literally the opposite” you laughed, pouring the pudding into the bowl, “We saw each other once-” and it hurt you to say the following part but you did it nonetheless, “hooked up, and didn’t talk since”

Pure annoyance was readable on his features. “Apparently haven’t talked until now?”

“Yeah, I mean-” you cringed, “He texted me like a week or so ago and we didn’t - vibe, and he got weird, so like I muted the conversation for 7 days because I didn’t want him to bother me anymore but he got so defensive it was funny so I didn’t really wanna block him”

“Yeh muted the guy a week ago and he still keeps trying?” Harry asked, completely taken aback, “Can’t blame him, but still, tha’s a bit much”

“It is” you nodded in agreement, and motioned for him to open the bottle of wine for you.

“He must have liked yeh a lot” he mumbled, twisting the corkscrew into the top of the bottle, “Maybe you two had a really great time, and he-”

“Harry” you stopped him, leaning your head to the side, “I know you’re squeezing information out of me right now, but I honestly don’t think you want to hear more of this”

“Ok” he sighed defeated, “I’m gonna stop pushin’ yeh. Thanks for tellin’ me tho. And sorry if I crossed any lines''

“You haven’t, H” you smiled, giving him a hug from behind. “It’s fine”

After gathering everything you had fixed up to take into the living room, the pudding and the wine, as you passed the threshold of the kitchen, you heard Harry speak up, traces of amusement audible in his voice. “But like… At least was the sex good?”

“You want me to answer that?” you chuckled, plopping down on the couch. “Do you seriously want me to answer that?”

“Yeah” Harry shrugged, smiling innocently.

“It was horrible” you said bluntly and watched his grin wilt away. “Probably the worst sex I’ve ever had. No, no, no.. Definitely the worst sex I have ever had in my entire life”

His mouth fell agape. “Seriously? Why?”

“Well, i got to his house… And you know, up until then everything was fine, like he seemed like a completely normal and fun guy while we texted but like, as soon as i got to his place he became really… I don’t even know how to put it, he was um.. Very clingy and weird and we talked for a bit but then when we went to his room he turned into literally the biggest asshole I met”

“What?” Harry exclaimed, “Tha’s not wha’ I expected”

“Exactly!” you laughed, “Neither did I!”

“Then wha’ happened?”

“I went down on him and he didn’t do the same because apparently he finds that gross? That’s what he told me but I didn’t wanna get into it because I went there to get dick so I was like let’s just fuck, and we did… We made out a bit, got him worked up again, and when we fucked I literally thought something was wrong with me, because he just.. I don’t know. Bumped into me and after he finished I was there like… What just happened?”

“Yeh were right when yeh said I didn’t wanna hear this”

“Told you” you giggled, grabbing your pudding and toying with your teaspoon.

“Jus’ stop using Tinder, please” Harry eventually shook his head.

“A girl has needs, ok?”

He was enraged and completely ignored your words, “And wha’ does he want from yeh now? He really thinks yeh’d see him again? Really?”

“I don’t even know what he’s been saying, honestly” you shrugged.

“Can I see?”

“Can you like, read from the notification box? I don’t wanna leave him on seen”

Harry nodded in agreement and you gave him your phone. He pressed the lock button, the screen lit up, and it was instantly flooded with texts from him. Since you put the conversation on mute a week ago, you had no idea what he had been saying. It seemed that he didn’t appreciate your lack of interest and that he didn’t bother to hold back.

‘You pathetic whore, u really think ur gonna find someone better than me? U think ur so high and mighty and hot but ur gonna die alone you bitch. Do u feel better about yourself if u juts ignore my texts???? Well good for fucking u-’ and Harry locked the phone, the screen going black.

“The fuck did I just read?” he questioned, his annoyance from earlier, now morphing into pure anger.

“You said you wanted to read” you shook your head.

“Why does he think he can talk to yeh like that?”

“I don’t honestly care” you sighed, “It’s not like I’ll ever see him again, so he can go and say anything he wants”

“‘S not how that works, darlin’” he said.

"Can we drop this, please" you sighed, unable to quite look in his direction, "I don't like this"

"Well-" Harry erupted and judging by the way his voice instantly died down, you could tell he almost lost control, "I don't fucking like it either, ok? But yeh shouldn't jus' accept tha'!"

"I wouldn't call it acceptance, H" you shook your head, discarding your bowl of pudding and jumping straight to the bottle of wine. "I told him I'm not interested, and I stopped replying. It's not acceptance... he just keeps trying"

"But for some reason yeh're letting him talk t' yeh like tha'"

"Well-" you shrugged, and took a big gulp of red wine, "He talks by himself"

"Y/n…" Harry called, his voice soft and you could tell that there was anger hidden somewhere deep inside, but you still appreciated the fact that he managed to keep it contained. He extended his arm, his fingers brushing against the side of your thigh. It was a soft, delicate touch, that made every hair on your body stand up. He did it to get your attention and boy, did it work. Instantly, your eyes snapped to his, and were met with something you did not see coming. "Can I say something?" he asked cautiously, his eyes shining with genuine worry.

"You're making this into something much more significant than it actually is"

"I'll drop it" he eventually nodded, "If you promise me something"

"What?"

"If anythin' similar to this happens again, tell me"

"And what are you gonna do about it?" you giggled, trying to lighten the mood. As you kept staring into his green eyes, you brought the wine bottle up to your lips, took a long sip, and then handed it to him.

He took the bottle out of your hands, seemingly not giving more than two shits about it. The warmth in his eyes accentuated as his eyebrows gathered into a concerned furrow, "Make sure it doesn't get to yeh"

"It doesn't" you smiled.

"Lemme make sure"

"Ok, Harry" you laughed, "I promise you that the next time a guy from Tinder gets mad about me not reciprocating the feeling, and he starts sending me that kind of texts, I will tell you"

The sarcasm just flowed out of you, and he was not impressed.

"I meant in general, love"

"Any guy?" you taunted, "Not just from tinder?"

"Fucking put on tha’ movie" he shook his head, "I know yeh too well. Won't get anywhere until you get some wine in tha’ belly"

"That's your plan?" you laughed, "Get me drunk and make me spill all my secrets?"

"I never assumed you had any secrets, but yeah, now I wanna know those too" Harry grinned, throwing his arm around you and pulling you to his chest. Although this kind of intimacy was something you've been somewhat used to, tonight it was just a bit more difficult to bear. And it may all have been due to the way he mentioned he wouldn’t want anything to get to your head, and the way he said he’d make sure of it. Even though you weren’t truly clear how he’d do that and what exactly was going through his head, it was crystal clear how you’d have him do that.

But now was not the time. You glued your eyes to the TV screen, and begged your brain to focus on the movie in front of you and not whatever Harry was thinking about, mere inches away from you.

There had been something in the air that night, because neither of you managed to pay any kind of attention to the movie anymore. You talked, the conversation not going back to the previous topic, you laughed, gossiped like there was no tomorrow, and now it was almost 4am, and you and Harry were 3 bottles of wine in. Deciding to cut the alcohol before it was too late, you settled for water, as Harry went on to finish a weird story he once heard from a hippie touring the states in his van. He was completely smitten, his eyes shone with admiration for the old man. Harry spoke with words of great respect about a life he wished he could once live. It was only a matter of time until it would get to you.

“But,” you sighed, laying down and placing your head into his lap, “You really seem like the kind of guy to pack his bags and just leave. Like get a couple of friends or something, leave a note saying you’ll eventually be back, and just travel around the world”

“I kinda already do tha’ love” Harry laughed, double chin showing as he looked down at you.

“Not what I meant” you shook your head, “And you know it”

“Wha’ did yeh mean, then?”

He looked down at you, his hands finding their way into your hair as you contemplated how to put the words together. “I don’t know… Less social interaction-” you finally said, “Make it less about living the same songs in front of thousands of people, and more about living a completely new experience as you really get to know just a handful of people”

He didn’t look convinced. His dimples were showing, and a chuckle was threatening to escape his lips.

“That didn’t make any sense, did it?” you laughed.

“It did” Harry smiled, “Might have’ta resume this in tha’ morning, but i think i got the idea”

You pointed your finger to him, “Best”

“Me?” he grinned, grabbing your hand, “Oh, stop it!”

“Not you, your idea”

“Nice save, love”

You wanted to object and keep this topic going as the butterflies in your stomach started to riot, but just as you opened your mouth to speak, the sound of your phone receiving another text filled the air. In an instant, your eyes locked with Harry’s and you knew he wasn’t gonna let any of that shit slide. Not wanting to give him the chance to protest, you sprung up and leaned towards the coffee table, your fingers barely managing to brush against the side of your phone before Harry grabbed your waist and yanked you back, pressing you against the cushions of the sofa as he hovered above you.

The intimacy and urgency of this whole charade made your skin crawl, and you couldn’t help but let a few giggles escape, “What are you doing?” you laughed.

“Not lettin’ tha’ asshole ruin your night, love” Harry smirked, tilting your head so that you had to face him.

“I’ll see the text in the morning and it will ruin my whole day” you played along, but as it turned out, you dug your own grave.

“Oh?” he grinned, “So it does get to you”

“No!” you belted, “That is not what I meant, Jesus harry”

“Come on, hon”

His head tilted to the side, before he leaned down and nudged the tip of your nose with his. “Jus’ say the word”

That sent burning chills down your spine, and your cheeks couldn’t do anything but to comply and turn an erotic shade of pink.

“I’m not sure what to say” you mumbled, fighting against the urge to jump on him.

“I’m yer best friend, love-” he made a small pause, for dramatic effect, and just stared down at you while your blood boiled, “Lemme show yeh how good yeh can feel”

“I-”

He cut you off, obviously proud of himself, “I obviously wouldn’t have asked twice if I hadn’t felt you squeeze your thighs around me”

“Fuck, Harry-” you said, embarrassment rushing all over you as you threw your hands in the air.

He leaned down, and brushed his lips along your jaw, “Yeh could be screaming tha’ name”

Regaining your composure, you grabbed his chin and forced him to make eye contact once again, “What does this mean to you?”

“It doesn’t have t’ mean anything we don’t want it to” he nodded, “Just friends looking out of one another”

“Mhm..” you choked, “Yep”

“Tell me, and I’ll get off of you”

Your answer came a short second later. “Yeah, get off” you said sternly.

His features barely got a chance to show the disappointment that enveloped him, because as soon as the words left your mouth, you pushed yourself up. Excitement started showing on his face as you pushed yourself up. With a devilish smile on your lips, you grabbed the hem of his shirt; not giving him a chance to secure his balance on his knees before you pulled the material up his body. He clumsily shuffled out of it, his tattoos coming into full view.

“Is that a new one” you asked, pointing to his left shoulder.

To your surprise he took you seriously, and looked down, obviously confused, “Which one, love?”

“This one” you grinned, pushing yourself up and against his chest, this way, giving yourself a chance to press your lips to the base of his neck.

Harry’s whole body shivered under you as he let out a small chuckle. Instantly, his hands found your waist. Once your lips grazed his sensitive skin, the muscles of his neck relaxed as if under a spell and his head fell back. Harry’s fingers dug into your sides as your teeth sunk his flesh, sucking profusely. Having waited for this so many years, it felt all too real and completely unreal at the same time. There was a fire burning inside of you and the soft moans slipping past his lips were no help with taming it.

“Having fun?” Harry laughed, but his confidence and usual air of self control were shaking.

As a response, you bit into his ear lobe and delighted yourself with the whimpers of pleasure he didn’t even try to hide.

Although burning for it, you didn’t have it in you to go for his lips, so when he was the one to do it, all your radars went crazy. The way he grabbed your chin and pulled you closer, it was all you wished for. Years worth of pent up emotions dripped from your lips and onto his.

How ungrateful and inappropriate would it have been for you to beg for more and guide the situation in a different direction? Even if his gentleness made your knees weak, the heat between your legs begged for a less kissing and a lot more biting.

It was when he pressed you down against him that made you forget about everything that held you back. His erection was rubbing against your thigh as you grinded down on him, and you couldn’t help but break the kiss and sink your teeth into his lower lip.

Harry threw his head back against your touch, and a proud smile lifted up the corners of your mouth.

“Come on” you moaned, kissing your way down to his ear, “Show me how you should treat a girl”

His fingers snuck into your hair and pulled your head back, forcing your eyes to meet his’, “Is it me? Or are yeh a bit more excited for this than you initially let on?”

Your eyes sparkled as you let out the fib, “It’s just you”

Grinning, he shook his head in mock approval, and secured you in his hold, before effortlessly spinning the two of you around. Now, a mess of limbs, you looked up at Harry with what could only be described as pure lust. And it all reflected on his features. His ridiculously messy curls framed his face perfectly, allowing his proud gaze to fuel your engines.

With all your might you wanted to let him take the lead and not show too much enthusiasm, but it felt next to impossible. Before you knew it, your hands were cupping his cheeks again, forcing his body flush against your own. He kissed you back with no hesitation, as if he too waited years for this to finally happen, as if this was his dumb way of confessing to you that he too, was head over heels for you. But that was a scenario that regardless of its likelihood, was sure to ruin your mood.

So you pushed it aside, forced your mind to fall on standby, and instead, you concentrated on the way his hands explored every single inch of your body. When he broke the kiss, you wanted to protest, your tongue crying from the sudden loss of contact. But his lips traveled lower, kissing all the way over down your neck, along your collarbones, and across your chest. It was all aggravated and hungry, as if he couldn’t get enough.

“Yeh good?” Harry asked, looking up at you, cheeks all flushed.

“Yep, yeah” you whispered, the weight of the moment turning your voice into a light chuckle. Breathless and innocent, you were on cloud nine, and all your struggles to keep that hidden were in vain.

Delicately, as only he could, Harry pushed your shirt over your head, leaving you exposed, a fact which sent a whole new wave of pleasure down your body. This gesture alone shook your whole world, but he wasn't wasting any time. You barely even got a chance to catch your breath before he lowered himself, and cupped your breasts into his palms. Your back arched in an instant, and when his warm lips connected to your skin, goosebumps propagated all over your whole body. As circled his lips and caught your nipple between his teeth, your mind went crazy, muscles sizzling with anticipation. A suggestive moan slipped from your throat, and you could tell it surely tickled his ego.

“Gettin’ there?” he questioned even if he already knew the answer.

You threw him half a shrug, tilting your head to the side and pressing your cheek to your shoulder.

“So fuckin’ cute, angel” Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he crawled up your body, “Why’re yeh so cute?”

“How would I know?” you blushed, playing along with his overly teasing approach, “You’re the one who sad it”

“Don’t know why I think yeh’re cute?”

You nodded no.

A small but sure fire lit up his features, and he knew it was on. He did maintain the eye contact for a while, but when he finally looked down at your body, nonchalantly staring at your chest, that was when your breath got caught in your throat. The pressure was building up, yet Harry kept pushing your buttons.

In desperate need to pick up the pace, you nudged his chin with the back of your fingers, and when his eyes caught yours; you raised one eyebrow, motioning for him to continue. “Wha’ do yeh want me t’ tell yeh, love?” Harry grinned, leaning down to kiss your neck.

“Tell me what you like about me” you laughed, linking your fingers in his hair. While you laughed due to the amount of different emotions that coursed through you, Harry made it all the more difficult for you to keep it together. His kisses were light enough for you to feel the ounces of love that dripped from his lips, but carnal enough to keep you on your toes.

“I love everything about yeh” he murmured against your skin, his chain of passionate kisses crossing over to the other side of your neck, “I mean, wha’s there not t’ like?”

“Word” you giggled, your sarcasm coming in perfect contrast to the weakness his question brought to your knees.

“Fuckin’ love every inch” Harry said, having completely ignored your joke, “Every single part of yeh, yer body and god, yer mind”

His hands cupped the sides of your rib cage, as his lips traveled down your sternum. He seemed lost, completely absorbed. Every time he looked up at you, it was impossible not to notice how out of this world his eyes seemed. Glossy and dark, extravagant green looking to explore more of you. And those were only the times you managed to catch him staring. The pleasure this man provided surpassed the moaning level, he got you working hard not to scream in ecstasy, as his tongue ran laps around your nipples, and the way his lips sucked with that specific amount of pressure. It looked as if he already knew where all your buttons were, he acted as if he knew your body better than you did. And for you, that was a new experience, which would’ve already been too much, even without Harry involved. But seeing your fingers get lost in his absolutely perfect in a messy kind of way locks, as he treated your skin with such refined skill, you found yourself way too close to the edge.

In the high of the moment, probably following an unidentifiable stimulus, you found yourself concentrated on the way his palms felt against your skin. He held you in his arms as if you were the most precious thing he ever laid eyes on. And for some reason, that feeling alone had you skyrocketing.

It was when you moaned out loud, for the first time not holding back, that he finally decided to give you what he promised.

“Yeh sure this is ok, angel, yeah?” he murmured, looking up at you.

His light stubble tickled the lower side of your abdomen as his breath barely managed to reach your skin.

“Yeah” you clumsily nodded, your words coated in fervid enthusiasm.

Something happened. Something clicked inside of him. You saw it in the way his eyes warmed up. For a second he didn’t move, instead he just took in everything that was happening. When he eventually pushed himself up, you expected him to help you or motion for you to undress, but he didn’t. Harry lowered himself on top of you, pressing his chest against your own.

His fingers locked themselves against your chin, “I really wanna fucking do this right for yeh”

His confession took you aback. The seriousness in this tone was not something you anticipated. At first, he was the one who made it all seem like a meaningless game, yet right now, it seemed as though he fell into his own trap.

All you could do was nod. Nod in approval, nod as a sign for him to keep going. As a promise that it was all ok. This attitude of his was not something you signed up for. Even if it looked like the beginning of what you always wanted, it also felt a little bit too sudden.

“Come here” you cooed, cupping his cheeks in a loving manner.

In an instant, he leaned into your touch, his skin burning against your damp palms. For the x-th time that evening, his lips melted onto yours, but something felt different. But you kept going, allowed the moment to carry you further without giving yourself the burden of dictating a direction.

And seconds passed, and with each one, his touch became more and more aggravated. You could feel his need, and you have loved to think that what you were feeling from him was love, but it was just too big of a step to take right now. Not too shortly after, the situation escalated towards the point you left off earlier. You let him take the lead, and he soon returned to his usual self.

Harry made his way down your body through a chain of lingering kisses, each one of them awakening yet another side of you. This time, you were given no time to prepare. His experienced hands grabbed your thighs, groping their way up to your hips. Although it was fairly fast, it felt like an eternity. You breathing picked up when his fingers hooked themselves into the waistband of your leggings, and without even thinking about it, you pushed yourself up, allowing him to take them off.

Now, you hadn’t seen this coming, because if you had, you probably would have chosen to wear something less embarrassing than your Superman underwear. Your cheek heated up as if it was the first time a man had seen you naked, and all your insecurities washed over you. None of those thoughts crossed Harry’s mind though.

He just smiled - a gesture whose roots you’d never know.

Harry positioned himself between your legs, his fingers gingerly tracing up and down your outer thighs. “Really fucken gorgeous, yeh know tha’?”

His compliments have never been this hard to receive, “Shut up” you chuckled, rolling your eyes as you couldn't help but squirm under his stare.

“Wha’?” Harry grinned, leaning his head to the side as he let his teasing side take over,

“Tha’ tinder fuckface never told yeh just how perfect yeh look?”

“This is still about him, huh?”

“It’s about yeh, love” Harry rolled his eyes, letting his nails graze your skin, “Always been about yeh, always will be”

With each word that let his mouth, he leaned down, lower and lower, until every inch of his body was pressing against your own. He dominated the moment, and you love it.

When he engulfed your lips into a kiss, his right hand traveled between your legs. That alone made your core vibrate, and knowing there was no way to hide your enthusiasm, made you smile.

You felt the back of his fingers trace up and down your opening, and his words confirmed your suspicions. He pulled away from your lips just enough so he could speak, but he was still too close for you to properly see his features - he was just a few literal inches away, “I can’t wait to taste yeh, doll”

The grin on his lips and the pride of his tone, had a visible effect on you. The hairs on your body stood up in anticipation, and you couldn’t help but arch your back and close your legs around him. You kissed him back, and this time, it was on.

As his tongue pushed past your lips, Harry’s hands lewdly traveled down your sides, caressing every inch of exposed skin they found in their way. You didn’t see the eagerness coming, but when he reached between your legs, the flimsy material of your underwear didn’t even begin to come in his way. He shoved his hand under your panties, his fingers instantly coming in contact with your opening.

It was solely the emotional value of the moment that made you nearly gasp. Harry took his sweet damn time, as if you needed any more foreplay. The pads of his fingers gingerly traced up and down your opening a few times, before coming back up again to rest against your clit. It was soft and easy at the beginning, but the feather light touch of his fingers started gaining more and more pressure as subtle circular movements started to form.

When you looked up at him, you were met with the mess of curls that had fallen onto his forehead as he had his head hanging low, with his eyes trained between your bodies. With a gentle nudge against his chin, you prompted him to look up. At first he seemed a bit disoriented, but a wicked grin shortly appeared on his lips. It made you smile.

He was the one to resume the kiss, making it gentle this time - in perfect contrast with the action of his fingers, as he slowly made his way past your folds. When the first finger went in, you curled the corners of your mouth in anticipation. It felt fine, but it was just the tip of the iceberg and you knew it. Eager for more, you allowed your teeth to lewdly sink into his lower lip, willing to show him you wanted more.

With a grunt, Harry shuffled a bit, his knees bucking into your hips. The deep breath he released tickled your skin, but you weren’t going to let this go. As you forced your teeth just a bit deeper into his plush skin, Harry let his forehead fall against yours.

His tongue neatly traced along your upper lip, and you thought it was in response to your actions. And this erroneous thought kept you from anticipating his next move. When Harry pushed one more finger in, your senses went mad, and the simple fact that he didn't give you too much time to adjust before he pushed a third finger in, rocked you completely.

You moaned in return and arched your back.

"I got yeh, baby girl" he whispered softly, "Look at me, I got yeh, ok?"

After receiving an enthusiastic nod from you, Harry made his way down your body. This time, he swiftly shuffled to the side, pulling your legs together and riding you of the unnecessary piece of underwear you still had on.

Not waiting for him to take control, you spread your legs, and feasted on the carnal look he had in his eyes as he looked down at your body. He didn’t waste any time before finding the perfect spot between your legs. Your whole body shivered as he leaned his head to the side, his light stubble tickling its way down the inside of your thighs.

And following the rough feeling of the still shy beard you didn’t think he was able to grow, when his soft lips brushed against your skin, you involuntarily clenched. You bucked your hips and your legs tried, but to no avail, to close the distance between one another. You wanted more - needed more. And he noticed it.

Looking down along your body, you could only see the top of his head. And his fingers, pressing into the skin of your legs. And the tip of his nose as he proceeded to tease you into oblivion with millions of kisses, each of them nothing less than heavenly, but still, nothing compared to what you knew was coming next. The only warning he gave you as a hurried grin, and it was nowhere near enough.

It was on. Elegantly, but with traces of dominance in his touch, and with two fingers, Harry spread your pussy wide open, his tongue lewdly slipping right inside you. The contact and the buildup made you gasp. Had you not been so over the moon and distracted already, you’d have heard him snicker in response to the sound you just made. But you were too caught up. You felt him on every inch of your body, and the signals your core were sending you, were not what you wanted.

You wanted this to last. To have him go at it, lapping at your core for hours. To feel his tongue wag until your senses went numb.It might have been the dry spell that was forced upon you as the pandemic overtook your life, or the timeless, painful crush you’ve had on him for years, but you were already on the edge.

Trying hard to make the moment last, you curled your pointer finger and shoved it into your mouth, biting down hard. Your back arched dangerously as your head flew back, but it all just worked in his favour. Your pleasure was building up, and the careful, experienced movement of Harry’s tongue against your clit was only gaining momentum.

“Yeh taste like fucking heaven but I think yeh already knew tha’” he said, for a second pulling away from your core and giving you a chance to catch your breath.

All you managed was a pathetic excuse of a nod, along with a shy roll of your eyes.

“None of tha’” Harry laughed, licking his lips, “Don’t care how close yeh are, ‘m not gonna stop until yeh moan my name, love”

“Jesus christ, Harry!” you panted, shaking your head.

He responded in a similar manner, and again, with no warning whatsoever, he went back in. This short break allowed you to regain your composure, even if it was just a tiny bit. Your excitement, although still there and just as consuming, was easier to control now. You felt his touch all throughout your body, his tongue tickling all your senses.

What brought you closer into the moment was the feeling of his hands, as he grabbed your thighs and pushed your legs up onto his shoulders. For whatever reason, this felt even more intimate, and as his fingers sank into your flesh, you felt your engines start up again.

The delicate flicks of his tongue were getting more and more aggravated by the second, and now it was close to impossible to keep calm. Sweaty palms gripping tirelessly into the cushions under you, your back under constant strain, your eyes squeezed shut - he had you entirely.

And as if that wasn’t enough, he went further. Harry pushed one finger inside of you, moving his lips up to fully concentrate on your clit. His tongue prepared you, got you all ready and wanting, and then, he wrapped his lips around your bundle of nerves and sucked - gently and with a minimal amount of pressure, but god-

“Fuck, Harry-” you called out. It was more of a cry, choked back in the depths of your throat, all breathy and muffled.

“Come on, angel” Harry whispered.

As you looked down, past your heaving chest, your eyes landed conveniently on the top of his head. Complete chaos - his unruly curls tickled the inside of your thighs, as his fingers dug into your flesh. The two rings he never takes off were sure to leave proud indents on your skin.

Harry sucked at your bundle of nerves, the eager touch of his tongue awakening absolutely every need inside your being. Add the experienced pumps of his fingers and the fact that this was Harry Styles and none other, and you were done.

With each passing second you started to lose more and more of the control you had on your body. Sweating nervously out of every pore of your body, you squirmed under his weight hoping you’d make the moment last.

“‘S good, love, isn’t it?” Harry smirked for just about a second, “I can see yeh, yeh’re a mess fo’ me”

“Fuck” you whined, covering your face with your right palm as your head tilted backwards, “Shut up”

“Oh!” Harry faked surprise, “Gettin’ cocky?”

As he spoke, Harry curled his fingers inside your pussy; maybe intentionally - maybe by chance, hitting all the right spots and making you moan out loud.

“I’ll take tha’ as an apology”

You scoffed.

Harry shook his head. When you looked down at him again, you caught him licking his lips. It was obvious he waited for you to catch him doing that.

Already at the edge of your self control, you curled your fingers into his hair, motioning for him to resume his work. He followed your lead without any complaints, and when his bottom teeth grazed your clit, even if it was light as a feather you lost it.

Your mind became numb, drunk on the pleasure he provided. Your eyes rolled back as you enjoyed every second of your high. Harry kept you spiraling, continuing to lap at your core as the muscles of your legs tensed uncontrollably around his frame.

“Holy fuck-” you breathed out, voice shaky and wounded.

He made sure to milk every ounce of pleasure out of your being, leaving you a heaving mess under his stare.

Harry pushed himself up, nonchalantly wiping his chin, his eyes not allowing yours to look away.

As you gathered yourself and worked on bringing your breathing back to normal, there was only one thought going on inside your head - that it would only be fair if you reciprocate the gesture. Thinking about it was enough to make your core buzz again, but you didn’t have it in you to bring it up, and instead hoped he’d show he wished things didn’t stop either.

But he didn’t.

However, you got to kiss him again. And no matter how badly you wanted to keep the atmosphere on fire, he had other plans.

“Did I take good care of yeh?” Harry asked as he leaned down beside you. His hand found your cheek, keeping you in place for another longing kiss, “Did I do yeh right?”

You nodded against his lips, not willing to actually word the answer.

His chuckle made it clear that the point got through. And for a second it seemed as if the night wasn’t done. None of you was willing to pull away, and allowed the minutes to go by without a care in the world, lost in each other’s arms.

“Freakin’ love yeh, angel” Harry said.

It wasn’t the first time you’d hear this coming out of his mouth, but you couldn’t help but smile thinking this time it was meant in a different manner. You answered him by cuddling deeper into his chest, and that was a moment you wouldn’t have traded for the world.

And you fell asleep like that. No matter how big and luxurious your couch was, you still spent the night glued to one another. Harry felt every calm breath of yours on his skin and everytime he moved a bit to adjust his position, his hold tightened around you to make sure he wasn’t pushing you away.

After what was probably the best sleep you’d gotten in the whole year of 2020, morning came around. Actually it was lunch time, if we’re being generous. The sun was high up, proudly making its way into your living room, past the curtains to forgot to draw the other night.

When you awoke, Harry wasn’t there anymore. However, panic didn’t have the time to settle in as you heard movement coming from the kitchen, and the strong smell of coffee reached your nose in no time.

You got up from the couch, with herds of butterflies in your stomach. Harry’s words from last night still echoed in your head, and even now, with no alcohol in your system, they managed to bring goosebumps all over your skin.

“When did you get up?”

That was how you made your presence known.

Harry turned around with a smile on his face. He had a bag of avocados tucked under his arm, as he typed away on his phone. His undone pants were hanging onto his thighs for dear life, and the only other piece of fabric on his body was a thin, brown hair tie around his wrist. There were a few purple marks along his collar bones and his hair looked rougher than usual, things which deep down, shook you up a bit.

“Wanted to take yeh out fo’ breakfast, but I gotta leave in like an hour, so I figured this should do”

“Yeah, yeah sure” you agreed, “It’s perfect”

“Would’ve done mo’, but Y/n, yeh have no food in this house”

You laughed, walking over to slump down into one of the chairs, “Didn’t get a chance to get any perishables”

“You got some” Harry chuckled, “You got weeks’ worth of everything you need to make guacamole and pancakes”

“I have no idea how that happened, those will spoil” you shook your head, “You can take some of them actually”

“Or I could just come over”

“Even better”

The food was ready in no time. Harry had everything done and set while you washed up a bit, and after that, you both sat down to eat. Minimal and light, but still, there was a weight in the pit of your stomach.

“About last night-” Harry began to say, but you tried to stop him.

“You don’t have to-”

“We kinda do, love” he smiled, “I need to apologise, angel”

You squinted your eyes, “For?”

“I don’t really have t’ apologise fo’ what I said because I meant every word” Harry slowly said, as if he has a hard time putting his thoughts together, “I jus’ wish I hadn’t said it like tha’ though”

“Like what?” you questioned, a bit lost.

“Like I had the right to say that kind of crap” he laughed. It was nervous laughter, like he was afraid of what was coming next, “I do fucking love yeh, but I shouldn’t have assumed you wanted to hear that”

“What are you talking about, I don’t understand” you groaned, growing a bit tired of the impatience he brought upon you.

“You’re my best friend, ok?” he sighed, “That’s all we are, Y/n, and that was not supposed to happen”

The food got lodged in your throat, and you felt like if you didn’t stand up, you’d no longer be able to breathe. “It was your idea” you scoffed.

Harry’s eyes followed your frame, but he remained seated, “I know”

“So what changed? If anything even changed. I don’t understand what the problem is. You regret we did what we did-”

“I don’t regret anything” Harry butted it.

“You said it was not supposed to happen!” you exclaimed, rolling your eyes as you walked over to the sink, just to make yourself useful and to stop just standing in front of him.

“The things I said to you-” he said sternly, pushing his chair back and throwing his hands into the air, “I shouldn’t have said those, ok? It doesn’t matter who meant what, I told you things that-”

“What did you tell me that’s bothering you so much?” you almost yelled, annoyance dripping out of your pores. You walked over to him, and he closed the distance by standing up.

“I-” Harry stuttered, playing with his hair to buy himself some more time. “All the-”

“What?” you pushed, “That you like everything about me? That’s what you regret saying? And what else?”

“God” he groaned, “I don’t regret saying tha’, it’s just tha’ it wasn’t my place to say it”

You fell silent.

“If I were you... I’d want to hear those things from someone that is more than just a friend to me” he confessed.

“And you can’t be that to me? More than a friend?”

After a few seconds of painful silence, realization hit him, “Y/n…”

He did reach out. He took a step towards you but you stepped back. The remorse in his tone was too painful to ignore. So you moved away from him and slowly made your way out of the kitchen.

“Y/n!” Harry called, following you.

“Just go”

“Please...”

“Please what?” you shook your head, but he didn’t have the words you needed to hear.

“I’m sorry”

“It’s fucking fine” you sighed, walking backwards towards your room, “Just show yourself out”

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfic #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles writing #harry styles x reader #one direction #one direction imagine #one direction imagines #one direction fanfiction

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killian-spey · 3 years

Text

Death Would Be Kinder [Ch. 2]

Prev. Ch.

[Drusilla/Spike/Calendar!Reader]

Words: 2276

Fic Concept: Jenny Calendar’s sister spends some “quality time” with the Season 2 Vampire Squad. This chapter takes place during [BtVS S2:E15]

TW/CW: violence, kidnapping, chains?

AN: Idea came from @prose-for-hire ‘s submission to the fic title game. Taglist is at the bottom, let me know if you want to be added!

You’d been sitting silently, watching Spike wheel himself back and forth across the factory. If you didn’t know better he looked like he was pacing. In reality, he was probably checking behind the pillars and corners of the factory for any sign of your friends. It seems the vampires were expecting Buffy to come looking for you. As the time dragged on, your suspicions became reality; Buffy had prioritized the threat of the Judge over saving you. You had to admit, it stung a little, but it was only logical.

Spike peeked his head into each doorway adjoining the main factory floor. You could tell he was getting restless. You contemplated your odds carefully before you decided on taking a calculated risk.

“You lose a sock?” you yelled.

“Did I what?” Spike wheeled back into the room, an odd expression on his face.

“I asked if you lost a sock.” You paused, his intense glare caught you off-guard. “You know… Because of all the pacing. And popping your head in and out of every room in the place. Somebody’s going to think you lost a sock.”

“Well, I didn’t.” He chuckled a bit before going quiet again and stalking around the factory in his wheelchair. You nodded to yourself, deciding to quit while you were ahead. After that, the only sounds left in the factory were the spinning of wheels and an occasional bumping of door frames and frustrated curses.

It had only been a couple hours of his pseudo-pacing before Angelus and Drusilla stumbled their way into the factory. Spike took one look at the state Angelus was in and hid a smirk under his hand by scratching his nose.

“Well, you’re home early. Slayer hasn’t even tried swiping the girl yet.”

Spike’s good mood vanished as he watched them come down the steps. Drusilla was beside herself, and for a moment you found yourself feeling bad for her. Then Angelus opened his big fat mouth and you remembered who these people were.

“Yeah, well things didn’t go exactly according to plan, Spikey.” He prowled the room, circling like a big cat before he gravitated towards you. Your nerves peaked and you swear you saw a glint of pride behind Angelus’ eyes as he heard your heart pick up. He stepped within arms’ reach of you and sneered.

“What I can’t figure out is, why would she abandon you like this?”

“Where’s your big blue friend?” You swallowed your anxiety and stared up at him in challenge, you weren’t going to tell him a goddamn thing. Might as well give yourself a fighting chance. If he figured it out, you were dead already. You were going to be careful, of course, but that didn’t mean you were going to let him win.

Angelus roared, grabbing your face by the jaw. He was suddenly wearing his game face front and center. ‘Buffy really rattled him, huh?’ You remained stoic, as statuesque as you could muster. If you had misjudged his mood, this might be one of your last moments alive.

Drusilla had floated her way over, leaning into Angelus and hugging his arm to her side. Your staring contest interrupted, Angelus pulled away from you. You took the free moment away from the spotlight to run your fingers against the grain of the armrests, trying to ground yourself in the feeling of the wood underneath you. Your panic was bubbling to the surface, tension and pressure building in your ribcage. You caught Spike’s knowing glance towards you as your eyes flickered between the vampires. You dropped your eyes to the floor, frozen as Drusilla subtly coaxed Angelus away from you. Before long, Angelus had stormed out of the factory again, mumbling about sending Buffy a message.

You were grateful and more than a little stunned. Drusilla saved your life. In her own, subtle way she’d dismantled Angelus’ rage and directed it somewhere else. She’d spun him out of the factory towards Buffy with little more than a subtle flirtatious gesture. You practically gawked at her as she made her way into Spike’s lap. She had these men wrapped around her finger and they didn’t even know it.

Well, maybe Spike knew, but he certainly didn’t mind. He was running his fingers through Drusilla’s hair, comforting her as he spoke.

“If you like the hostage so much, maybe you should have a little fun, Ducks.” He wrapped an arm around Drusilla’s waist to steady her as he wheeled towards you, continuing. “She was supposed to be the distraction for the Slayer, after all. That is what went wrong with the plan, wasn’t it?”

Drusilla lifted her head, gears turning as she looked between Spike and you. Your mind rushed with your fears of what she was contemplating. You didn’t put it past them for ‘playing’ to mean something rather unpleasant for you. Drusilla hummed under her breath excitedly, springing from Spike’s lap and practically skipping out of the room. Spike nodded at you, raising his eyebrows as if to say “Hey look, I fixed it!” and wheeled himself into a good position to watch from, a smug grin on his face.

Drusilla returned with two fistfuls of chains and your heart dropped. She fussed with them somewhere behind you and left the rest in a pile as she ducked off again to the other room. Spike flicked his eyes between the chains and his girl curiously, but said nothing as she flurried about the factory. When she returned, she was holding a long carrying case and a small over-the-shoulder bookbag. She dropped them beside the chains and left again without a word.

“Ducks, what is all this stuff?”

Spike called out to her and wheeled over to the bags. He unzipped one when she didn’t answer. You couldn’t see into the bag from your position and Spike’s exasperated reaction didn’t help you either.

Drusilla returned one final time, holding a large blank canvas in each hand. The left was maybe a 20”x24” and the right was maybe a 24” square. (50cmx60cm or 60cm square).

“Which one does the artist like best?”

You paused, unsure if there was a right answer. After a couple moments you pointed weakly to the left canvas. Drusilla smiled at you and put the square canvas down. Spike scoffed as Drusilla set up an easel from the carrying case and put the bookbag on a table beside it.

She dragged the chains over to your chair and kneeled, carefully untying the knots around your right leg. You studied her face; she bit her tongue lightly as she worked, pulling at the ropes with deft, perfectly manicured fingers. After she’d untied your legs and shackled them, she let your arms off the armrests.

She took your hands in hers and pulled you up to stand for the first time in almost a day. You scanned her expression and glanced backwards towards the easel, then back to her with trepidation. She glided you in front of the daunting white canvas and left you, sinking backwards and sitting in Spike’s lap.

You stood, dumbfounded at the prospect of Drusilla wanting you to paint, of all things. She seemed unimpressed by your inaction after a few moments, and had begun whispering into Spike's ear. He'd leaned into her, pulling her closer and snickered at what must have been a rather amusing comment. He flicked his eyes at you through his lashes, a predatory glint flashing behind his eyes as his smirk grew. He straightened in his seat with satisfaction, head held high.

“Paint for the lady or get eaten. Your choice.”

Drusilla’s eyes wandered back to you and provided no comfort, but then again, why should it? You turned back to the canvas, feeling both their eyes staring at you. A calming breath later, you assessed the materials on the table.

The canvas bag she'd brought had a full set of oil paints- far nicer than you'd ever been able to afford. You didn't dare think of the poor shopkeeper she'd probably killed for them. A person just like your Uncle. He was just another obstacle in these people’s way, and for that he was murdered. You shoved the paints to one side of the small table and began assessing the tools. A somewhat rudimentary selection of spatulas and brushes. You could make do just fine with these.

You set up a palette with some blue, red, white, and black to start. A color palette often was the first thought you gave to a painting. This painting would be mostly blues, purples, and grays. Without turning your head, your eyes flicked towards the vampires just off your left shoulder in the periphery. You had never really let anyone sit and watch you paint. It was hard enough showing a finished piece to someone other than family.

You mixed a deep lilac and raised a palette knife to the canvas. You paused, unsure where to place the landscape. The creeping feeling of being watched was throwing you. The white snow canvas was taunting you, paralyzing you. But you weren't about to let it win. Any of them. You closed your eyes and just swiped the palette knife confidently in a bold first stroke. Now you had a puzzle. How does this fit into a landscape? There was no going back now, it had to work.

It was a mountain slope. The hue you used was suitable for a distant fixture seen from a twilit glade. You could lean into that, thinking on how to keep the morbid whimsy of the piece consistent as a theme. You blocked out the clearing and plotted out the forest behind and around it. It fell silent in the factory as you worked, only the scraping of palette knives and brush strokes echoing in the room. Pieces fell in place as you added gnarled willows at the tree line, white ghost pipes and fungi crawling on the foliage, and sickly green fireflies in the weeping branches and crooked thorn bushes. You didn't like how the overall feel of the piece was so damp and dreary. It felt too muted, too blue for what you'd envisioned. You added nettles to the glade in a redder purple, almost magenta, to tie the piece back into the mystical tone you wanted. A few more touches, a ray of silver moonlight here or there, and you stepped back. You contemplated the piece, for some reason feeling unfinished. The glade felt completely untouched, too alone by itself.

You almost jumped when you heard Drusilla shift off Spike’s lap behind you. You froze, dropping your gaze to the floor, unsure of her intentions. With three clicks of her heels against the concrete flooring, she stopped just behind you. So close you would have felt her breath on your neck if she were human. She leaned forward and pulled your hair behind your ear. She placed one hand on your shoulder and raised your head with a finger under your chin, guiding your eyes back to your work.

“Don’t you like it?”

“It’s not bad, actually.” Spike wheeled forward a pace or so to take a closer look at it. Drusilla still seemed to be waiting for your own answer. You studied it again silently.

It did feel telling, in an odd sort of way. It was invisibly and indescribably alive, despite the darkness and isolation. Could be a good metaphor for vampires... Alive and free only after their own deaths. Sure, they may not exactly live up to society’s expectation of a good neighbor, but you couldn’t say they let being dead keep them from living.

Still, the painting felt unsatisfactory, felt incomplete. You shook your head and pondered. You drew up a couple new colors, a ghostly blue and a red-brown clay. You loaded a palette knife with the clay tone and hovered over the painting, indecisive. The central piece as of now was a large, twisting willow on a small inclined mound of earth. The whole painting felt like background to an invisible subject. Nothing tied the eye to the painting, there was nothing to follow. No movement in a living place.

Drusilla took the palette knife from your hand and set it down. She pulled you lightly to step away from the painting, lightly petting your hair.

“Let it rest, you’ll do more later. With a clear mind,”

You let a heavy sigh escape your lungs. She was right. If you kept going now, at the end of your rope, you’d risk doing something that detracted from the painting entirely. You jerked your head up at a loud scraping sound from above you. Angelus had swung the door open on the mezzanine of the factory. He had a vicious grin and a playful look in his eyes, leaning on the guardrail and looking down at the three of you.

“Did you have fun with the Slayer, then?” Spike called up to him.

“Oh, she makes it so easy!” Angelus threw himself at the spiral staircase and rushed down them with glee.

“I barely had to lift a finger to throw a wrench in her little puppy problem.”

Drusilla twitched her head and glided towards him. She was staring at his face, fixated on something you didn’t pick up on. She swiped her thumb across the corner of his mouth and brought it to her own lips.

“Did you bring any home, Angel? I taste a young one on you.”

“Not today, darlin’. Besides, you have that one.” Angelus gestured to you and sauntered off, calling back as he left. “She wasn’t really any use anyway.”

[Next Chapter Soon!]

Tags: @prose-for-hire @soggy-enchilada @misselsbells06

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incarnateirony · 3 years

Text

An anti dressed up as a shipper, an idiot, and a terf all walk into the same bar.

It’s the same picture person.

A lesson.

Warning: if the title doesn’t give it away, queerphobic content comes up in this from the other party being documented.

So, some of you may have watched a twitter exercise yesterday.

It started simple: concern trolling white knight “for the writers” comes in to angrily declare fans doing something tagged in support of them about Destiel was “out of line.” She claimed things like “Misha was gaslit into supporting Destiel”, and pulled all kinds of stunts.

She immediately got on a soap box yelling “I HAVE A LIT CRIT DEGREE, I KNOW AUTHOR INTENT” of course implying she knew better than EVERYONE around her how to read text. She then pulled, of all things, @chill-legilimens ‘ article about the network gods gutting the show out of the internet, and somehow misread it SO FUCKING BADLY -- SO FUCKING BADLY -- she thought it aligned with HER. She argued that fans influenced the writers, essentially, and basically pulled the exact opposite of the very clearly delivered message there out. When it was pointed out we know this author and even sometimes help edit their pieces, and she was, flat out misreading it while bragging about how good she is at deciphering text, it turned into a SHITSHOW.

I had watched her give a large group of queer people 2 days of runaround, while they tried to be polite, and similarly tried to prove everything while she proved nothing. Just preached. After 2 days of them exhausting themselves on her, I came in doing my blunt & savage thing, because fuck civility culture when it’s used by oppressors. Of course, she immediately started tone policing, while herself being an arrogant shitbrick the whole way.

She continued to preach author intent and talk down about “headcanons.” You see, she knew the authors very well. Berens’ name was mentioned in passing, and she came back with. “Who’s Berens? Is that the author of the article?” after Deirdre’s name had been directly cited in associated with it about 15 times.

(credit: @judgehangman )

But it gets better. She started pulling the “authors have said Dean is straight.” line. Now, at this point, we had already sourced her at least four pieces of information (quite formally too: SPN Official DVD Collection Season 8 episode 13 creative commentary, Edlund and Sgriccia; Dissent Magazine The Attack Queers Bob Berens review; the books in the office with screenshots, and more.) So we issued one simple request: Okay. Source.

For the next-- I shit you not-- 10 hours she bricked the thread to death, finding any and EVERY rabbit hole she could try to venture down. For the first hour or two a few of us tried to actually debate her newly raised points, but still gave reminder that we were waiting for her source. Every tweet was an opportunity for her to drop a 15 tweet thread trying to derail onto a new topic, and often clarifying she had no idea about any of it (Edlund, Sgriccia, Berens, Dabb--who she couldn’t spell the name of--and Deirdre all became an amorpheous blob in her retelling that she swore she looked at sources and wasn’t convinced, while she crossed all the data and comments about the sources). She tried to challenge that anyone could know all the writers and episodes just because she proved she couldn’t, even when multiple people expressed it to her extremely rapidly with not just author and director listings, but cross references on when they overlapped and major elements (like the 15.20 shot 19 tree being the Kim Manners memorial tree). She randomly babbled about Kripke once. Lied her way through and claimed those sources were vague. Etc.

But at some point, I decided, we’re not playing this distraction game. You wanted a debate, you claim you have a lit crit degree, and thus know the entire art is Argumentation. A source, if you’re declaring knowing author intent. One source. Any time she dropped a distraction tweet, I replied to her thread with things like a list of our sources vs her lack of any and a reminder. I installed a counter ticker. How many times had she been asked to either recant her point or give a single source?

Someone made a list of the logical fallacies she used in the argument. It was two tweets long and still missed several obvious ones. That didn’t stop her. Neither did the dozens of requests for a source or a recant. Onwards, she marched, derailing time and again. She brought in a buddy to try to distract, but he fell out real quick when he realized “the burden of proof lies on the arguer” shot him and her both in the feet in record time and he ducked out.

Other greatest hits came out like “Dubs (Dabb’s) fanfic books”, and calling the ability to list authors and episodes “headcanons.”

Over time, the dialogue shifted: see, she came in trying the snide “enjoy your headcanons” downtalk, but as time and time again she was pulverized on every point about the show, or the authors, or anything else while STILL never even giving a single source to even her FIRST POINT and running distractions, it became a reality-- she was told, “We’ll enjoy our canon and author intent. You can enjoy your headcanon of... Dabb’s fanfic books and Lord Barons and the writers being collective hallucinations and whatever else in your hot takes about the show content itself” and she FLIPPED SHIT.

As the ticker for sources approached 100, she started becoming flustered. Before that, even, she started repetitively misgendering Ezra (no tumblr to link in), and Ezra screenshot their bio of they/them and asked them to adjust. Ignored. Ezra linked this request and asked it to be addressed again, and again, and again. 13 times. Ezra linked it 13 times. She even replied to several of them. No avail. No change. Not until literally any and every tweet in her vicinity either had “source?” or “address gender?” for her to reply to did she flee there, and write some giant write-around of “oh, I didn’t see this, sorry” but still refused to actually use it. Or “I’ll use the right one now.” No, just completely strickened pronouns from her vocabulary with Ezra moving forward, after not one mistake, not two, not five, but 13 answers.

At this point, I notice a trend: throughout the entire conversation, she had flip flopped on my pronouns, clearly confused as to what to call me. As I generally don’t care (honestly I prefer he but meh), it didn’t ping me as something to react to while she switched religiously between “he” and “she”. But I realized now, despite all of that confusion: she never once thought to use “they.” Also earlier we found tweets of hers that, while now declaring herself bisexual, she used troublesome wording in the past to blur the line on if she was an ally or, as she phrased it “maybe less than 100% straight in the bell curve” in other conversations.

I mutter about this on the side to Ezra and some friends, but continue on towards the 100 ticker that was the goal to show people in this digital terrarium how disingenuous most people you argue with are -- an exhibit for the class. They know they’re lying and have been caught, but will not cede to admit “oops, I guess I was wrong.” but rather stick, unironically, to their own headcanons about things. After all, they vaguely sorta apologized even if suddenly just refusing to use any pronouns at all on Ezra after that. And she’s so quick to disappear into 15 tweet bombs of distraction trying to play victim for being held accountable at this point, we just didn’t jump to a conclusion on that, alarming as it is.

So. You know. Source.

At this point, she RANDOMLY starts evoking the fact that like, How Dare, She Watched Gay Men Die To AIDS, She Is A Great Philanthropist How Dare How Dare.

I’m sorry, did you just evoke the blood of our dead to run away from the most basic scrap of accountability in what is literally the first wave of a lit debate because for the last 10 hours you have refused to take the necessary steps to move on to the next point? Did you... just... evoke the ghosts of gay men that were genocided to, essentially, pull up a smokescreen and run away from being party to queer erasure? Or even just? Giving a source? or admitting you were wrong on one point in a debate? Wow, you really just did that.

Naturally, people involved got pissed. Her Sources ticker hit 100, but at this point, all that haunted her was how completely fucking vile and inappropriate that was in this discussion.

She got blocked. She then tried to glom onto anyone that hadn’t blocked or muted her and run the same argumentation points she had earlier been decimated in the argument with, while yelling “I ship Destiel too! I wanted them to have sex too! Why does this make me the bad guy?” around the block and hoping nobody actually read the thread. She tried to pitch the “headcanons” point of view again, hoping a new audience would lick her boots. She was, largely, ignored; given a few more comments about her leaving the conversation losing all points and only covered in the blood of our dead she was so proud of; blocked by a few more. (unsurprisingly, if you check her actual tweet history, she seems more invested in Megstiel but)

This is when CommaSameleon -- a professor with two lit degrees and a primary focus in teaching the art of Argumentation -- literally -- stepped in. She initially tried to engage the fact that, well, this woman not only can’t argue out of a paper sack but wasn’t even arguing, she was just running in circles and distracting from all the points and hadn’t addressed a single lit point directly while preaching down at people. But Sam, also, noticed something. This woman kept changing things like “queerphobia” to “homophobia.” Sam mentioned this kinda puts off TERF vibes (I think Sam picked up on the gendering thing herself too.)

Her response? Which she deleted since? But Discord’s embed helpfully saved?

Her inacted non-apologies remain weak, especially in any form of debate be it lit or now queer topics.

Oh I’m sorry, let’s recap her viewpoints: TERF is a slur. “They” is made up and should be avoided at all costs. The blood of dead gay men are a token to use in a lit debate you’re avoiding responsibility in. After this, “authors are headcanons” is suddenly not your worst take, but fascinating that you 13 times didn’t even read the blatant ass screenshot. And I mean, these weren’t subtle or easy to miss these 13 times.

100. She had 100 chances, literally, on a timer, to give a source or shut up with her platforming until she had one. Instead, she chose every rabbit hole she could manifest to disappear into, only to be met by another request for a source, and not moving on until we address the first points. We’ve given ours, now you give yours. Instead, you choose this. This is the hill you choose to die on, rather than admitting, “Sorry, I guess I was wrong” or “I guess I heard that somewhere, my bad.” 100 chances. 13 direct QT requests to address gender which she replied to but didn’t reply to until cornered (and still didn’t, truly, reply to), and “TERF is a slur.” Oh, and after waving around the dead men’s blood she also suddenly Can’t Be A Terf Because She Adopted Two Trans Kids. Lord help those children. Or, you know, the more realistic thing is she’s just manifesting all kinds of bullshit at this point to save face, which is probably why she deleted all the related tweets that show she’s a giant-ass TERF.

So anyway, this is very much a lesson on:

Paying attention to how people manipulate conversation to erase genuine discussion and debate.

Paying attention to WHY they do it. Motivation on methods and tactics will clear up a lot.

Figuring out HOW they try to sound woke about shit and when it’s entirely fucking vile and inappropriate to pull

And by all above points, figuring out that these people are among us, and how NOT to let them influence your conversations.

I don’t care if it’s about a discussion on a ship or show or anything else. People do this. A lot. Extremely dedicatedly, if the 100 asks doesn’t make that clear.

Stop letting people railroad your conversations with disingenuous bullshit.

So anyway in honor of this I made everyone a gif

Use at will. It’s tagged anti-terf if you want to use the search feature on it.

UPDATE:

Just went and checked. She went and deleted literally her entire side of the conversation, hundreds if not thousands of tweets. Luckily, Ezra mentioned repeatedly -- and I do trust them inherently -- that they were saving the entire conversation, so that zip file exists somewhere. How fascinating, after she accused us that we would want to delete tweets. Someone realized they had a bad look and giant failure all around.

Also, a related anon that links to an earlier part of this conversation I didn’t even document where she was crying about “cis erasure” [x] This shit went on so long I legit forgot about that.

#supernatural #spn #destiel #anti-terf #debate

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miastideclock · 3 years

Text

Kim Namjoon Drabble, "2. 21. 50."

Kristina asked:

hi! do you think you could do a drabble with Namjoon (RM)?? And i looked through ur pick a number thing- could you do it with 50 - 21 - 2 ? Thank youu!!

(also idk if you include names, but if you wanna my name is Kristina but my friends call me Cricket)

Dude, i love your name!! And considering the numbers you chose, i'm assuming you wanted it to be kinda sad, bordering on angsty? please let me know if that wasn't what you had in mind, and i'll cook you up a new one!!

Word count:

2. "Listen, if you're gonna break my heart, can we do it outside?" 21. "This isn't gonna have a happy ending, is it?" 50. "I don't think I love you anymore."

Iron. You identified the taste in your mouth as iron. The liquid was warm and odd in consistency, and yet the taste fell familiar. You quickly pulled your hands away from your lips to see what was bleeding, shocked to see your fingertips.

One of your worst habits included biting your fingernails, especially when you were nervous- and truth be told, you had never been more anxious and nervous than you were right then. So when you had gotten yourself into a bit of an overthinking-state, you had been nibbling away, causing your fingers to bleed. As it wasn't too much blood, you just wiped it away on your hoodie, not bothering to get up to get a tissue.

You took a look at the clock. Nine forty-five.

Namjoon had a couple of his boys over for pizza and some games, but he had promised you they would be out of the house by eight thirty, since you said you needed to talk to him. But judging from the hoying and cheering downstairs, you could say it was safe to assume they were still here.

You sighed and got up from your seat on the floor next to the bed. Usually you would be at a friends house when Namjoon wanted some guy-time, but today you hadn't had the energy. So hiding out upstairs had been your plan-b.

You slowly made your way down the stairs, as to not make any of the steps creak. When you finally made it way downstairs, you crept up behind Namjoon who was standing behind the sofa, a soda, or maybe a beer- you couldn't really tell from where you were standing, in his hand. You gently placed your hand on his back, trying not to startle him. Your mission was accomplished when he softly turned around, giving you a big smile.

"Hey Cricket. What's up?" He smiled even more and wrapped his free arm around your waist and pulled you in to give you a kiss on your forehead.

To everyone else, it might have looked like you were deeply in love, and that everything was perfect, but that was far from the truth.

Namjoon had been working a lot lately, which isn't necessarily a problem. The problem was that you didn't mind. You didn't mind having the house to yourself and being away from Namjoon, actually- you had started to prefer it. The days he came home early, you found your heart sinking just ever so slightly. It disturbed you. All you wanted in the world was to cherish him and love him just as much as you did the first years you were dating- because that's what he deserved.

He had never done anything to make you fall out of love with him, but those things just happen sometimes.

"Sorry about the guys still here- they'll leave soon, I promise." Namjoon said, jumping to the conclusion that this was what it was about.

"No you don't." Hoseok called from the couch as he tossed a piece of popcorn into his mouth.

"No I don't." Namjoon laughed, but soon stopped when he saw you weren't joking around with them.

Namjoon on the other hand, hadn't noticed much of a difference in your relationship. Sure, you had been acting kind of distant the last few weeks, but he had just assumed you were giving it your all at work, and didn't always have the extra energy to be all lovey dovey with him all the time.

"Can I talk to you? Privately?" You finally asked, in kind of a quiet voice. Not that you were trying to hide what you were saying from the other boys, but Namjoon was so close, you really didn't need to talk any louder.

"2. If you're gonna break my heart, can we go outside?" Namjoon matched your volume, but was obviously kidding with what he said. Little did he know, it wasn't far off from being what was about to go down. You gave him a gentle nod and turned around, while still holding his hand. You then carefully lead him outside on the stairs leading up to your front door.

"Please sit down with me." You asked when you sat down on the stone steps. He did as he was asked and sat down so close that your legs were touching.

"21. This isn't going to have a happy ending, is it?" Namjoon was a lot less playful this time, and hit the nail on the head with his comment. You felt a lump grow in your throat as you grabbed his hand, intertwining your fingers.

You didn't want to break up with him. You didn't want to- at all. You wanted to fall in love all over, and be the partner he deserved. Someone who loved and adored him, someone who supported them the entire way. Someone who didn't wish he would work overtime.

"I have so much respect for you, and everything you do. I care for you deeply, please don't get that wrong." You started, a stray tear falling from your eye. You don't bother wiping it away as you know there will be plenty more running down your cheeks in just a few minutes.

"But?" Namjoon urges you to continue as he looks down at your intertwined fingers, gently stroking the back of your hand.

"50. I don't think I love you anymore." It barely came out as a whisper, but when it did- the world froze. Namjoon gently pulled away his hand from yours as he now rested his elbows on his knees, looking onto the street ahead of you. "I wish I could do something about it- oh my god, if I could! But I don't think that's how this works."

The silence after you finished speaking was deafening. He didn't say anything, and neither did you. It was as if the traffic even knew to go around your block rather than through it, because no cars came passing by anymore. The birds could no longer be heard.

"So what happens now?" He sighed as he looked at you, tears in his eyes. The sight only made the lump in your throat burn even more, tears now pouring down your face like a waterfall you were unable to control.

"I don't know." You started, hugging yourself as you didn't know what else to do with your hands. "I'm scared." You finally whispered.

Namjoon could relate to you, so almost as if he was acting on instinct, he wrapped his arms around you and guided your head to rest on his chest as you cried.

"I don't know." He admitted before taking a small breath. "But I know we are going to get through it together. Of course it sucks that you don't have feelings for me anymore, but that's not something I can do anything about- and neither can you. We'll just have to deal with it."

The silence came around once again, but this time- it wasn't as loud. It was more comfortable.

This was the reason you were begging and praying to fall back in love with him. Even when you broke up with him, he was kind and caring and compassionate. He was holding and comforting you- even though he should be angry and frustrated. Maybe he was. Maybe he was just hiding it.

"I'll love you forever, you know that right?" He mentioned after he placed his head on top of yours.

"I know. And I'll love you too, just not in the way I need to love you." You sighed as you finally wrapped your arms around his waist.

A few more minutes passed before you finally pulled away from him, knowing that if you didn't do it know, you would never be able to. "I'm gonna go get a few things, and then a co-worker is going to pick me up. I'll be back tomorrow so we can discuss a few things, okay?" You said as you got to your feet, reaching out a hand for Namjoon so he also could get up.

He nodded as he grabbed your hand and hoisted himself off the steps.

"I better get the guys home too then." He sighed and wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, just to get rid of any residue from the tears.

You walked back inside where the video games and music were now muted, the boys sitting on the couch in anticipation. They didn't know you were planning on doing what you did, but they had probably read your body language enough to know the news you were delivering weren't exactly great.

"Hey, are you guys good?" Yoongi asked once you both stepped into the living room, your hand still holding Namjoon's. The two of you looked at each other, communicating through the looks you had evolved over the many years you had been dating.

"We broke up." You both said simultaneously.

Even though the boys were his band-members, and his coworkers- they still had plenty of love for you as well. So when you broke the news to them, you could easily tell they had difficulties with figuring out who to run and hug first. You just gave them a sad smile and then walked past them to get upstairs, leaving Namjoon behind as well.

Grabbing a bag, you felt your hands shake. You didn't want to pack. You just wanted to sit on the floor and cry with your boyf-

Ex.

Your ex-boyfriend.

The realization finally hit as you were about to losely toss your toothbrush into your bag, but it dropped to the floor before you could even reach the toothbrush. You felt your knees begin to give out, so you quickly grabbed the edges of the sink to support yourself, catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you did so.

You hadn't heard the front door open and close. You didn't even hear someone come up the stairs, and especially nothing when they came into the washroom where you were standing.

He didn't have to say anything for you to notice he was standing behind you though. His cologne warmed you up a bit inside, so it was easy to tell who it was.

You slowly turned around, leaning against the sink still- just in case.

"Do you think, that in another lifetime-" You cut off your own whisper. Namjoon took a few steps closer, only a few centimeters between your bodies now. Then he slowly nodded, knowing exactly what you were trying to ask.

He then closed the gap between you, and held you close. It didn't take long before you hugged him back, not knowing what else to do.

"I love you." He whispered into your hair.

"I love you too." You replied as you dug yourself deeper into his chest.

"Not enough."

Damn, who hurt me? 🤡

Anyways, I hope you liked it!! Feel free to request again!

-bentley

#kpop #bts #bts namjoon #bts rm #bts scenarios #bts reactions #bts requests #bts one shot #bts outfits #bts drabble #rm #rm scenarios #rm requests #rm reactions #rm drabble #rm one shot #rap monster #rm angst #bts angst

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toosicktoocare · 4 years

Text

prompt: Yay it's finally letting me ask you! I'm wondering if you could do anything with sick Jason? that'd be awesome. thank you for taking the time to read this :). and also, you're easily my favorite author, and I love you so much. thank you for all you do <3 - anon

prompt: Hey there. Could you do anything, like literally anything with sick!Jason? - @lettheseabirdscry

“Is everyone in position?”

Tim spares a glance down to see Damian crouched behind a large trash bin, the Robin’s starting position for the recon mission Bruce called all of the bats too, but when bringing his gaze back to the rooftop across from him, it’s empty.

“Hood’s not here,” Tim informs with a frown, unable to shake this nagging feeling that something’s wrong.

“Unsurprising,” Damian scoffs into the comms, his flat tone clashing with Bruce’s deep sigh.

“Robin,” Dick warns over the comms. “One sec; I’ll call him.”

Tim waits, staring hard at the empty spot across from him as if expecting Jason to just manifest before his very eyes, to just stretch through reality’s fabric with some quip about being fashionably late.

“Damn. No answer. Oracle, can we get a ping on his location?”

“He’s probably out becoming intoxicated with Harper.”

Tim doesn’t need to see Damian’s face to know the pull of muted disgust twisting at his lips.

“Arsenal’s out of town,” Barbara mutters flatly in the comm. “And Hood’s phone tracker is showing he’s in his apartment. I can’t get much of a read on anything else. Looks like he finally cashed in on his word that he was going to rig his security systems to block us out.”

“We should move forward with the mission without him.”

Tim considers nudging a loose brick over the ledge of the roof, right above Damian. “He said he’d be here.” Tim knows Jason is a lot of things; he knows that Jason thrives off of disappointing his family, but he’s not one to go back on his word, not with something like this.

“Maybe something came up in Crime Alley? He did say he’d meet us after patrol.”

Tim can hear the worry hidden behind Dick’s easy tone, and he assumes Dick’s carefully redistributing his concern, spreading it out evenly so he doesn’t lose his cool.

“Huh,” Barbara mutters absently into the comms. “His phone tracker says he’s been in his apartment all day.”

“Maybe he left his phone in his apartment?”

“I don’t know. I’ve pulled security camera feeds from Crime Alley, hitting all the locations he frequents, and... well, nothing. Not a single sight of him all day.”

Tim stands fully, narrowly scanning his surroundings for any sign of Jason. He can’t shake the uneasy pull at his chest, and though he’s not physically close to the others, he assumes the feeling’s mutual based on the silence that follows.

“B, I don’t like this. He promised me he’d be here.”

Dick’s no longer working to hide his concern, and that just heightens Tim’s anxiety that something isn’t right. He tries to puzzle together and explanation based on the four times he’s seen Jason this week: twice in Crime Alley on patrol, once two days ago at the Bat Cave, and yesterday walking out of a convenience store. He can’t recall anything out of the ordinary, but Jason’s closed off, more so thanks to the lingering pull of the Lazarus Pit, so normal, outward, physical appearances mean little to nothing.

“Can we delay the recon?” Tim asks. “I’m only ten minutes from his apartment. I can go check and see if he’s there.”

“I don’t want you to go alone.”

“B,” Tim fights back with a groan. “You and Nightwing are thirty minutes out from my location. I can be there and back before you even get here.”

“Take Robin,” Dick says, and Tim has to fight back the unconscious need to sigh loudly. “I know you’re capable, Red, but humor me. You two are stronger together.”

“Do I get a say in this?”

Damian’s voice is bleeding annoyance, and for once, Tim can agree with how he’s feeling.

“No,” Bruce mutters, sounding almost distracted. “Hood has made many enemies since coming back to Gotham, and you have no idea what you are walking into. You both go, and you both come back immediately if he’s not there.”

“Keep the line open, and stay in contact, Little Wings.”

Tim rolls his eyes and grapple hooks off the building, landing near Damian. “Okay,” he mutters into the comm, and Damian only scoffs at him and starts off toward Jason’s apartment, leaving Tim to catch up.

***

“You’re going to hack his security system?”

“Yes?” Tim frowns at Damian. “How else are we going to get in?” He starts tapping at a keypad outside of Jason’s apartment door.

“Knocking?”

“Tried that once,” Tim mutters, mind half-focused on the conversation and half-focused on working around Jason’s security. “Almost got shot.”

“You what?” Dick’s voice is alarmed in Tim’s ear, but he disregards it.

“And you think breaking and entering won’t get us shot?”

Tim shrugs, working around the final code until he hears multiple locks click open. “Don’t get hit,” he mutters, slowly opening the door. He tenses to alert, and he can see Damian match his stance at his side.

They step inside, quietly and carefully, and though Tim’s been here before, he’ll never not be mutely surprised at how domestic the entire place is. There are books stacked on a small coffee table. A blanket’s draped across the couch, and the TV’s on with the sound muted. The lights are on in his living room, kitchen, and bathroom.

Tim glances at Damian, sharing a silent conversation before they begin their quick, quiet search. Tim starts to the kitchen while Damian pads silently down the hall.

The kitchen’s a mess. Dishes are piled high in the sink and are littering the small kitchen table. There’s a bag on a counter, the same bag Tim remembers seeing Jason walk out of the convenience store with. He moves to it, looking to see various medicines tipped over in the bag. Frowning, he makes to pick one up, but then he hears a very loud gun shot accompanied by a very uncharacteristic curse.

“Damian!” Tim drops the bag and whips out of the kitchen to the bedroom, ripping his domino off as he walks in to see Jason shakily propping himself up on one elbow in bed with an even shakier hand aiming a gun at Damian.

“Jason, stop! It’s just us!”

“Was that a gun shot?”

Tim ignores Dick’s frantic question in his ear, instead edging around the room, eyes searching over Damian in the dark. “Were you hit?”

“Of course not,” Damian spits out, stepping forward toward the barrel of the gun and ripping it from Jason’s hand. He clicks the safety and drops the gun to the floor, and then he’s tugging a glove off and slapping a hard hand to Jason’s forehead, interrupting Jason’s deep, wet coughing.

Damian clicks his tongue, a frowm sharp on his face. “You’re burning up.”

Jason weakly slaps Damian’s hand away, staring a look filled to the brim with sharp daggers between the two, stopping on Tim.

“Did you break into my fucking apartment? Again?”

“Tim, what the hell is going on?”

Ignoring Dick once more, Tim reaches around to hit the light switch on the wall, frowning when Jason winces hard.

“You didn’t show up for the recon,” Tim supplies, his stomach twisting at the sight of Jason, of the angry red splotches coloring his otherwise pale cheeks, the sweat shining on his forehead, the inconsistent shivers wracking his broad frame. He studies the way Jason’s face twists around his words.

“That’s because it’s Thursday.”

Tim’s heart clashes with worry, and he and Damian share a glance. He’s surprised to see Damian sporting a similar look of muted concern.

“Jay, it’s Friday.”

“No, it ain’t,” Jason grumbles, hand slapping around on his bed until he finds his phone.

Tim watches as Jason’s face falls.

“Oh.” Jason spares a glance through his messages, unable to read much because his headache is making it hard to concentrate. He looks up from his phone, turning to see a rubber bullet lodged into the wall beside Damian’s head. “Did I hit you?”

“No,” Damian mutters, frowning. He slips around the room, pausing by Tim on his way out. “I’m going to talk with Father and Grayson. You should get a read on his fever.”

Nodding, Tim waits until he can hear Damian’s quick talking with Dick and Bruce before he moves to Jason’s bathroom to find a thermometer, snagging a traditional, under the tongue, mercury one before making his way back to Jason’s room.

“How long have you been sick?”

“How did you hack into my security systems again?”

Tim sighs, cocks his head to the side. “Do you really have to ask?”

“Fuck,” is all Jason replies with, and he takes the thermometer Tim hands him and slips it under his tongue.

“Three minutes,” Tim says, ignoring the sharp look Jason shoots him. “You know they make thermometers now that will tell you your temperature in seconds, right? Why the hell do you have this old thing?”

“Alfred left it a few months ago.”

“No talking,” Tim points out, and Jason glares hard under glassy eyes.

“Then stop asking me fucking questions.”

Tim’s mouth snaps shut, and once he counts to the 180th second, he leans forward and snags the thermometer from Jason’s lips, studying the 102.4 degree reading, equating it with Jason’s other, apparent symptoms.

“Have you been around anyone who’s had the flu recently?”

“I don’t have the flu,” Jason mutters despite the chesty coughs that rip up his throat. “Just a cold.”

Tim takes a step back and crosses his arms. “High fever, coughing, chills, I imagine you have a headache based on the wince when I turned on the lights, and you probably have a sore throat since your voice is physically hurting my ears.”

“What? Are you a doctor now?”

“No, I’m just not an idiot,” Tim spits back, and Jason only grunts and flops back against his pillow, tugging his blanket up with a hiss.

“Give me a minute, and I’ll suit up.”

Tim... does not expect that, and he’s about to scold Jason in a way he’s sure would make Dick proud when Damian slips back into the room.

“Father called Clark. They are pulling in backup for the recon.”

“Well, why’d he go and do something stupid like that?”

Tim rips his eyes from Damian back to Jason to see Jason shuffling around his room for his suit.

“Jason, what the hell?” Tim spits out, moving to Jason’s side when Jason starts to sway. “Sit down.” He nudges Jason back toward the bed, but Jason, despite how sick he is, fights against him.

“We have a recon, don’t we?” He turns to Damian and barks out a cough. “Demon, call B and tell him we’re coming.”

“Todd, you’re too sick. You’d just hold us back.”

Tim takes the distraction to lightly shove Jason back onto the bed.

“I think I’d rather have Dick here,” Jason groans, coughing harshly into his pillow. “At least he has good bedside manner.”

“He and father are already on their way.”

“Fantastic,” Jason growls, curling in on himself and coughing harshly.

Tim moves to pull the blankets up over Jason’s shivering frame, stopping when Damian’s hand wraps around his wrist. “Let me go, Dami.”

“No. I have very specific instructions to relocate you away from Todd.”

“What the hell? Why?” Tim digs his heels into the floor when Damian pulls on his wrist, but he stumbles forward when Jason lazily kicks him in the back of the leg.

“No spleen, idiot. Get the fuck outta here.”

“I’m fine,” Tim tries, but Damian’s grip is hard enough to bruise, so he relents with a loud sigh. “Jesus, fine...” He rips his hand free and stalks to the door. “Get him medicine and make sure he doesn’t die.”

***

The deep inhale of nicotine burns Jason’s lungs and brings forth a chesty round of coughing that hurts. He absently rubs at his chest, shivering, and takes in another puff of his cigarette, and then another, desperately repeating this action to chase away the edge of angered anxiety that comes when he’s near Bruce. He leans over the balcony with another shiver, watching his shaking exhale cloud before him.

He hears the balcony door open, but the footsteps are too light to be Bruce’s. They are also too determined to be Tim’s, and too deliberate to be Damian’s. He doesn’t look back when a blanket is draped over his shoulders, and he only scoffs quietly when Dick plucks the cigarette from his fingers and drops it over the side of the balcony.

“You would still smoke when you have the flu.”

Jason doesn’t reply, not finding the energy for a snarky retort. “What have you all been doing out there?” he asks instead, tugging the blanket tighter around him to fend off the chills.

“Damian’s cleaned your kitchen, and now he’s reorganizing your movie collection. Tim started reading one of your books, but he fell asleep. And Bruce has been staring at your bedroom door as if willing you to run out and give him a big, bear hug.”

Jason huffs out a laugh that quickly morphs into deep coughs. He can feel Dick’s hand on his back as he coughs into his shoulder.

“And you?”

“Oh, I’m alternating between Candy Crush and Words with Friends with Barbara. She’s kicking my ass.”

Jason smiles, tired but genuine, feeling the anxiety flutter off with Dick’s presence. “How long til you all get the fuck out?”

“I don’t think Bruce is going to leave until he’s sure you are okay. Not sure that we can wake Tim right now, and Damian won’t leave until Bruce does.”

“And you?” Jason repeats, and Dick cocks his head to the side with an easy smile.

“I’ll stay as long as you want me to stay.”

Humming, Jason shivers again, and he allows Dick to guide him back into his room and to his bed. Dick carefully tucks him in, and Jason’s too tired and too feverish to mind.

“I’m sorry,” he rasps out suddenly, and Dick’s hands freeze, and he frowns.

“For what?”

“I promised I would show up.”

“Hey, Jay, it’s okay. I’m just glad you’re safe.” Dick brushes the back of his hand against Jason’s forehead, a sympathetic hum slipping up his throat at the heat. “No more smoke breaks until you’re better. You’re still burning up.”

“You’re saying you’ll support my chain smoking when I’m all better?” Jason bats his eyelashes, and Dick sighs and stands, swatting at Jason’s covered leg.

“Don’t twist my words. I’m going to toss all your cigarette packs out.”

Jason growls lightly, a few coughs mixing with it, and he curls onto his side, wishing the stupid medicine Damian forced into him would kick in a lot faster. “You have until 99,” he mutters to Dick, who’s already filling a small trash bin with cigarette packs.

“What?”

“99,” Jason repeats with a harsh cough that hurts his chest. “When my temp hits 99, I want you all out.” There’s no heat to his tone, and he struggles against the fatigue pulling against him.

“99,” Dick clarifies with a soft smile. “You got it, Jaybird.”

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uwuwriting · 4 years

Text

Tsukishima and Ushijima falling for their childhood friend.

Request: Hi I saw that your requests are open so I dropped by. Um for Haikyuu boys Tsukki and Ushifalling in love with their childhood best friend?? Thank you and YAY you’re growinggg!!!!- anonymous.

You have chosen the best trope ever anon!! Way to go!! I love this scenario and wish it would happen to me like legit. Small sidetrack, if anyone is willing to hear me rant about the last of us part 2 plz don’t hesitate to message me, no one understands my suffering. Love yaa. 💖💖💖

rules

warnings: fluff and maybe some angst

Tsukishima Kei

-You moved next to the Tsukishimas when you were 6.

-You weren’t the most social bean at that age so your mom had t give you a slight push to make friends.

-That’s why she would always invite people over with kids around your age so you could play.

-Once you moved things didn’t really change.

-She invited the Tsukishimas over and you got to know their kids.

-Akiteru was intimidating to you.

-He was so open and talkative it made you anxious.

-Kei on the other hand was more calm, always giving you enough space so you could approach him when YOU wanted and he would invite you over to play with his dinosaurs in silence.

-Like complete silence.

-His mother always wondered if you two were alive.

-You were inseparable though.

-It was the first time in you whole life that you clicked with someone so easily and could actually interact.

-Kei, being the salty bitch that he is, pushed you out of your comfort zone once you began school.

-He would help you in class with refusing to ask a question for you or he would make you order your own lunch in the school’s cafeteria.

-You still had trouble talking to other kids though and Tsukki didn’t mind.

-He was okay with having you stick around and may have been slightly terrified at the idea of losing the only friend he had.

-He would never admit that though.

-The first time you talked on your own accord to some of your classmates was when you saw three boys mocking another one who was laying on the ground.

-He was trying to grab his backpack from the taller boy.

-You looked at Kei and he just continued walking sparring only a glance at the commotion.

-You couldn’t just let them pick on the boy though.

-You used to be picked on and Kei would always scare them off and so you puffed out your chest and marched over to the boys.

- “Hey! Leave him alone!!”

-You were surprised at your own voice but kept your ground as the three boys glared at you.

- “Isn’t that the girl that doesn’t talk?”

- “Yeah I heard she’s mute!!!”

-All of them snickered and pushed the other boy to the ground again.

-He was looking at you with wide eyes as the bullies made their way to you.

- “What do you want mute?”

-Your knees started to feel weak as your fear set in and the words you wanted to say caught in your throat.

-Your mind was screaming at you to call for Tsukki but you couldn’t turn your head around.

-Every single part of your body was frozen.

-The bullies kept laughing and making fun of you as you backed away when you back hit something warm but steady.

-Looking up you were met by none other than Kei himself.

-He told them off with his snarky comments and helped you calm down.

-Then grabbing your hand he started walking not glancing at the other boy.

-Years passed and now all of you are friends.

-A dynamic trio.

-Everything was going great.

-You were all into volleyball, practicing together both in school and out.

-Kei would no longer take you to his room and play with dinos.

-You two would go on for hours on end playing volleyball in his back yard, until his brother got home and he would be infatuated by his brother’s practice stories.

-He really looked up to him.

-Then the fateful game happened.

-Kei’s image of his brother was shattered.

-And so was the boy you met all those years ago.

-He didn’t particularly push you away he was just more distant.

-He had raised so many walls to protect himself he had become cold.

-But you didn’t leave and neither did Yamaguchi.

-You remained friends all the way to high school.

-Being part of the volleyball club was a must for the two and you told them that you were there to support them.

-When Kiyoko came to you and Yachi for the manager positions you immediately accepted, excited to spend more time with you boys.

-During the practice camp in Tokyo, you overheard his argument with Yamaguchi and were disappointed in him.

-How could he be so cold towards his best friend when all he was trying to do was help?

-You went to talk to him too but ended up fighting and it was pretty bad.

-He was angry you would see that more angry than you expected but you thought that it would be different if you talked to him.

-You had been there for everything after all.

- “Kei you can trust me, I’ve bee by your side since forever. I know YOU.”

- “You don’t know shit Y/N so why don’t you go back with the others? Aren’t you a manager or something? Do your damn job and leave me alone!”

-You were stunned at that, not believing what had come out of his mouth.

-You obliged though and without another word you left.

-You two weren’t on speaking terms for weeks.

-It had gotten to the point that you wouldn’t hang out with the two boys during lunch.

-As time passed you would greet each other but nothing else.

-That is until the match with Ushijima happened.

-You were up in the stands with Yachi when Tsukki tried to block the ball.

-He doubled in on himself,clutching his hand and you had never ran faster in your life.

-He was taken out of the court when you reached him and coach Ukai gave you the okay to take him to the back to patch up.

-You sat in silence in front of him as you wrapped his fingers with the gauze.

-His head was hanging low and you could see his shoulders tremble as he breathed.

-When you were done, you placed your palms on each cheek and lifted his head.

- “You’re going to go out there and you’re going to show him what you are made of. You will show him what Tsukishima Kei is capable off. Okay?”

-He looked at you with wide eyes before nodding and placing his own hand over yours.

-With a shy smile you went to get up but he pulled you into him, crashing his lips with yours.

-The kiss was too short for your liking as you were being rushed due to the game but he put all his feeling into it and you reciprocated with as much passion as him.

- “I missed you, let’s not fight again.”

- “I’ll consider it after the match, no go kick some ass.”

-Tsukki’s blocks were three times more accurate than before and then it happened.

-He blocked Ushijima’s spike successfully.

-The scream he let out shook you to the core and when his eyes scanned the stands, landing on you, you knew how happy he was.

-Post victory celebrations have never been sweeter.

Ushijima Wakatoshi

-He met you because of Tendou.

-Um you were a Tendou yourself after all.

-When he met Satori he didn’t believe him when he said that he had a twin.

-He assumed that it was just some of Sato’s weird shit.

-Satori would go on and on about his twin telling him how cool and smart she was and how he couldn’t wait for her to come and join them in Shiritorizawa.

-Again Ushiwake didn’t really believe him.

-That is until one day, a month after school started, he met her.

-He and Satori were jogging when they heard a high pitched squeal followed by a SATORIIIIIII.

-Next thing he knew Satori was no longer next to him but laying face first on the ground with another person on top of him.

- “Y/N- chaaaan you’re suffocating me!!!!!”

-The girl got off him and pulled him to his feet only to crush him in a hug.

-Ushijima never thought he would meet anyone more hyper than Satori.

-Well he was wrong.

-Satori’s sister was a replica of him.

-Almost the same red hair only hers had some H/C highlights in them while they had different colored eyes, while Sato’s were red Y/N’s were E/C.

- “Hi, I’m Tendou Y/N! You must be Ushijima, Satori has told me so much about you.”

-After that the three of you became a package.

-Someone was looking for Tendou?

-Look for Ushijima he’s with him.

-Looking for Y/N?

-Follow the loud noises, it’s probably her brother and she’s with him.

-Trying to find Ushijima?

-Just track down Y/N he’s with her.

-Even teachers would follow that strategy.

-Ushijima was the first who caught feelings even though he didn’t know he caught em.

-It was your last year of middle school and you were sad.

- “But aren’t you sad that we’re saying goodbye to middle school Ushi-kun????”

- “You can see the middle school building from the high school dorms, Y/N.....”

- “Yeah but still it’s saaaaaad!!!!!”

-You had been whining since you left school grounds for the last volleyball match of the year.

-Both the male and the female teams were to compete in the same gymnasium so you decided to walk with you boys rather than your team.

-You were the team’s libero mainly due to your energy and the fact that you were the smallest person in the team.

- “I know Y/N-chan i’m gonna miss it tooo!!!”

-Ushijima couldn’t always understand what you two were going on about.

-He guessed it was a twins thing.

-Weird twin communication or something.

-But as much as he wanted to make himself shut your whines out, he couldn’t.

-Lifting his hand he placed it on your head and ruffled your hair.

- “Just imagine the high school dorms. I think the female dorms our closer to ours now.”

-After the mini heart attack from his previous action, a smile started to form on your face.

-So big and bright that you could compete with Hinata for the title of sunshine.

-Tendou started laughing and you thought he was laughing at your smile.

-But no.

-satori was laughing at Ushijima’s blush that grew darker as you giggled at your brother’s antics.

-High school was a blast.

-You and Satori would always drag Ushijima into your shenanigans and he would always let you.

-The man is weak for your puppy dog eyes.

-It was now your last year in Shiritorizawa and you were sad again.

-So sad that you weren’t focused enough during practice.

-You were called to practice your receives and you were in position.

-You looked so in the moment so ready.

-But you were far from that.

-Your mind was again on him.

-Ushijima.

-You knew that the one thing you would miss most from your school was your best friend.

-You didn’t really care about your brother because well he was your brother but Ushijima....he was a painful subject.

-Head in the clouds you didn’t receive the ball correctly and because of the force of the spike you lost your balance spraining your ankle in the process.

-The coach rushed to you, calling out to the rest of the team to get an ice pack and a bottle of water.

-She tried to pull you to your feet but your ankle prevented you.

- “It doesn’t look broken but its a nasty sprain. We need to get you to the nurse’s office.”

-Ushijima and Tendou were making their way to their own gym for practice when they saw the girls running around in a semi panicked state.

-One of them spotted the two boys and called out to the, telling them what happened *mainly because Tendou was your brother and they felt like he needed to know*.

-Instead of Tendou, Ushijima was the one who reached the gym first and was met with you on the floor a pained expression on your face.

-Your coach motioned him over and your face lit up for a split second.

- “Could you take her to the nurse? None of the girls can carry her and she can’t really walk.”

-Without uttering a word he knelt down and picked you up bride style and just left the gym.

-He told Tendou to wait for him in the gym and that he would be right back.

-Tendou being cupid himself who had seen one too many romance films, let his best friend take his crush to the nurse thanking the universe for making you so dumb.

- “I’m sorry for this Ushi-kun I wasn’t paying attention.”

- “I’ve seen that during school hours as well. What’s wrong?”

-You hesitated at that.

-Should you tell him?

-Should you tell him that you are afraid of missing him?

-That you are afraid of losing him?

-Ushijima’s own thoughts were running wild mainly due to the fact of your close proximity and how he could just dip his head and kiss you.

- “High school is over and and ...”

-Tears ran down your cheeks taking Ushijima by surprise.

-He didn’t expect you to be this sad about it and before he knew it he was whipping away your tears.

-He looked at you waiting for the rest of the sentence.

-Mustering all of your courage you went for it.

- “I don’t want to lose you...”

- “You’re not going to lose me we will keep in touch, you mean to much to me after all. I can’t just forget you.”

-He smiled at you as more tears ran down your cheeks and you wrapped your arms around his neck.

-He tightened his grip around you and buried his face in your hair.

-There was one thing in both of your brains.

- “I want to be more than friends.”

-You sealed that with a kiss.

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