#on my mind except on my Heart ad emotions right now i just need to talk about it

[thebibutterflyao3]

Day Thirty - Confusion @sapphicmicrofics

April Daily Series - 1043 words *The End*

<<<Previous Part OR Start Here

When they reached the base of the tree, Dorcas finally sorted out her thoughts. She needed to prepare herself for the “conversation” that Marlene threatened her with. Threatened may be overstating it a little, but Marlene hadn’t given her time to argue against it.

Knowing her ex as well as she did, Dorcas anticipated a fierce defence of their past relationship and the possibility of a future one. Marlene wasn’t as skilled at debates as Dorcas, but she was passionate in her arguments. A vast vocabulary and quick wit were often her only defence against Marlene’s stubborn sincerity.

How can I defend a position that I don’t hold against her impassioned pleas? I want her back too, but there are so many barriers. I can’t see how to make it work.

“Do you ever watch the tree go up?” Marlene asked, meeting her gaze. Surprise momentarily skated over her face when she found Dorcas staring at her already.

“Sometimes.”

Dorcas didn’t look away, partially because she’d always appreciated the open communication of direct eye contact and partially to prove that she wasn’t ashamed to be caught. Unabashed appraisal was a valuable weapon that she wielded often. Most people found it disconcerting and it weakened their position from the start.

Marlene was not most people. She grinned with all of her teeth, a wide and confident predator’s smile. It was sickening how Dorcas’s stomach fluttered at the sight.

Ridiculous! Absurd. Dangerous?

“You said we needed to have a conversation?” Dorcas gestured between them for her to “go on.”

Marlene swivelled in front of her and reached for her neck. “Need to see this for a minute.”

“It’s yours, so…” Dorcas trailed off as Marlene lifted the ring from her chest and kissed the engraved heart “for luck” as she always did before hockey games.

“You should know that I have very few regrets in my life,” Marlene said, toying with the ring. “I’ve been in fights that earned me stitches and scars, drunken revelry that ended in minor legal mishaps, and more than a few shite relationships. It’s all part of my past and made me who I am today.”

Dorcas frowned in confusion as she processed the information. Legal mishaps? What legal mishaps?

“I wouldn’t be me, so why regret what’s over and done?” Marlene continued, “But losing this? Losing you? I will regret that monumental fuck-up until the day that I die.”

“Oh.” It was all that Dorcas could force out amid the rush of emotions.

Marlene released the ring, then reached around to unclasp the necklace it hung from. “I think it’s well past time for me to make it up to you.”

Dorcas wanted to stop her, to cling to the necklace and refuse to give it back. The few minutes with its comforting weight against her chest after all this time grounded her in a way she hadn’t been in months…about a year, actually. Since Marlene left.

“You were right and I was an idiot. Which is not exactly a shocking development, I’ll give you that.” Marlene chuckled to herself as she slid the ring off of the chain. “I’ve let doubt and insecurity cloud my better judgement for too long.”

“And pride,” Dorcas added, her voice low and thick with emotion. “Did you change your mind then? You want it back?”

Marlene’s smile shifted subtly as her eyes searched Dorcas’s face. “Only borrowing it, if you don’t mind?”

“Why would I mi—” Dorcas cut herself off with a gasp as Marlene dropped onto one knee.

No. This can’t be happening. This little twit!

“Dorcas, if I’d known back then what I do now, I would have proposed to you the day I bought your ring instead of carrying it in my pocket and waiting for the perfect moment. Now, when I need it, the fool thing is safely tucked away some 500 kilometres away. So, this will have to do.”

Dorcas’s legs trembled violently, just barely keeping her upright. She couldn’t have formed words if she tried. Her mind was completely blank, except for the one word that played on repeat.

Marly Marly Marly

“You are still the most important person in my life, Cas, even after everything fell apart. I would do anything to see you happy again. You deserve to spend the rest of your life fucking beaming from pure joy, and I want to be there when you do. Believe me when I say that I love you more than pineapple on pizza, my Docs, and yes, even hockey. You are everything to me,” Marlene said, gazing up at her with tears in her eyes.

Oh no, don’t you dare cry! I cannot cry in front of all of these people!

“All that to say, yes, I’m an idiot.”

Dorcas burst out laughing and covered her face with her hands. “Yes, you are.”

The small crowd gathered around them tittered with amusement. She wished they’d mind their own and was tempted to tell them so, but couldn’t tear her gaze from Marlene’s earnest smile.

“An idiot who learns from her mistakes,” Marlene added pointedly. “If I stepped onto that train tomorrow without proposing…if I walked away from you a second time…I couldn’t live with myself.”

“Are you actually going to propose, or is this a bid for the title of the longest romantic edging in history?” Dorcas asked, rolling her eyes.

Marlene snorted a laugh, then clasped Dorcas’s left hand and slid the claddagh onto her finger with the crown facing out. “Calm your tits! I’m almost there.”

Before she could respond, Marlene lifted Dorcas’s left hand to her lips and kissed the ring again. Her own hands were shaking a bit as she lifted to her feet, then Marlene cupped her face gently.

“Dorcas Iris Meadowes, will you marry me?”

Dorcas kissed her hard, unable to contain her nervous energy any longer. Shouts and applause exploded around them. She was immediately caught up in the kiss, matching Marlene’s fervour with her own.

Marlene pulled back suddenly and choked on a laugh. “Is that a ‘yes?’”

“Yes, you idiot! Now kiss me!” Dorcas demanded, grabbing the back of her neck and recapturing her lips.

Consequences be damned. This is worth it.

#dorlene microfics #dorlene #marlene x dorcas #marlene mckinnon x dorcas meadows #dorcas x marlene #dorcas meadowes #marlene mckinnon #slytherin skittles #marauders era #marauders characters

[peachymilkandcream]

Part two of 'the truth about your mother' please 🥰🥰🥰

The Truth About Your Mother Part 2|Levi x Evelyn

(A/N: I'm glad everyone liked the first part, I'm surprised it did so well! I hope you enjoy part 2 and feel free to give me some more requests! (Especially for this type of time skip it's so interesting-) Thank you for the request, (and the follow, I see you and I appreciate it <3)

WARNINGS: implied noncon, dubcon, manipulation, domestic abuse, yandere themes, forced marriage, forced pregnancy, stockholm syndrome, graphic depictions of violence, mind breaking, misogyny, etc.

================================================

The children all sat around their father like he was about to tell them a bedtime story like when they were younger. Except this time it was much more sinister and with the fear that the father they knew so well and loved would be a tainted memory forever.

"You brats know your mother was a Scout like me. Correct?"

They all nod and Kenneth chimes in. "Of course Father, nearly as amazing as you just like you said."

"However we knew each other long before then. Once upon a time we lived in the Underground, the very thing I sought to destroy once Queen Historia took the throne. Now you learned about that place in your history classes, but when your mother and I grew up there it had to devolved into such a shithole I vowed to make enough of an income so that neither of us would ever return there."

"That's when Commander Erwin brought you into the Scouts, right Father?"

"Mm. Your mother had issues with her legs, the lack of sunlight will do that to you. They promised her care. I carried her to the surface myself."

Levi smirks at their expressions, their father was so caring to their ailing mother. He always had them wrapped around his finger.

"But before that it was just us and your Uncle Kenny against the world. And when he disappeared it was just us. He made me promise to care for her with all of my heart. And I took that. We had our arguments but we made up in the end. The two of us became the four when we added in your Uncle Furlan and Aunt Isabel. It was ride or die together until a Titan took them both from us."

He had told the story of his oldest children's namesakes before, never stopping to move them beyond belief. Even in his cold and dead heart this story never ceased to bring a small bout of emotion to him.

"From then on your mother and I just stuck closer and closer together. We were there for each other. And that's all we had." He pauses for just a moment. "I fell in love with her even more. To the point I couldn't stand it, but your mother didn't feel the same way."

"What did you do Father?" Kenneth, the romantic of the group and eager to hear what his father had to say.

"I persevered son. What have I told you when it comes to women other than your sisters?"

Furlan answers. "That they don't know what they want. So you have to show them."

Levi smiles slightly and ruffles the boy's hair. "Exactly. But your mother was stubborn. Commander Erwin and I had to get her to agree to a marriage of convenience and safety."

"Safety from what Father?"

"From the evil Marley child. They wanted to kill your mother and turn her against me. I had to protect her, and in doing so married her."

They all nod in understanding.

"But your mother was stubborn to the end, refusing my rights as her husband and needing constant discipline. Had I not taken my rights seriously then none of your brats would've ever been born."

They all seem surprised, shocked that their mother wouldn't want to have them.

"We came to a reluctant truce during the war, after she found out she was pregnant with you Furlan. But once you were born and your sister Isabel on the way the stress of the change the world had come to made her snap."

"Mama's Big Mistake...." Furlan whispered.

"Mm. She ran away taking you with her, leading you into a life of poverty and struggle because I failed in controlling her. But do you think I gave up?"

The twins smile. "No way."

Levi's smile gets wider. "Such smart boys. That's right, I chased her down to the ends of the earth, and I never would have found her unless Furlan rushed through the crowd and found me. Bringing your mother and I back together."

They all smile. "Did Mama every try and rebel again Father?" Isabel asked.

"Never again, she understood that I disciplined her out of love, not hate. And she came to fall in love with me too. Recognizing her rightful place as an Ackerman and blessing me with the rest of you and your siblings."

"Telling stories Levi?" Even now Evelyn's voice never ceases to get him going, looking more lovely now than the day he decided who she belonged to.

"Do you love Father now Mama?" Sweet little Erwin asked.

Evelyn sits on Levi's lap, making sure to favor his strong knee. "With all my heart, love."

"I was telling these brats the truth about how we got together."

There's a slight pained and even concerned look that's quickly masked into neutrality. "And do they still love you?"

"Kids?" He asks, raising a brow.

"Of course we do!" The twins eagerly hug their parents before hurrying upstairs to bed.

"I'm so happy you came to love Father, Mama." Isabel follows suit, leaving the parents with their oldest, who had been oddly quiet this whole time.

"What's the matter boy." Levi's voice was cold, sharp.

"Nothing-"

"What did I tell you about being direct, stand up straight and tell me what's wrong."

"Father, do you ever regret the choices you had to make to have Mama?"

Levi is quiet a moment. "No. Sometimes the right thing to do isn't always the easiest."

He nods. "I understand. I hope I can learn to be half the man you are Father. So I can do the right thing, even when it's hard."

Levi's chest swells with pride. "I'm sure you will son. Now hug your mother goodnight and make sure your siblings are tucked into bed."

Furlan does so, leaving the not so normal couple alone.

"So you don't regret it....?"

Levi looks at his wife, hiding her face in his chest. "No. Why should I? Can you tell me really and truly that you wish you found another man and did things the hard way?"

"No. It's much less stressful to have my life planned out for me. The chances are some other man would die in battle or be a doormat for my personality."

"That's what I thought."

The two sit in silence for a moment, just enjoying each other's company.

"I love you Levi." Her soft lips meet his as he tenderly kisses her.

"I love you too sweetheart."

#attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #break me slowly #levi x oc #levi aot #levi ackerman #levi x reader #yandere levi #yandere levi ackerman #yandere levi x reader

[amethystina]

Hii

So, I'm extremely obsessed with listening to music while reading anything and with WHTD is no exception. There is no doubt that "Older (isabel LaRosa)" will be added to my playlist after chapter 37, gaon would definitely relate.

Is there a song you've listened to these days that reminds you a lot of Yohan and Gaon? I need recommendations, pls 😭

Hi there! I'm honestly impressed by (and a bit envious of) people who can listen to music while they read or write x'D If I do, I start focusing on the music instead, especially if there are lyrics. And this is partly why I kind of suck at finding character or fic related music.

That said, I do have an entire playlist for Who Holds the Devil on Spotify so, uh, you can have a look at that, I guess? xD

But if you want specific recs from that playlist that have been on my mind lately, I would go with:

A Dangerous Thing - AURORA

Entirely because of chapter 38, tbh. And while that might seem like a song about Yo Han, it's really not. At least not once you've read chapter 38.

The dangerous thing is very much Ga On, not Yo Han.

The Devil Doesn't Bargain - Alec Benjamin

This is more a general song about their relationship, I guess? Not so much tied to Who Holds the Devil anymore since, well, Ga On knows full well he can change Yo Han at this point xD

KILLER song, anyway.

I Want You to Want Me - Chase Holfelder

I think this one should be self-explanatory. Also very much at the forefront of my mind after writing chapter 38.

... I'm really putting Yo Han through the emotional wringer right now, aren't I? x'D

Hope that helps! :D And, again, if you want more, I recommend the playlist!

Though I will admit that there are some songs I didn't put on there because they didn't fit the mood. Like, if I had been less serious about that playlist I would definitely have added El Diablo by Elena Tsagrinou just for the laughs. Like, purely for the HILARITY of the chorus:

I fell in love, I fell in love I gave my heart to el diablo, el diablo I gave it up, I gave it up Because he tells me I'm his angel, I'm his angel

But, alas, the rest of the lyrics don't really fit and the song is a little too much party. Still, the thought of it makes me cackle.

Like, if Yo Han is shameless enough to call himself the Abyss, I bet he could call Ga On his angel too. And pretend it's sort of a joke. But also mean it with every fibre of his being.

He's such a disaster (I love him)

#Amethystina Replies #Anonymous #Who Holds the Devil #I'm honestly really bad at music in general I feel like #Aside from K-pop and soundtracks I rarely look for new music nowadays #Which was why finding music to the Who Holds the Devil playlist became an adventure that took me several days #So I'm not the best person to ask I'm afraid x'D

[thelashjedi]

Don’t Be Sad

“Don’t be sad, Granger.”

“I’m not — I’m not. I’m just surprised. This was a no-emotions arrangement, right? Sad would be an emotion. So I’m good.”

“I — I didn’t know it was going to be in the Prophet.”

The news of his engagement, betrothal, whatever to Astoria Greengrass had broken in the Sunday edition. So Monday morning with her ‘colleague slash super-secret-sex-not-enemy’ was understandably awkward.

“I — Hermione, I don’t have a choice.”

Her heart clenched at his first and only use of her given name as she willed her eyes to stay dry. “I understand. But as it is happening, I can’t continue on as we were. No emotions is one thing ---“ liar her mind screamed at her — “but I am not going to knowingly be the other woman.”

“Granger, if I had a choice —“

“You don’t. You have no choice in the matter. Don’t be sad, Malfoy. I hope you find happiness with your new bride.”

“I won’t.” He seemed to be struggling with the ‘no-emotions’ aspect of their arrangement as well. Guess they were both liars.

“You will, Draco.” Hermione said, the words like ash on her tongue. “I’m sure of it.”

--------------------------

The following Monday, Hermione was confronted with an envelope on her desk, which left her wondering if she had missed an owl. Her name was on the front, written in a beautiful flowing script she would recognize anywhere. She opened up the letter as she sat down to read.

Granger,

I’m sorry to be doing this via letter, but I wasn’t strong enough to do this in person. I resigned from the Ministry effective immediately.

I must confess that I didn’t follow our rules. In fact, I never followed them — because I had feelings for you long before the first time I kissed you, never mind the first time we — well, you were there. You know what we did.

I understand why my betrothal ended things. But I cannot be around you and not want to kiss you. (And other things, Merlin you’re incredible when you come. Did you know that? I know I probably shouldn’t be saying this either, but you should know that you seeing you like that is my absolute favourite thing in the world.)

I won’t say anything here that I was too cowardly to say in person, but you should know Granger if I had a choice, it would have been you. Always and forever.

Draco

Hermione sat down in her chair, blinking furiously. It had been so hard — seeing Draco around the office since she ended their casual, ‘no strings attached’ activities following the announcement of his betrothal to Astoria Greengrass. Except it seemed like they both wanted there to be strings. Hermione pulled out a small bottle of firewhisky from her office drawer and added it to her tea, before reading the letter again. 

--------------------------

There was a loud knocking at her door.

“Oh for the love of — I am coming,” she yelled. “I started moving as soon as the first knock, for the love of Merlin,” she grumbled under her breath as she opened the door to a wide-eyed Draco Malfoy.

“Dra — Malfoy! What are you doing here?” She hadn’t seen anywhere outside of the pages of The Daily Prophet in months and he had never been to her flat before.

“Mother bought out the betrothal contract, Granger. I’m a free man. The very instant I confirmed it, I needed to find you. I can’t stay away. Not any longer.”

Hermione scanned his face, confusion warring with burgeoning elation. “How?”

“Father was intractable — he wouldn’t move to end it. The Greengrasses were unhappy at the prospect of losing the Malfoy vaults, but Astoria wasn’t any more keen on the actual marriage than I was. Mother used her entire Black inheritance — and mine — to pay off the Greengrasses so they would force a termination. Lucius is furious. Now that I’m of age there can be no more arrangements without my enthusiastic consent, which will never happen.”

Hermione nodded, blinking furiously before blurting out her own confession. “Draco I had feelings for you the whole time too. Since before we did anything. I meant every kiss. Every touch.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her close and burying his face in her curls. “Me too. Granger — Hermione, please say you will be mine.”

She pulled back enough to look at him, smiling through her tears. “I think I already am.”

She took him by the hand and led him inside her flat. 

Because now he was hers too.

#dramione #dramione drabble #dhr #dhr drabble #draco malfoy #hermione granger #draco x hermione #draco malfoy x hermione granger #dramione ficlet #thelashjedi

[writtenjewels]

What’s Love Got to do With It by Tina Turner

Eric glanced up and smiled as Dar settled on the couch next to him. The two of them had been hanging out a lot lately. At first they suffered a language barrier but after some lessons with Salim, they could carry on a conversation well enough. They were very different except for one thing: they were commanding officers who inadvertently led their squads into death that day at the shepherd's hut. That was a burden no one else could really understand, and it bonded them.

“Watching television,” Dar noted. “Typical American.”

“I know you're making fun of me, but this is a special occasion: it's the Olympics, and it's taking place in Greece for the first time since we revived it in 1896.” Dar stared at him with raised eyebrows. Eric let out a sigh, looking away. “Nevermind.”

“Go on,” Dar encouraged him. His hand touched Eric's, getting the other's attention. The touch was warm and strong. Eric could feel his heart beat a little faster in his chest. But it was silly to react like that: Iraqi men held hands as a sign of friendship. Eric cleared his throat and focused on what he was saying.

“The Olympic Games were first held back in the eighth century B. C. E. every four years like we do it now. Greece is the birthplace of the Games, so it's a big deal they're being brought back to Athens. Your country is in attendance,” he added with a nod toward the screen. “I'm not sure which events they're competing in.”

“Then I will watch with you and find out,” Dar decided. For some reason that made Eric's heart beat fast, too.

After that, Dar made a point of coming over whenever an event was televised. He was very enthusiastic about the boxing event, complaining in Arabic when the man from Iraq didn't advance. In between those viewings he showed Eric how to make Iraqi food and chatted about his day. He was especially proud of his mastery of a digital camera.

“I take it with me on hikes,” he explained. “I will bring it and show you.”

“I'd love to see it.” Honestly, Eric wouldn't mind any excuse for Dar to come by more often. He was good company. Eric was a little worried when Iraq no longer had competitors that Dar would stop coming over, but he didn't. Dar came for every televised Olympic event, usually bringing something either to eat or for the two of them to talk about.

Whenever they sat down to watch it together, Dar would inevitably reach for Eric's hand. Eric finally did this himself and got a smile from Dar in response. It's a gesture of friendship, he reminded his racing heart and flushed face. All right, so maybe there was some physical attraction he felt toward Dar. Eric liked the man's stocky build, strong limbs, softened jawline. Eric's reactions whenever they were close were just a product of that.

“What is your favorite?” Dar asked this about halfway through the games. He brought his camera to show Eric pictures he took on his latest hike. Eric didn't have any artistic eye to speak of but even he could appreciate the views Dar picked.

“My favorite sport? You'll laugh when I tell you.”

“I may,” Dar agreed. “You must tell me first.”

“It's gymnastics.” Dar surprised Eric by not laughing, though he looked intrigued. “A lot of the other sports are ones I can see myself doing,” Eric explained. “Granted, I probably couldn't do them well, but I can still picture it. Gymnasts have such flexibility and dexterity; I just can't imagine ever doing any of what they do.”

“You are not flexible?” Dar clarified.

“No.” Eric let out a hollow laugh. “Most people would say I'm not.”

“Neither am I,” Dar agreed. He reached for Eric's hand and Eric thoughtlessly linked their fingers together. “Perhaps,” Dar went on, “we only need the right occasion.” Is he coming on to me? The thought popped in Eric's head and knocked the air out of his lungs. It gave him a mess of emotions he couldn't sort through. Eric noticed how close they were sitting to each other and awkwardly pulled back.

What was he thinking? He loosened his grip on Dar's hand and turned to focus on the screen. Dar didn't try calling his attention back. Instead, Dar also focused on the Olympics, cheering or groaning depending on what was playing out on the screen. When he did finally speak again it was to offer Eric some snacks. Eric followed him to the door as always when Dar left for the night, and for a crazy moment thought the man was going to kiss him.

Eric tried to understand the sinking feeling in his gut when the kiss didn't happen. This wasn't happening again, not after everything with Rachel. Their divorce was officially finalized and Eric no longer had the ring but it was still painful. He didn't want to go through all that hurt again.

He had nothing to worry about, of course. What he was feeling toward Dar wasn't that. And if his heart raced thinking of Dar being back, of them sitting close together, of almost-kisses, Eric would logic it all away.

#eric king #dar basri #daric #house of ashes #song inspiration

[sur-un-fil]

Ink demonth 2022 - Space

How did he get the replica of the Studio in his kitchen?

Chapter 9 : 1960

He never thought that demonic magic could be so... Beautiful. After all, nothing he had stooped to since he had made that deal with Caym had prepared him for it.

It was the demon who had spontaneously proposed. Perhaps he should have been more wary. But he'd assured him that there would be no extra cost, and Joey really needed to be able to continue his experiments with the ink machine without having to take his car to empty premises all the time. He'd thought Caym would just create a portal to the Studio, perhaps with a pentacle hidden in the little cubbyhole in his kitchen that he never used. But if the demon had indeed asked him to draw a circle of power on the door with ink mixed with his blood, he did much more than that. He stood in another identical circle, embodied for once in a tall, lean, agitated body of smoke, and his smooth face slit only by a mouth ravaged by rusty aggraphs was turned towards the door, which opened under his unseen gaze. But the single bulb, illuminating the few crates of bacon soup and the countless cobwebs, was gone. There was only glittering darkness on the other side, as dark as those moonless nights Joey admired as a child. The feeling of vastness, the almost desire to fall in and drown, was the same, and he knew that this was truly the space on the other side, not an absence of light. He was unable to take his eyes off it. The void, contained by Caym's power, did not greedily suck in all the air in the room but spread a poignant wave of cold that made him shiver. He knew the demon didn't like questions, but he still heard himself ask in an amazed voice:

"Where does that leave off?"

The answer echoed in his head.

'On an asteroid-free corner, not far from your little solar system.'

"But, why...?"

Caym impatiently waved one of his four barely sketched hands.

'It's easier to occupy an empty space than to have to create one. Now come here.'

Joey took a few steps, but keeping a careful distance between himself and the demon. He could have sworn he saw an amused smile play on his bruised lips for a moment before he breathed softly into his thoughts using his own inner voice.

'Go through the door.'

"No! There's no way I'm going in there."

'Remember I can't cause your death, Joseph. You are the master... For now. I only need your will to shape it.'

"To what, damn it?"

'To your own version of Joey Drew Studios. If you get it right, you can have all your precious worksop and all the facilities that were associated with it in the same dimension.'

"Can you really do that?"

'Yes.'

"And what's in it for you?"

Reading emotions on an eyeless face was almost impossible, but Joey's stomach churned as he watched the demon smile broadly. He stretched his lips without seeming to suffer, digging the grooves of the staples deep into his mouth and revealing for a terrible moment the multitude of needle-sharp teeth that lurked there.

'A playground.'

Joey took a moment to think, his eyes fixed on the deep black. He suspected Caym had other reasons in mind and wasn't necessarily telling him everything, yes, but... He was also sure that he could keep control.

"Fine. But on one condition."

The demon merely lowered his head towards him in silence. Joey felt his attention like he would have felt a multitude of insects crawling on his skin.

"Except for me, I don't want anyone to be able to leave without my consent."

To his surprise, Caym nodded, and immediately Joey felt the pentacle he wore engraved above his heart burn. It had been added to the contract that bound them, which was reassuring. Something inside him unravelled and he allowed himself to smile, satisfied.

He would have a space of his own, next to his home, with the assurance that none of his 'donors' could go around telling everyone what had happened to him. Perfect, really. What could go wrong?

NEXT

PREVIOUS

#bendy and the ink machine #batim #the ink demonth #batim au #joey drew #The Ink Demonth #Bendy and The Ink Machine #Caym OC #demonic magic

[mathieubellamont]

man in relation to that last post, and its not really related to this blog outside of it but its weighing on my mind

ive seen two things lately about audiences and content creators, specifically those of the Edgy kind. And, as a disclaimer, i am both LGBT and mixed race and oh, also disabled, and i am not saying “yes their content is offensive But you should care about them more” like ofc im gonna care more about the people who are hurt by the spreading of harmful shit but. anyway

whats been on my mind is the fact that these creators create, with all their edginess and their discarding of feelings for Facts and whatnot forms these audiences that, even if mild in their reactions, have and hold no place for feelings, and people who they disagree with. Even the ones who just have “Comedic” content thats laughing at minorities and whatnot, it breeds things in the audience - and attracts peole who’re already infected by it - that focus on laughing and making fun of people and tearing people down who they just mildly disagree with. We all knew that, but specifically whats weighing on my mind is that........... When you do that, theres no backing down. If you realise youve been wrong somewhere and the people youre attacking have been right, if you realise you dont want to make this content anymore, if you realise you’re tired or stressed, or the environment youve created has gotten too toxic, how are you going to back down? People look to you for their vicious entertainment, people look to you for things to tear apart however lightly, to Roast or to offend or to seriously hurt, and if you arent providing fresh bodies to that audience, theyll take it from you. You have to either be sure when you go into creating edgy content that youll be doing this for the rest of your life, or youre ok with being the subject of what youre inflicting on others when you stop. That, or you have to hope to god that your audience gets bored of you before you call it quits

like...... It all boils down to this. Edginess attracts two main kinds of people, people who are clueless about the harm theyre doing and looking to parrot others/who want to make people uncomfortable or upset/who want to make people feel like they feel, thats one category, and the other main category is genuinely fucked up people who like to see the hurt and the offence it causes, who want women/other minorities to be uncomfortable at best or unwelcome or feel in danger at worst, people who show through their humour that theyre willing to act in ways that hurt people for fun. The first category, people who dont get the harm it causes and just want to shock people (which, as a person clueless to microaggressions and racism and why things actually offend people could either be just surprise Or serious harm they label as shock), theyre clueless about the power youre breeding in them and the cluelessness, but the second group of people are actively harmful. Either way, when you finally need your audience to be understanding, when you need to post your “my mental health is going downhill and i cant ignore it anymore” video or post, youre stuck with these people, and obviously others outside those categories, but youre stuck with them. The people who are willing to beat down already beaten down minorities? Who reduce everyone to a set of stereotypes and if they disagree with any quality you have youre their target? Who think doxxing and swatting are funny, who think harrassment and death threats are just edgy and, well, you know edgy is totally fine right?? Edgy is good right?? what are you going to do?

Maybe when youre in your hour of need your audience will have a change of heart, but if you attract an audience who follow you for and approve of your disregard for peoples needs, who make fun of and attact people saying they need help (”i suffer at the hands of oppression” “im disabled” “im a targeted minority” “ive suffered from harassment” etc) what do you think theyre going to do to you when you dont want to play the game anymore? 

Like theres a leap in logic here between being an edgy content creator and definitely reaching a point where you wont do it anymore. Yes, maybe youll be edgy for the rest of your life....... But as someone who was an edgy teenager slinging around slurs constantly and racist and homophobic and transphobic shit...... The end to that was the singular logical conclusion for me as someone trying to be a good person. When you actually learn about these things, or when you start to live it as an lgbt person or you reconnect with your nonwhite half, or you have a family member who is assaulted, or a friend who finally confesses their online harassment and the severe damage its done to them, and you have an audience waiting for you to tell them who to laugh at/treat like shit if they want to because well, theyre wrong and stupid arent they, why should anyone treat them well - thats the conclusion a lot of these people take from seeing people be made the butt of jokes.......... What are you going to do?

Ive always tried to make this blog a mentally and emotionally safe place. Ive made mistakes, but ive always tried to own up to them and learn from. Like, yeah, theres been some racist shit on this blog before, probably some transphobic shit too, ive had this blog since i just turned 17 in dec. 2013....... Its important for my followers that i cultivate a place that is good for them, that isnt stressful, that focuses on good content or. me having fun in video games lmao. and why is that good? well, because i want to. Its not necessarily the right thing to do nor the wrong thing to do, it just Is morally. But when it comes to cultivating an audience based on constantly shocking people, and making people uncomfortable, and making innocent people scared to exist or ashamed of their existence or hurt because theyre reminded that what they are is disgusting to people like you, whether you mean it or not? Thats where I feel things like this become a moral choice. Like, first of all, even if youre doing it jokingly, if youre having fun pretending to throw punches and kicks even if the point is to laugh at you, you run the risk of people getting hit. Thats why we dont do that in public spaces. When youre jokingly throwing metaphorical punches even if the joke is that youre being an arse purposely, youre in that corridor, and the traffic in that corridor is every single person that sees your post, possibly hundreds, possibly thousands, and so the chance that youre going to hit people - many people - is huge. But to get back to whats on my mind, even if you dont give a shit about all the people you hit accidentally or on purpose, when you train an audience to expect you to feed them meat, when you stop feeding them meat theyll still be looking at you, and if theyre hungry enough - entitled enough, angry enough, uncaring enough, tired of life and other people enough, unknowing enough, ready enough to bring the fight to other people - theyre going to pick at you if not take chunks off you if not tear you to shreds. When you call people who think shock humour and hurting other people is acceptable, well, thats what youve done right?

You dont need to make a blog like mine thats purpose is to be safe. You dont need to actively try to make sure people feel like they fit in with your content, you dont need to create a space for other people to enjoy at all, maybe you just wanna do what makes you laugh. But the less space we hold for people to hurt people the less people are going to get hurt, shocker i know, but also the less harmful people’s anger we are unknowingly feeding, and the less fucking clueless kids who are going to grow up parroting things theyve heard and never understood, that truly evil people understand, and the less content creators in the future we’re going to have to dig out of the hole they back themselves into

anyway. odd post, its done now

#i cant proofread this ugh im at my limit. kinda defeats the point of making this post if its not understandable but anyway #sorry this. i put it here because its directly related to the below post and its about content creators #this might make very little sense and theres probably a lot of logic leaps i didnt explain and maybe im super wrong and whatever but #theres absolutely no need for anyone to address this and its better if it isnt addressed but im in a bit of a bad space mentally right now #(dont worry im going to bed after i do the dishes) #unknowingly hurting people and hurting people in general and people unknowingly backing themselves into corners is just. #on my mind except on my Heart ad emotions right now i just need to talk about it #i just keep thinking if i can save one fucking kid from getting into trouble #hell even the content creators i thoroughly disagree with. the ones echoing harmful ideas and Haha Offensive oppressive content #the idea that some of them are still doing it because they cant escape...... the idea of anyone realising their mistakes and being stuck #and not being able to get out of it #theres so much anger in the world and i Know everyones tired and theyre aching emotionally #everyone including the people i really dont like are all doing what theyre doing because. anyway #its just. the more we can talk about this - and i understand as Many Minority Statuses Overlapping that we dont owe any assholes conversatio #n - the more people who can talk about this talk about this and bridge the gap and drag people who dont know better out of their edgy #phases to become better more conscious people.............. #oof. its almost 5am #traitor's ramblings #assault #mention.

[thelost-in-time]

Hi, Anon, just a note before we start. I'm sorry, but Tumblr posted my unfinished thing for me, so I had to start it from scratch again so it's not posted half completed. That's why the ask isn't shown as an actual ask and it is a screenshot. Other than that, I'm sorry and I hope you enjoy this nonetheless

Hi, Anon! You absolutely can, dw ^^ Also, I hope you don't mind, but I've added Xiao and Zen for my own comfort reasons

I'll just separate each character with some sort of dividers, so it's no problem ^^

Hey, I'm here, okay?

How Childe, Diluc, Xiao, Saeran, Saeyoung and Zen comfort a reader with anxiety.

Warnings: Anxiety, panic attacks, mental breakdowns, mentions of drowning and suffocation (comparison only), chest pain because of anxiety. Mysme is inaccurate bc I only finished Jumin and Jaehee's routes.

Reader is gn

Disclaimer: Everyone's anxiety is not the same. My anxiety may not be like yours. This post is based on my anxiety and how I hear my friends talk about their anxiety. Do NOT attack me over this. If you don't like how this turned out, move on instead of attacking me over it.

Genshin

Childe

He knows anxiety because he was in the Abyss at one point.

And he does have a family he needs to protect.

You have anxiety, but how severe your anxiety gets completely depends on your situation.

Sometimes your anxiety gets so bad that it's like you're drowning in an ocean, begging someone to save you.

Childe will be the one who will help you.

He has younger siblings, so he's learnt to be intuitive with the emotions of the ones he loves.

This includes you.

As far as Childe is concerned, you are part of his family.

Part of his world. I'll see myself out now.

So when Childe sees you placing a hand to your chest with a look of discomfort after a certain situation.

Chest pain caused by anxiety.

He knows.

He's quick to act.

He leads you away from the situation and pulls you into his arms, embracing you.

"Shh, it's okay, my love. I'm here. I'll try to help you feel better."

Anytime Childe sees your anxiety starting to build up, he has his gentle hold on you.

Hands caressing your arm, your back or your hands.

He's trying to help ease you a little.

If someone gave you a panic attack, then they'll come face to face with Childe's blade.

He is merciless to those who give you panic attacks, unless you ask him to show mercy.

"My love, how about later, we play with Teucer? He adores you."

Offers you anything to help you feel better, and Teucer's antics are one of them.

Because he knows about your anxiety, he always is prepared to take care of you.

Tries to ease your mind as best he can.

"But you'll never be alone."

Diluc

Master Diluc. Another one who had anxiety in the past after... events in his life.

Except, he wouldn't know about your anxiety unless you brought it up.

He didn't wanna assume anything, that's all, so he waited until you confirmed this with him.

When you do though, expect him to be prepared to help you at all times.

But sometimes, in the dead of night when Diluc is put and you're home alone, it's hell.

You're laying alone in your bed, thoughts swirling around your head.

And sometimes being alone with your thoughts aren't a good thing.

Negative thoughts flow into your mind, and suddenly, it's as if you're suffocating.

Trying to hold back the fiery hot tears that roll down your face, Diluc returns home to you.

"Something isn't right. I can feel it."

Rushes over to your room, not wanting to waste a single moment more.

And he finds you curled up in bed, gasping for air, having a breakdown.

Pulls you into his arms and holds you, making you rest your head on his chest.

"My love, listen to my voice, and my heartbeat. Don't think about anything else."

Tries to ground you by talking to you and letting you listen to the sound of his heart.

It hurts Diluc to see you like this, and he always does his best to ease your anxiety.

Anytime you feel your anxiety getting worse, Diluc is there.

He wraps his arms around you, or gives you his jacket if he can't hold you.

But he will drop everything to help you.

Will make you something to drink, like hot chocolate, tea, coffee, anything.

And if you need to fidget with something to ground your anxiety

Well, he buys you some sort of fidget toy.

Don't fight me. Those things help me through it sometimes bc my mind goes blank and I get grounded

Diluc also offers to do some relaxing activities with you to soothe your mind and your nerves.

"I'll be with you from dusk till dawn."

Xiao

Used to have anxiety as well. Have you not seen his karmic debt?

And yet you ground him when he needs you most.

So you better believe that he will return the favour tenfold.

He can see you're anxious with how you absent-mindedly tap your fingers against a surface.

He reaches out, holding your hand in his.

He has gotten used to initiating physical affection after seeing how happy you get.

When you're laying in bed at night, unable to sleep with thoughts swirling around your head.

Then Xiao will be the one to help you to bed.

Gives you a hoodie of his, helps you put it on actually, and helps you to bed.

Cuddles with you, whispering comforting words when your anxiety grows.

Takes you out on a walk through nature when your anxiety grows worse over days.

If you have allergies, he takes the path with less plants and stuff, but still amazing sights.

"I'm right here. I'll not leave your side. I'll help you get through this."

Anytime you start spiralling, he talks you through it, voice gentle and calm

Does all the things to soothe you that you do for him.

Never treats you as if you're incapable of doing things yourself though.

Lets you do things yourself unless you ask him for help, advising you to take it slowly.

Asks you to talk to describe some stuff to him when you're on the verge of breaking.

"What colour is the sky? What colour are my eyes? Can you match your breathing to mine?"

Alternatively asks you to count the number of objects backwards.

Basically find ten of one object, nine of another and so on.

Xiao mainly distracts you from what's growing your anxiety.

But he also gives you a lot of physical affection to help you calm down.

Super patient with you, despite seeming like an impatient person.

"Baby I'm right here."

Mystic Messenger

Saeran

Never played his or Saeyoung's routes, but he's my favourite from the two for some reason.

Saeran suffers anxiety even to this day. He has anxiety because of what he was subjected to.

So he understands you having anxiety.

Offers to introduce you to his psychologist so that your anxiety can also get a little bit better.

He knows it may not completely help, but he wants to help you even a little bit.

His psychologist helped him, so he's hoping you'll be helped as well.

However, if you're against the idea, he attempts to help you himself.

When you're feeling on the verge of an anxiety attack, he offers you to get ice-cream.

This man loves his ice-cream, so you don't even suspect its to help you.

Until it keeps happening when your panic attacks hit.

And if you're lactose intolerant? He finds an alternative that won't make you suffer.

Maybe he offers you some Honey Buddha Chips from Saeyoung's endless supply.

He likes stargazing with you, especially on nights when both your anxieties peak.

"The stars have a way of easing my anxiety. I hope it helps you as well."

Offers you his teddy bear to hold and cuddle when you're especially stressed during the day

Likes holding your hand. Feels it helps ground you both.

When your chest hurts, he gently squeezes your hand as a gentle reminder that he's there for you.

Times when your anxiety isn't as bad though, you can be certain to hear him say he's proud of you.

And when you recover from a panic attack, he still says he's proud of you.

Why? Because he knows how it feels.

"I'm proud of you. You're doing so well. You're managing, and that's great."

When you're calm, looks at you as if you're a work of art.

When you're breaking down, looks at you as if you're a delicate flower that needs care.

Always reminds you that he loves you, especially when you're super anxious.

"I'll hold you when things go wrong."

Saeyoung

Did you guys get married at the space station?

He's smart, but he's also stupidly oblivious.

So much for being a sentient boy.

I joke. In all honesty, he's probably trying to balance things, so he doesn't notice.

At first.

When he does notice you have anxiety (or when you finally tell him), he hugs you.

Holds you close, not saying anything for a few moments.

You think he's disappointed, and he is. Except it's in himself for not realising sooner.

After that? He pays close attention to you, not wanting you to spiral.

Anytime he sees someone about to prod at your anxiety to make it grow, he's there.

Pulls pranks on the person. Can't threaten them directly because he has a history.

When alone with the person who overwhelmed you, he's much less forgiving.

He is gentle, treating you as if you were a precious gem that could break.

Talks you through your nerves, cracking a few jokes to help you.

Alternatively though, he holds you close, letting you rest your head on his shoulder or chest.

You know how he cosplays?

He will cosplay for you to see you smile.

Cosplays as your comfort character.

Which means he may not need to cosplay bc he knows his your comfort character here.

"Defender 707 will defend you from your anxiety!"

Suggests activities that could help you.

Go outside? Take a walk? Exercise? Cuddles? Video games?

Maybe not the last one. Unless it's a slow paced game that's calming.

Asks Vanderwood to cook for you to make sure you don't forget to eat.

"I'll be with you from dusk till dawn."

Zen

You know how he has a bunch of rehearsals to do and rarely has time for himself?

Yeah, he always has time for you.

So when you message him saying your anxiety is worse today, he drops everything to go to you. The directors can't say anything, fearing he may quit, and their project will flop.

When he arrives at home, he has your favorite snacks on hand, ready to spoil you.

But on other days, when you're both together, he likes going to quiet places with you.

This is because not only is he famous, but also because he doesn't want to overwhelm you.

Feeds you and makes sure you're hydrated because he knows you forget sometimes.

Another one who buys you fidget toys to help ease your anxiety.

"You know I'm here, right? You don't have to struggle through this alone."

Alternatively, if you ever feel like you're a burden because of your anxiety, he has something else to say.

"You're not my burden. I'll never drop you. In fact, I don't mind having you here. Please never think you're a burden."

Funnily enough, this man was my first love in mysme, but I never had the time to get his route rip

Keeps you away from the media in fear of your anxiety worsening.

He wants to introduce you as his romantic partner, but he doesn't want any hate comments to you.

Also scared the attention will maybe make your anxiety worse.

So he keeps things between you both alone.

"God made a mistake when making us. I'm too beautiful and you're too perfect."

Smack him /j Just let him know you're fine when you're fine.

And let him know when you're not fine

Leaves you little notes around your house that tells you how much he loves you

Alternatively (again), if he's unable to come to you when you're anxious.

He has voice notes prepared to ground you, and notes (again) to ground you.

Is proud to have you as his romantic partner, and just wants you to be okay.

Likes spoiling you as well. Acts of service and gift giving. Wants to reward you for being so strong.

"Baby I'm right here."

End

Reblogs and friendly comments are welcome.

#xiao x reader #childe x reader #diluc x reader #saeran x reader #saeyoung x reader #zen x reader #xiao x you #childe x you #diluc x you #hyun ryu x reader #mysme x reader #xiao x gn reader #diluc x y/n #childe x gender neutral reader #mystic messenger x reader #xiao x y/n #diluc x gender neutral reader #childe x y/n #mystic messenger x y/n #genshin x reader

[cassandraclare]

The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed.  “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself,  reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

#the whispering room #james herondale #cordelia carstairs #the last hours #cassandra clare #cassandra jean #chain of gold

[starshipsofstarlord]

Bucky Making You Squirt For The First Time Whilst In Wakanda...

Warnings | smut, squirting, fingering, mentions of disability, angst, mentions of death and murder, swearing, insecure Bucky, overstimulation

Requested ✖️

Quick link to my masterlist, if you’re interested in reading more of my crap 😬

There were many things that Bucky had to get to doing one handed. At first, it had taken some getting used to, he no longer had a silver grip to follow out orders with, or aid his other hand with, now that the prosthetic had been removed. Wakanda had wiped away any evidence from whom he had once been, except his mind, that was still a work in progress.

But with time, he had adapted to the disability within the calm nature that surrounded him. For the first time in his life, he felt safe, he had his own home, to which he shared with you, an avenger and an old friend of T’Challa’s. It was a simple hut, but it was something that brought him comfort, never needing to pretend to be someone else behind the walls, having an enclosure of reassurance, even if the structure had no door.

For the moment, he was alone, you had gone to the new king’s coronation, despite not being of birthright to the country. The people here accepted you, and from more than just your amorous connection to him, they had slowly but surely became well adversed with his presence, sending him meaningful, reassuring smiles, and allowing their kids to run around the perimeter of his plot.

With bright eyes, he had watched as you allowed the children to assort their paints, and stroke the colours of red, black and yellow as stripes upon your skin, accumulating you to their culture. Bucky had made no attempts to move closer, he was content with watching you run around with the children, laughing at their jokes, and telling them stories of your adventures out in the world.

They saw you as one of their heroes, that had partaken in training as a youngster by their best and now aged commanders. This was your home, and that in turn, made you insist that it was his also. Though, he knew that something would eventually ruin this little life that the two of you had began together in the midst of hiding, and that had kept him awake after you had left.

He had tried to lay upon the furs that were rolled around to make a floor bed, listening to the sounds of communicating birds, and playing ancestors of the great commanders, but he did not fathom to manage to rock himself into a slumber. And his eyes were still peeled as you returned, the sky having grown significantly darker, after the celebrations that you and Shuri had planned for her brother.

Your hand reached towards an encrusted leaf of water that acted as a bowl, dampening a rag as you began to swipe at the skin of your face. Out from the corner of the one room, Bucky walked over, taking the dampened material out of your hand, with his one, and helped you in cleansing your skin of the natural pigments that had been assorted into bright colours.

“Did you have fun?” He asked tenderly, as he washed the tribal cosmetics from your skin, feeling his heart swoon as you presented a great smile, filled with teeth, and softly nodded at his words.

“Yes, though, I cannot help but feel the void of T’Chaka. He’d ruled this place for so long, keeping it concealed from greedy eyes, and I have a nervous feeling for what lays ahead for T’Challa. He insists that I don’t have to get involved in the political sides of this place any longer, I am not needed to continue to be a protecter, but it was my purpose. I have no other path in my mindset of what I should do instead.”

After speaking, you breathed, leaning into Bucky’s gentle hand, lulling in the sentimental feeling of him looking after you. “You may be a warrior, but you are also my partner. Just lay with me a little longer before you go out and search for another fight, will you?” He put the wipe down, grasping your face in his palm, humming contentedly as you pressed kisses upon his rough and scarred skin.

“I think I could just go that.” You replied, weaving your hands through his locks, and undoing the knot of the small intricate bun that rested upon the various layers of his hair. A smile tugged at his beard, as he leant slowly down, encasing his prickly bordered mouth upon your own, as you reciprocated the action.

“Get on the bed doll.” He sweetly spoke, his lips brushing against yours, following after you as did as he said, going to roll on top of him, as was usually the position, considering his impediment, but Bucky shook his head, causing a furrow to sew itself between your brows. “Stay there.”

Trusting him, you nodded, allowing him to tug at your purple robe, to which you traditionally wore nothing beneath. His azure gaze locked onto your watching eyes, as he contently kissed down your torso, passing your navel, his lips over the curve of your mound.

Bucky had ate you ate countless times, but never in this position. Usually, you would clamber your weight atop of him, descending your pussy onto his mouth, as the both of you had thought that would be the easier solution to doing things. But he showed no struggle as his lips slipped down lower, his tongue teasing your clit, as he rested his chest upon the hay adorned ground.

He raised his hand, moving the flesh of his fingers between your folds, tugging at the lips, to open you up for his adventurous tongue to explore. His eyelashes fluttered, breaking his locked gaze of you, as he lulled in your taste, his administrations pulling moans out from your chests, as you tried to keep quiet, for there were sure to be children sleeping in the neighbouring huts.

“Bucky.” Once more, your hands cascaded through his long brown locks, tugging at the root, prompting a groan to rattle through the man that was going down on you. You swivelled your hips a little, helping him hit a deeper angle with that tongue of his, yelping lightly as he added a finger, and then another, stretching you open. “I’m going to cum James.”

He paid no mind to your words, continuing his enjoyable work, as he made you spill your loving essence over his tongue, lapping it up, before returning to your clit, sucking the bud behind his teeth, swirling his saliva around the pink accessory, whilst adding another two fingers, making you be filled with four.

The stretch was delicious. After the gruelling, not to mention worrisome day, that you had experiences, unwinding in such a simplistic, and euphoric way was definitely welcomed. Bucky always had the means to make you feel good, but the majority of the time, you would insist to go down on him instead, finding it fulfilling to apt your partner with such pleasure.

But here he was, returning all those favours, with his mouth and tongue, stimulating you closer to another orgasm, and having you on the verge of screaming, though, you had to bite your hand to contain such a sound. Otherwise, it’d ring out across the land, and the last thing you wanted was the Dora Milaje bursting in, thinking that someone was getting murdered.

The only thing being viscously attacked was your pussy, but you weren’t complaining as you whined wantonly, feeling yourself spill out with your juices again, screwing your eyes shut as he rubbed the bristles on his face against your clit, prodding your entrance with his tongue as he removed his fingers, his eyes beaming wide as you brought them up to your mouth, sucking on each one, moving them down to the back of your throat.

Bucky swore he’d bust right then. He shuffled away, discarding of the red material that he was often clothed in, revealing his hard cock, as he came to rest over you, after removing his digits from your hungry mouth. “Buck, don’t you want me to go on top?” Your chest raised as you asked the question, but he shook his head, only just managing to balance himself over you, as you tugged at his cock a couple of times, before swiping his head through the river of your slit.

The sensation caused your lover’s legs to buckle beneath him, as he struggled to uphold his weight, his head falling against the column of your neck as tears pricked at his eyes. Without any trouble, you rolled him over, climbing to be straddled upon his face, as you cupped the corners of his rugged face. You could still feel the soreness between your legs from his beard, and you loved the feeling. But the regard of pleasure could be paused for a moment, as you saw his blue eyes swimming with waves of emotion.

“Hey it’s okay baby.” You ushered him, feeling him trail his hand across your spine, pulling you closer. His puffy cheeks had turned red as he looked at you, almost as though he were embarrassed from his prone accident. “Why’d you try to be on top, I thought we spoke about that?”

“I just wanted to make you feel good.” He gulped, watching as your face dropped into a swarm of sadness and guilt. “I’m useless here, and it seems like the only thing I’m good at it brining you pleasure. But clearly I’m not that good at it if I can’t even put my own dick in you.”

“Don’t James, baby. You are not useless, you are free. The people here are helping you, and then, you’ll be able to do whatever you want with the road that will lay before you. It’s about patience my love.” You grasped the sides of his face so that he was forced to look directly at you. The trailing of his eyes, curving down your exposed chest and stomach did not go unnoticed, though you continued speaking to him. “And do not ever question how good you make me feel, even out of intercourse, you make me feel like the most important woman in the galaxy. It’s okay to need help sometimes, and that’s why I’m here with you James.”

Putting pressure upon your back, he tugged you down, colliding his lips against yours, the taste of yourself that was lingering on his tongue making you moan into his mouth. You slipped your tongue in his mouth, scouring out every angle behind his white teeth, as you once again took ahold of his shaft, tapping the reddened tip against your clit.

The feeling made you wince, already feeling over stimulated, though you could not deny that you wanted to feel all of him, so you shuffled back, raising your hips over his own, as you placed him at your entrance, and began to sink down on his hard cock.

“Fuck doll.” He gritted his teeth together, leaning back as he watched your face pleasurable grimace at the various sensations that were burning up your body. But nevertheless, you began to ride him, planting your hands on his shoulders as you swayed your hips against his. Bucky raised his hand, cupping your breast with it, and pinching your nipple, watching as your threw your head back, a single tear slipping out of the corner of your eye.

That pout that had encased itself on your mouth, as you bounced atop of him, made him lick his lips. Various sounds escaped your lips as you crashed your sore pussy down on his straining cock, wanting nothing more than to cum again.

You leant back, a light laugh escaping your throat as you braced one of your hands upon his tensing thigh, the other creeping down to rub your clit. Bucky felt his whole spark, as he refused to close his eyes so that he could watch you be illuminated by the oncoming orgasm that would soon be tearing through you, and the moonlight that seeped through the opening of the hut.

The man ran his large hand down your body, replacing your hand with his own, fiddling with your engorged clit as you squeaked out indicating sounds of pleasure, as he traced it with the tip of his nail. “Cum doll.” He spoke, his voice strained, as his hips thrusted up on their own accord.

A frown settled on your face as you grabbed at your tits, your breathing escalating to the point where your skin had grown tingly. And before you knew what had hit you, you came once more, but this time it was different. You had squirted, soaking Bucky’s thighs, splattering your clear juices through his pubic hairs, the liquid reaching the bottom of his belly.

“Oh my fucking god.” You stopped for a moment, as your head felt all hazy, leaning it back, for a minute, until you began rotating your hips again, your pussy constantly clenching around his shaft. He felt close, more so as you reached behind you with a free hand, and began tugging gently at the seam of his balls. “Fill me up baby, cum in- fuck!”

Another wave had hit you, it not taking long to reach after your previous three orgasms. It left Bucky no choice, his body followed its own whim as his balls fluttered, his head spluttering his cum inside your walls, leaving you lightheaded, and all over the place. A hum fell from your lips as you moved so that his softening and cum covered cock would fall out of you, laying on his chest, as you felt your pussy trying to keep all of his seed within you, though it failed to do so, as it ran down the inside of your leg, and trailed down Bucky’s own.

“So good.” You smiled, half drunk off of how many times you had cum. Bucky smiled, running his hand up your leg, to soothe and calm your muscles, before cupping your face, bringing it closer so that he could give you a tender peck upon the forehead.

“Go to sleep doll, I love you.” He brushed his dirtied fingers through your hair, smiling as he softly heard you mumble a reciprocating response, your head falling in the dip of his chest, you falling asleep, giving him one last piece of mind until the morning.

#bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes one shot #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #bucky x you #bucky barnes prompt #sebastian stan smut #sebastian stan x reader #imagines #imagine #xreader #marvel smut #mcu smut #mcu x reader #mcu x you #mcu x y/n #Wakanda x reader #tfatws x reader #Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes reader insert #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fandom #sebastian stan imagine #marvel x reader smut #james barnes smut

[pippytmi]

16 + 4 + 2 (werewolf supercorp?)

It is not uncommon for Kara to wake up in a puddle of blood.

At this point she is immune to the shock that comes with it, really. She has adapted; knows all the best tricks to get stains out of her clothes, knows all the best laundromats that don’t ask any questions. Heck, she even has Alex’s ex-girlfriend on speed dial, just in case there is a freak chance the blood Kara wakes up in might be human (it has not happened yet, knock on wood).

But there are other parts that still take some getting used to. Like, for example, the loss of memory that comes with every night of the full moon. Because yeah, she understands why she wakes up in a pool of blood. What she doesn’t understand is why this time around she wakes up in a pool of her own blood, and in so much pain that it hurts to open her eyes.

“Ow,” Kara whispers to herself, twisting onto her side with a groan. Her clothes are gone—no surprise—but even as she is laying down on the cold, rocky forest floor, the only thing she can focus on is how much her head hurts. She’s dealt with branch scratches, sore legs and arms, the occasional plethora of bug bites, but never a headache. Her one comfort is that at least she has made it into the backyard of Sam’s cabin. It takes a considerable amount of strength to push herself up off the ground; walking is going to be much harder than anticipated.

If Alex saw her now, she'd—well first she would hit Kara over the head and yell at her about being dumb, but afterwards she would snicker. And probably hit her over the head again for good measure.

“Oh my God—!”

Okay, it’s official. Kara is now dead. Even if the stranger gawking at her is not the one who kills her, Alex definitely will.

And it’s that thought that makes Kara drop right back down on the floor, knocking the wind right out of her lungs, and she groans into the dirt pitifully.

“Oh, fuck,” the stranger whispers, almost as if to herself, scrambling to come to Kara’s side. “Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck this shit. Fuck!” Said stranger belatedly claps a hand over her mouth, green eyes widening in horror. “Holy shit, are you alive?”

Kara pitifully rests her cheek against the ground and tries not to look too offended. “Uh, kind of,” she replies. (So this must not be Sam’s cabin, then.) “Sorry. Am I in your yard? It is a very nice yard. Five stars.”

“No, it’s not my—I’m house-sitting,” the woman explains, though she is giving Kara a look that says really? That’s what you want to focus on right now?

“Well, it’s still a nice place,” Kara says, because she is polite and small talk is always a good thing to fall back on when you’re naked on a pile of dead leaves. “Wait, I don’t suppose you’re house-sitting for Sam, are you? Sam Arias, super tall, has a daughter who is freakishly good at checkers?”

Stranger-who-swears-like-a-sailor frowns. “How do you know Sam?” she asks suspiciously.

“She dated my sister. It was a whole—it’s a thing,” Kara says. “You know?”

“Wait. Are you Kara? Are you Alex’s sister?”

“Yes! So you do know!” Kara would grin if her face were capable of any emotion besides mind-shattering pain. “Then you must be Sam’s friend…uh, bear with me…Lena? Or Jess?”

“Lena,” says the woman, still notably wary, so Kara makes the decision to wiggle until she can prop herself up her elbows and look less, well, like a corpse.

“Hey, got it in one!” Kara says as cheerfully as she can muster. “Well, it’s nice to meet you. And can I just—uh, say—that you don’t have to worry. I won’t die here or anything. I know you would obviously be the number one suspect for murder and it wouldn’t be nice of me to put you through that.”

“…right. Never mind that you would be dead, or anything.” Lena begins to shakily unbutton her coat like a woman possessed, as if her doubt has morphed entirely into concern now that she has confirmation the freak naked in Sam’s backyard is not an entire stranger. “Here, this is long enough to cover you. Do you—do you need help getting up?”

“No, no, I’ve got it, thank you,” Kara insists, and gradually, she manages; she shifts sideways and then tentatively onto her butt, and accepts the coat when it’s all but thrown at her face. There is blood mixed in with the leaves and general guck beneath her, and she winces at the sight. “I’ll come back and clean this later,” she’s quick to add, and Lena frowns in response.

“Are you serious? Forget cleaning, you need—stitches, at the very least. I can take you to the hospital if—”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that!” Kara blurts out, and with the adrenaline from that burst of energy she’s able to scramble to her feet. She is shaky, unsteady, but she manages to stay upright at least and she’ll count that as a win. “Shoot. I’m sorry for yelling. I just—no hospitals. I can’t do hospitals.” She has never had to form an excuse for this, and her mouth can’t quite wrap around the right words.

But Lena—green eyes wide and unsure, skin pale in the early morning light—nods, like she understands. “Okay,” she says. “No hospitals.”

“Thanks,” Kara mumbles, wrapping the coat tightly around herself. There are startling black spots in her vision and her head still feels like it was used as a piñata; she wonders what the heck her next move should be now. If Sam needs someone to house-sit, she must be out of the city. And if Sam is out of the city, Kara can’t exactly waltz into Sam’s house to wash all the blood off her body (and then call up Alex from the couch while stealing whatever ice cream Ruby picked). Sam lets her do that, sure, but that’s Sam. It would be pretty rude to do that when Lena is right here.

“Do you…” And Lena pauses, nose scrunching up as if something has just occurred to her. “I can give you a ride somewhere else, if you’d like. Back to your house?”

“No, that’s okay,” Kara hurries to decline, because how can she really explain that she lives in an apartment, and that if little old Mrs. Jensen saw her coming up covered in blood she’d finally succumb to her third heart attack? “Can I just use Sam’s phone to call my sister? Then I’ll come right back out here, I promise.”

“Why would you come back out here again?” Underneath her coat, Lena is wearing plaid pajama pants that are rolled at the ankle (Sam’s, most likely), and a tank top that is extremely fitted. Very, very well fitted. Like, you-can-tell-it’s-frigidly-cold-outside-kind-of-fitted.

Kara coughs and tries not to let on how her train of thought has twisted. “Because…I’m a stranger?” she tries. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Remember, if you die I’m going to be the first one they question,” Lena says, tilting her head expectantly in the direction of Sam’s cabin. “Come inside, warm up. Call your sister.” All things considered, she is far more concerned than Kara expected her to be—as if, somehow, ridding herself of the weirdo walking around bloody and probably concussed isn’t the very first thing on Lena’s mind.

So Kara doesn’t look a gift horse in the mouth; she accepts the offer. It’s a small comfort that if she really does get murdered by a total stranger, it won’t be while cold and naked.

Lena goes right into Sam’s room the instant they go inside, already gathering a million outfits for Kara to pick through. “The shower is fickle, but it does have hot water,” she says, adding a towel to the pile in Kara’s arms when she re-emerges. “You just have to—”

“Hit the wall twice, and give it a few seconds,” Kara finishes. “Yeah, Sam reminds me every time.”

“So you…visit Sam often, do you?”

“Uh.” And suddenly, despite the long, cold night she’s had, the air indoors feels a bit warmer than is comfortable. “Only sometimes.” Once a month, Kara thinks, and Lena crosses her arms and just stares.

Really stares, dragging those sharp green eyes up and down Kara’s whole body. Squints at the scratches on her face, scrunches her nose at the way Kara awkwardly shifts from side to side. Finally Lena speaks, and it’s only to say, “It’s you, isn’t it?”

“...come again?”

“It’s you. Sam told me she’s been helping out a friend with a—furry predicament—”

If it were possible to choke on air, Kara would be dead right now. “Did she really call it furry? But she’s also—!” She has to pause, now, because she feels an urge to clarify, “Wait. Are we talking about the same thing right now?”

Lena narrows her eyes slightly. “You mean talking about how you’re a werewolf?”

“Oh!” Head lighter, Kara sucks in a laugh that makes her ribs feel like they are splintering open. “Then yes. That’s good, I didn’t want you to think I was a—anyway. I didn’t think Sam told anyone.”

“Sam and I have been friends for a long time,” Lena says slowly. A beat. “She actually ate my hamster once.”

Kara winces. “Recently?”

“No! Back in the fifth grade,” Lena frowns, like she might’ve added dumbass at the end of the sentence. “I’m a grown woman. I don’t own hamsters.”

“What? Come on, having pets isn’t just a kid thing,” Kara says. “I used to have a cat, but he…”

“Oh my God, you ate him?”

Kara’s jaw drops. “What—no! He turned out to already have an owner, so she took him back. He just liked to wander into my apartment.” She hugs the clothing pile tighter to her chest, and tries her hardest to scowl. “I’m responsible, okay? Most of the time. I’m not dangerous.”

“Except to deer, or rabbits, or whatever else you killed last night?” Lena quirks an eyebrow, but surprisingly not in a manner that’s judge-y. Just…curious.

“Right,” Kara says defeatedly, and her head throbs enough that her grip on Sam’s clothes begins to falter. “Sorry. I wasn't trying to be defensive or anything.”

“That's alright.” And stranger still, Lena reaches out to gently touch the side of Kara’s head. “So does the same thing happen to you?”

“Huh?” The proximity has scrambled Kara’s brain momentarily, and she finds herself unthinkingly holding her breath.

“Do you also black out,” Lena clarifies. “Like Sam does, every time she shifts.”

“Oh. Yeah, I’m pretty sure it’s—a universal wolf thing,” Kara says.

Lena hums, and her hand retracts. “And are you a serial killer in wolf form?”

“Uh, I hope not? I’m pretty sure all this is…” Kara gestures over her body with one hand, still hugging the pile of clothes with the other. “Not human.”

“Okay.” Lena casually walks away, but pauses to throw over her shoulder, “I’ll help you clean up your head once you’re out of the shower. I’ve helped Sam a hundred times.”

“Are you—do you have some kind of healing magic, or—”

“Close. I’m an ER nurse,” Lena says amusedly, and when she smiles a dimple emerges on one cheek. “All the witches I know have fled the city, so I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”

“You joke, but Alex dated this witch once, and she hexed my sister to spill her first sip of coffee every time she went to take a drink for three weeks straight after they broke up,” Kara says, and Lena again scrunches her nose in that quizzical way.

“Seriously? Witches are real too?”

“Duh,” Kara says lightly. “What, you thought it stopped at werewolves? Please. I’m pretty sure the neighbor two doors down is a gorgon.”

“Well, it would explain her fondness of statues,” Lena says, strangely nonplussed. “I’ve never asked, but I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised at this point. How do you take your coffee?” As she asks, Lena deposits a few fingers of whiskey into a mug, and at Kara’s questioning look says, “Sorry, we’re all out of painkillers. This is as good as you’re going to get.”

“Maybe I’ll do better if it’s straight,” Kara says, unable to hide her grimace, while Lena shrugs a shoulder as if to say it’s your funeral.

So after Kara showers, she sits on the couch and sips gross whiskey out of a chipped mug that reads World’s Best Mom in bright pink letters. Lena has turned on the TV to the local news station—clearly she has stayed with Sam before—and a man on screen is recounting a tale of how he hit a giant wolf strolling too close to his farm with a baseball bat.

“If I had my shotgun I would’ve killed the fucker,” he swears, red in the face, and above her Lena gives a little scoff.

“What a dick,” Lena says, her hand steadily stitching up the wound on Kara’s scalp, and her voice has a hint of an accent; it’s really cute, actually, and Kara doesn’t even mind that the next poke of the needle is sharper than the others.

It is the strangest morning Kara has ever had. Drinking whiskey before eight in the morning, with a kind stranger who she’s barely met but is suturing her skin together, who smells faintly of lavender soap and strong black coffee.

“—National City is not safe when wolves are wandering close to homes—”

The scent of rich hot chocolate bubbling on the stove is beginning to fill the room, the ancient pipes are rumbling throughout the walls, and Lena’s fingers are soft against her head. Kara closes her eyes and decides that she will wait a little longer before she calls Alex to pick her up.

#i tried my best but tbh i dont know much of werewolf lore ? so i tried to go w/these two being soft #& autumn vibes of course #supercorp #supergirl #i need a fic tag #writing a meet messy is HARD idk how to make them cute !!

[infinitefandomimagines]

Scarred - Zuko x Reader

WARNINGS: ARGUING, BURN SCARS, ANGST

-

REQUEST: zuko x reader where the reader is the last one to forgive zuko at the western air temple bc he accidentally hurt her in the crystal catacombs and than zuko goes to her tent, begging for forgiveness and she shows him the scar he gave her and it’s super fluffy:33

-

"Y/N. . . what do you say?" All eyes landed on you, waiting for your response to Aang's question. However, there was only one pair of eyes in particular you glared back at; and if looks could kill, the recently renounced Fire Nation prince in front of you would've surely met his demise right then. But Zuko knew how to hold himself in front of those who wanted to intimidate him. If there was anything his father taught him, it was that much.

Despite your fiery stare and previous threats from the first time he pleaded for forgiveness that you'd "knock him on his ass" if he ever came near you again, he kept his composure. There was no doubt in his mind you'd stay true to that warning, which is why he made sure to keep enough distance between the two of you.

There was a hopeful gleam in his eyes, so far Aang, Sokka, Katara, and Toph had agreed to let him join the team, albeit some more hesitantly than others. If everyone else found it in their hearts to forgive and forget, surely you could as well. Wrong.

"No."

You saw the last bit of hope fizzle from his eyes as defeat weighed down on him, causing his shoulders to sink and his head to drop. "I know you don't trust me, I don't blame you. I've done horrible things, hurt you and your friends-"

"You can't even begin to imagine the amount of pain you've caused me!" Your words held a venomous sting, yet your tone was strained, calm almost.

"Y/N," Katara stepped up behind you, her voice was soft. You could barely feel the hand she'd placed on your left shoulder, thick and itchy bandages blocking her attempt at comfort. "I don't like it either, but Aang needs to learn fire bending."

"I really believe he's changed, give him a chance to-"

You cut Aang off, finally breaking your gaze from Zuko to face the young monk. "He's already had too many chances!"

No one could admit that you were wrong, not even Zuko. Because every time he'd faught against your little group of rag-tag heroes, you'd given him a chance. Even while the rest of team avatar faught the exiled prince, you never threw a single blow that wasn't defensive or to save your friends. Instead, you'd offer him a chance to join the right side. Of course, he never accepted, but you saw the benefits of your kindness when he'd began to show a sense of mercy against you. There was something in your head telling you he was more than just a villain.

But that mindset changed when you and the gang faught against him and his sister in the crystal catacombs. When Aang almost died. When he chose the Fire Nation's side. When he'd made sure to leave you a permanent reminder of that day.

After a few moments of tense silence, you let out an impatience scoff. "Leave, Zuko. I gave you my answer, the least you can do is respect it."

Reluctantly, he nodded, mumbling out an apology before turning on his heels. He only got in a few steps before Aang interjected.

"Zuko, stop."

He did, glancing over his shoulder, ready to hear what Aang had to say.

"I'm sorry, Y/N, but Zuko is staying. I need need to learn fire bending and he's my only option. I really believe he's changed for the better."

"You don't have to forgive him, but Aang's right, we need him," Sokka added in, to which Toph agreed.

You took in their words, it was obvious they weren't up for debate. You hated that they were right, you all did need Zuko, no matter your current opinion on him.

"Fine," you sighed, looking at Zuko, who was now standing awkwardly with his hands behind his back. "But stay away from me."

Over the next few days, Zuko had somehow managed to gain the complete and utter trust of everyone, even Katara. Everyone except you. Then again, you hadn't had your "life changing field trip with Zuko" that made everyone seemingly forget about everything he'd ever done to them. Field trip or not, earning your trust wasn't going to be that easy. You didn't care how many times he made everybody tea and told cringey jokes.

"Where did you learn to make so many different types of tea?" Aang inquired, causing everyone to look at Zuko, wanting to hear his answer.

Zuko returned to his seat around the fire between Toph and Aang, finally finished handing out small cups of tea. "My uncle, it's his favorite thing to make, he even owned a tea shop at one point."

"You mean the one you betrayed," you deadpanned coldly. You flicked your eyes up from the warm cup of tea in your hands to Zuko, wanting to see his reaction.

His smile faultered, and katara shot a disapproving look at you. For a second you felt guilty, maybe that was too far. He looked genuinely hurt by your comment, but soon another emotion took over his features. You could see it in the way he clenched his jaw and sat up straighter.

"Yeah. That one." His tone was one of poorly restrained bitterness, you'd definitely struck a nerve.

You hummed in response, refusing to break eye contact with him, like you were challenging him to say something equally as cold, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he took a deep breath, just like his uncle taught him.

"I don't get it," He asked, frustrated and fed up with your snarky comments and side eyes. "Everyone else trusts me, why can't you?"

"You really have to ask?"

Katara could feel the tension and awkwardness of the impending argument hanging over everyone. This wasn't the time nor place to be having this conversation.

"I think now would be a good time for another healing session," she interjected, giving you a look that informed you she wasn't exactly asking. With a frustrated huff, you stood up and made your way to your tent, not even waiting for Katara to follow.

You plopped down onto your sleeping bag, sitting with your left side towards the opening.

Katara was there in a few minutes, holding a medium sized bowl of water in her hands. She gently set it down on the ground, taking a seat on your sleeping bag as well, facing your left side.

You tugged your left sleeve down so you could free it. With your shoulder now exposed, she carefully removed the bandages that covered your shoulder and the side of your neck, revealing the red and scarred skin hidden underneath.

"How does it look?" You asked, attempting to ignore the itchy feeling of the fresh air hitting your wound.

"It's healing, slowly" she answered as she conjured the water from the bowl and molded it with her hands. She purified the liquid, causing it it glow. Slowly, she lowered it until the cool water molded over your injured skin. You clenched your teeth and whimpered at the sudden sting the contact made, but then Katara started making circular motions with her hands, beginning the healing process. The stinging pain soon morphed into a comforting cold and relieving sensation.

Katara had done this for you and Aang multiple times since the gang escaped from that wretched crystal catacomb. As much progress as your skin had made in healing, you couldn't seem to wipe the painful memories of how you'd recieved such a wound from your mind. You could remember the events so vividly it was as if they'd happened yesterday.

You were stalling, Zuko and Azula knew that, yet they didn't seem to mind. If anything, Azula enjoyed watching you struggle to give your friends more time. You needed to stall them long enough for Aang to fully enter the avatar state, that's all.

"Come on, Zuko, you know what needs to be done!" Azula coaxed.

"No! You still have a chance Zuko, you can still make this right!" You could see the conflict rising in him as you and Azula tugged at his morals.

There was a moment, a single second where his emotions betrayed him, where you could see how badly he wanted to go with you and the gang. But it was gone just as fast as it came.

"I will kill the avatar and restore my honor, as well as my rightful place beside my father!" He launched into action, sending overpowering blows your way.

He kept you distracted and unable to help your friends long enough for Azula to strike down Aang. Your head snapped towards Katara's screams and you saw him laying there, completely unconscious.

You were distracted, and Zuko impulsively took advantage, sending a blast of orange and red flames towards you.

In all honesty, he expected you to dodge it, you always did without fail. But this time you were too distracted, too concerned with Aang, and he caught you completely off guard. You didn't even realize you were being attacked until the flames painfully scorched your skin.

You let out a horrifying scream as you crumbled to your knees, your shaky hand hovering over your left shoulder as you tried to control your instinct to grab it, knowing it would only hurt worse. You clenched your teeth together, biting back tears as you whipped your head around go see Zuko.

He looked shocked, remorseful even, but that didn't stop anger from edging its way into your glare.

You shuddered at the memory and tried to shake it from your head completely.

"You're all done," Katara said, maneuvering the water back into the bowl. A dull ache returned to your wound, but it felt significantly better than before.

"Thanks, Katara," you mumbled.

"Do you need help rewrapping the bandages?"

You shook your head, preferring to be alone and do the difficult task by yourself. Katara seemed to understand, because she didn't push the issue like she usually would. Instead, she left you with a few words.

"What you said was too far tonight, you should really apologize to Zuko, he is trying you know?"

She didn't wait for a response, not that you planned on giving much of one anyway, but soon you were alone, relishing in the peaceful silence.

But your silence didn't last long, just a few minutes after Katara left there was a whispering voice just outside your tent. It was unmistakable who'd come to visit you, and with great reluctance did you let him in.

"What do you want?" you asked, annoyance filling your voice. You refused to make eye contact with the boy, opting to stare at the mess of tangled bandages in your hands.

Your question was met with silence, that only seemed to worsen your mood. Really? He invades your tent just to ignore your one question? This guy was just unbelievable!

You could feel yourself loosing your temperature once again. "I said, what do you-" Your head snapped up at Zuko, ready to tell him off. But you froze when you saw his gaze, and how it held your figure. His jaw was slack, and his eyes swam as tears pooled at his lash-line. But his eyes never met yours. No, his focus was completely on the uncovered scar that graced your left side.

Your shoulder had taken most of the impact, just shy of being completely colored with a dull red scar. But the wound didn't stop there, covering a decent portion of your shoulder blade. The red marking also stretched up in a jagged stripe, narrowing to a point on the side of your neck, just barely marking your cheek.

You hated how you shuddered under his gaze, and had to look away. Your fingers moving faster as your tried to unravel the tangled bandage. You wanted to cover the burned area as soon as possible.

"I- I did that." It wasn't a question. He spoke purely in matter-of-fact statements, he knew exactly where you'd received your mark from.

"Yeah." You said sharply, picking up the bandage and moving to re-wrap the large wound.

"I . . . I am so sorry-"

"You've said."

Re-wrapping the affected area was proving to be more difficult than you'd thought, especially in your heightened state or frustration. Usually Katara did this part, and you were starting to regret sending her away.

"Please, let me help you," Zuko pleaded, reaching a shaky hand out to grasp at the bandage in your grip. You immediately flinched away from him, the sudden movement sending a sharp pain through your left side.

"Stay away from me!" You bit at him.

Zuko immediately pulled his hand back from you, as if he'd burned you unintentionally for a second time. "I'm sorry," he impulsively spilled out.

"Would you stop saying that? Stop apologizing, nothing is going to make me- ow!" Your own pain cut your sentence short, the sharp pain returning, sending another shock wave up your side at your frustrated movements.

"I'm so- just, please, let me help you and then I'll leave you alone, I promise."

You took a moment to think about the offer, and as much as you didn't want his help, the promise for him to leave is what enticed you to agree. So reluctantly, you handed him the bandages and positioned yourself closer to him, allowing Zuko to access your wound and wrap it with ease.

With slow movements, Zuko began wrapping the burned area. His touch was suprisingly gentle, even more so than Katara's, something you hadn't thought possible. But even with his feather-like touch, your skin still twitched as his fingers and the bandages made contact with the more sensitive areas. Zuko muttered out small apologies each time you flinched, despite your earlier message to stop that. Though the skin had begun the early stages of scarring, it was still sensitive.

"Uh, d-did I ever tell you how I got my scar?" Zuko asked suddenly, not even bothering to look up from his task. You knew what he was doing, he'd been doing things like that since he got here, trying to make small talk with you to cover up the awkward tension. You usually never entertained it, but for some reason tonight you felt intrigued by his question.

"No." You answered shortly, trying your best not to show your growing interest. You'd always been curious about the scar.

"My father gave it to me," he stated, oddly calmly. It was almost mindless the way he told the story as he continued to carefully wrap up your injury. Like the memory had become second nature to tell.

"Oh," you whispered out softly, your mind buzzing with a million different ways to respond to him, yet none of them felt right.

"I spoke out of turn during a meeting, over a general. They wanted to sacrifice an entire division of fire nation soldiers to gain the advantage. But I-," He swallowed thickly. ". . . I thought that was wrong so I spoke up."

You nodded ever so slightly, letting out a soft hum, showing that you were still listening and waiting for him to continue. At this point Zuko had finished wrapping the bandages around your burn, allowing you to turn your body to face him fully.

"My father was furious with my disrepect towards the general. He said that the dispute would need to be resolved with an agni kai, and I accepted. And when the day came I thought I'd be fighting the general I interrupted, but then my father walked out, my agni kai was to be against him."

With each word you felt your heart grow heavier and ache for the boy you swore you hated. You were beginning to question whether you genuinely hated him or if what you truly felt was left over betrayal and anger.

"How old were you?" You finally asked the question that had been bouncing around your head since he began the story.

"Thirteen, not long before I was banished."

You felt yourself boil with anger, but for once it wasn't directed towards the boy in front of you. No, you were furious with the Fire Lord. Who could do that to someone? To a child. Zuko must not have noticed the way your jaw clenched and your fists tightened into balls, because he continued the story as if he hadn't just made your heart drop into your stomach with his answer.

"I didn't want to fight my father, I couldn't. But he took my refusal as another sign of disrespect. I begged for his forgiveness, but he wouldn't hear it. He claimed that I would learn my lesson through suffering. He raised his hand just in front of my face and then he-"

His voice caught in his throat with a crack as he visibly grimaced from the sheer memory of the event. Instinctively, you reached out for his hand, placing yours over top of his much larger one. Now it was his turn to flinch at the sudden contact.

"Zuko, it's okay, you don't have to tell me this, I understand-"

"No! I do! I need you to understand that I never meant to hurt you! I need you to know that the last thing I wanted was for you to feel the same pain I did. After what my father did, I never wanted to inflict that on anyone. I knew that pain and yet I still hurt you . . . the one person who actually believed I could change!"

His hands flew into the air as his frustrated yells of regret were lost to the silent night. He then exasperatedly brought his arms back down and dropped his head into the palms of his hands. His body shook as he took in deep breaths, trying his best not to shed any tears. He was just so frustrated with himself.

"I thought you would dodge it," His muffled whimpers poured out. "You always dodged it."

It was then that you realized how cold you'd been to the boy. You were so caught up in your own hurt and anger, only concerned with making him feel as horrible as you had with your hurtful words. Not once had you considered that he was already kicking himself ten times harder for the pain he'd caused you. He really hadn't meant to hurt you.

And that's when you did something unexpected. In an impulsive attempt to comfort him, you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him in to a hug. His breath hitched, obviously shocked by the gesture, his body going stiff.

"I understand now, I forgive you, Zuko."

At those seven words he melted into your embrace, returning it as he wrapped his arms around your figure. His chin now rested on top of your good shoulder, as he was being extra cautious as to not press on your burns.

"And I'm sorry, for what I said about you and your uncle. He'd be proud of you."

His grip on you tighten, mumbling out a 'thank you,' in the process, finally feeling as though he could fully begin healing from all the wrong he'd done.

-

TAGLIST: @theepartygetsmewetter  

#prince zuko #zuko x reader #zuko imagines #zuko imagine #zuko #avatar the last airbender imagine #avatar the last airbender imagines #avatar the last airbender #atla imagine #atla fanfic #atla #atla zuko #atla x reader #zuko fanfic #prince zuko x reader #fire lord zuko #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar imagine #avatar imagines

[stormblessed95]

I am sorry for this ask but I am rather concerned with Jungkook’s choice of songs lately. The “Hate Everything” I can relate it to Jimin being away recovering from his surgery and Covisld and Jungkook not being able to see him. But now that Jimin is home, why does Jungkook continue to play angsty songs? I miss the OT7 but especially Jikook. I want to know Jikook is OKAY, if you know what I mean. 😩

No. I don't. I can understand missing them, but we aren't entitled to public social media interactions from them, especially since Jimin hasn't really been active at all anywhere except for Weverse very briefly.

Jungkook has been recommending and covering all kinds of music since 2015. From angsty break up songs to emotional ballads to poppy love songs. Here is a list of his Twitter song recommendations and covers up until 2020. Seriously, go check some of those songs out. Some of them are sad or angsty as heck. THIS IS NOT NEW FOR HIM. THIS IS HIS TASTE IN MUSIC

If yall want me to do an updated post over his Spotify and Instagram recommendations at some point, let me know.

You don't have to relate everything he does back to Jimin simply because you are missing them. People only tend to analyze the hell out of JKs music recs. Why is that? Namjoon has been recommending songs like CRAZY over on Instagram too. No one is losing their minds over what it could mean, other than maybe perhaps, he likes the songs? For instance, he recommended this song on Instagram and it's got some fairly angsty lyrics

No one is saying Joon has a drinking problem or a love life problem. People are just adding it to their Playlists and enjoying the music and enjoying the artists reactions when they notice they are getting hyped by BTS. For example this morning, Finn Askew was over the moon seeing the recognition JK brought to his music by sharing it on his insta stories and then also promptly followed JK on Instagram afterwards.

Thr majority of his covers also are either love songs or break up songs. This doesn't mean that he has been on the world's craziest Rollercoaster of emotions in either a million different relationships or a crazy on again off again one either? Unless there is more of an implication given, the only thing that's fair to assume is that he posts these songs because he likes them. Lol

Let's not mention also the fact that I PROMISE you that I'm so head over heels for my husband it's ridiculous, yet I'm currently listening to Bleeding Out, and this does not reflect my mood or my relationship, but it doesn't stop it from being an amazing song that I enjoy. It's literally just the type of music I've been in the mood for as I'm answering asks and/or reading my book right now. (Look up the song/lyrics if you don't know them I guess. Lol)

Or how I've definitely cleaned my house while belting out angsty break up songs while they play super loud and dramatically danced around my husband singing the lyrics to them as well. You won't find photos or videos or us joking about it on social media though. Lol in fact, in this post I even went and counted how many times I posted about my relationship of over a decade long on my Instagram account. Spoilers, it's not that much. Doesn't change the fact that when I do, we are cute as hell and when I don't, we are STILL cute as hell and I'm STILL in love with him and divorce is not even a consideration.

So... again. This type of music recommendations is not new for JK. Every song he posts doesn't mean someone broke his heart nor does it mean he is just feeling overwhelmingly in love that he has to go listen and recommend a song about it. Relax. Don't feel the need to over analyze everything to the point where you stress over it. Enjoy the music!

#jikook #kookmin #mingguk #minkook #jikook song recommendations angst #jikook on social media

[eri-cheri]

Now that we have reached the last chapter of the year. It is time to do a 2020 roll call of what I like to call, “State of the Shippers”:

1. IzuOcha. Status: Placated.

-IzuOcha’s could celebrate several cute tidbits throughout the year. Mini moments as they say.

Anime Highlights: The OVA’s came in clutch with moments for shippers all around and IzuOcha is no exception. We got a cute tidbit where Izuku and Ochako bumped into each other and were flustered.

Manga Highlights: Christmas kept on giving to this fandom as the AM doll Izuku gave Ochako made many appearances. A cute fist bump between the two was also exchanged and Mina was right there bouncing with y’all.

Heroes Rising: Izuku super man carried Ochako to safety. And was Angy she was injured. Fans could enjoy the small Lois Lane moment.

Troubling Signs?: Ochako said “I would like to be excluded from this narrative” when it comes to her feelings for Deku. She’s a hero damnit! So if they are in for something, probably won’t be while they are still in school.

II. DabiHawks. Status: Yikes.

- Dabi and Hawk’s very public breakup set this fandom in disarray but also kind of disayay?

Anime Highlights: None yet. This fandom was cruelly cock blocked by Bones. Sorry DabiHawks stans.

Manga Highlights: Where to begin, my goodness. With these fans, I guess the good and the bad is a plus in this homoerotic double agent relationship. We have the notion that Dabi may have known Hawks when they were kids, which may be a positive? Hori sure loves his childhood friends. Other than that. The GIRLS WERE FIGHTIN’. Hawks is now permanently scarred by Dabi and I don’t think it was kinky folks. Tokoyami inserted himself in the middle to White Knight Hawks, Dabi broke up with him via YT expose and overall, shippers could anguish in the absolute MESS that this ship endured this year. But I’m sure that’s part of the appeal. So...yay?

Heroes Rising: They were both in it.

Troubling Signs?: The entire relationship is a troubling sign which again, is part of the appeal. Maybe Hawks will cuddle up with Dabi’s father after the war. That’s troubling! Speaking of...

III. EndHawks. Status: Yearning and Burning.

-If there’s one thing Endeavor couldn’t stop worrying about, it was his hot (in more ways than one) new side piece who probably should have looked at the fine print when signing a contract to be a recurring guest star on “Keeping up with the Todoroki’s”.

Anime Highlights: A fateful meeting finally in high definition for all our eyes to see! Hawks’s unwavering support of his biggest hero was endearing to watch and their shenanigans together spurred the anime onlies to finally jump on the biggest May-December ship in the series.

Manga Highlights: Endeavor’s admiration and concern for Hawks seeped through the pages as we entered our most exciting arc in the manga yet. Fate split these two up yet entwined their downfall together. And that Fate’s name was Dabi...or should I say ⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️⚫️ or should I just say Touya!

Heroes Rising: “Don’t bite my head off, Endeavor.” Geez, can you flirt a little less loud Hawks?

Troubling Signs?: They say never meet your heroes and Hawks is in for a rude awakening. We shall see just how deep his admiration runs or if Endeavor’s past will split our dynamic duo up for good.

IV: TodoDeku. Status: “Precious”

-Shoto’s “Midoriya is in Danger” radar was highlighted in both manga and anime. 4th User’s quirk, who?

Anime Highlights: “Midoriya hasn’t returned yet.” “Where’s Midoriya?” “Midoriya! Grab my hand!” “Have some of my Soba Midoriya.” Shoto gets it. His emotional support friend is a danger magnet. TodoDeku’s also enjoyed tiny tidbits in the OVA such as a hand grabbing scene. Gotta hold tight to those crumbs.

Manga Highlights: Two Words. “Precious Friend.” Deku comes in w/o arms or legs fighting for Shoto and Shoto’s honor. These two spent the entire year worried sick about each other, and going against all odds to save each other. Precious Friends indeed. TDDK fans ate.

Heroes Rising: Shoto kicks some dog ass and then faints thinking of Deku (and Bakugo but shh. Let the shippers rejoice.) On the bright side, we have a 3rd movie coming featuring “The Three Musketeers” so shippers of TdDk can HOLD TIGHT to what’s to come.

Troubling Signs?: Shoto still doesn’t know about OFA and he’s gonna have LOTS of questions after this arc. Will Deku finally tell him? If not, it could make or break the ship.

V. TodoBaku. Status: “Shining through the city with a little funk and soul.”

-Who knew the greatest comedy duo we needed was Shoto and his hot headed “friend” or not friend? It still remains unclear to Shoto. Regardless, these two had a fun year.

Anime Highlights: “I wanna see your cute face”, disco dancing, and more fun in the provisional license training. Plus the OVA added some cute moments between the two such as Bakugo staying behind to save Todoroki during a dangerous excercise and his adorable plan neatly animated for us. I’d say TodoBaku’s really were resurgent and energized this year!

Manga Highlights: Shoto, that is not how you properly Catch a Kacchan, I’m sorry. But at least you did it you mad lad. As with Deku, Shoto spent the year worried sick about Bakugo. While the anime let us have our fun, these two were suffering in the manga.

Heroes Rising: Again, Shoto put a dog down and then fainted with Bakugo on his mind (and Deku but we ignore that. Shush.) TodoBaku’s have the 3rd movie to look forward to which is bound to have some amazing content!

Troubling Signs?: They have a lot of trauma to deal with. And a lot of Deku to worry about. I also imagine Shoto will be hurt about being left out of the OFA secret. We shall see what 2021 has to offer.

VI. KiriMina. Status: Unbreakable.

-Changing your hairstyle to match the gal who inspired you in middle school? Sorry y’all but if Mina were a guy, I’d say that’s gay af.

Anime Highlights: We got that backstory Bois. Red Riot’s origin might as well make him be called Pink Riot. Again with Hori and the childhood friends though I wouldn’t exactly call them friends. They just went to the same middle school but Kirishima was highly influenced by Mina’s Chivalrous spirit! A ship is born!

Manga Highlights: The influence is mutual! Mina creates a move based on Kirishima’s unbreakable and we all let out a collective “awwww”. Also in the war arc, we got Kirishima making sure Mina’s chivalrous spirit shines through right into Gigantomachia’s mouth! KiriMina may just be the unsung MVP’s of this arc.

Heroes Rising: They were in it.

Troubling Signs?: I can’t think of a single one. KiriMina’s can enjoy a peaceful sailing.

VII: KiriBaku. Status: Crumb Collectors.

-2020 was an uneventful year for KiriBaku but Bones made sure there were crumbs aplenty! Thank God for OVA’s!

Anime Highlights: KiriBaku’s did thrive in one episode! Kirishima reflects on the sludge incident and evolves his quirk based on inspiring words from Bakugo! Hooray! KiriBaku’s can thrive in their blossoming friendship. The OVA also has Kirishima (and Kaminari but shh) once again following Bakugo’s lead when it comes to the training excercise. How can you not? He’s so manly!

Manga Highlights: Not gonna lie. There is nothing much here this year. I did find a teeny tiny flake in Aizawa’s flashback. Kirishima and Bakugo are sitting next to each other. Oh! And at the hot pot gathering, Bakugo sits next to Kirishima! Eat your crumbs KiriBaku’s! There’s always next year!

Heroes Rising: Kirishima hangs with a lazy Bakugo and delivers the most hilarious line in the whole movie. “Silly Bakugo, there won’t be villains here!” Hahah... Silly Bakugo. Oh you~ KiriBaku’s can inhale the fact that those two sure love to hover around each other!

Troubling Signs?: With great crumbs come little responsiblity. No trouble if there’s no content! 🤔

VIII: KamiJirou. Status: Singing their hearts out 🎶

-If there’s any ship that’s coming close to canonization, I think this is it, folks! “Think of the person most important to you!” Can’t argue with Midnight!

Anime Highlights: Kaminari does non stop encouraging of Jirou and her hobbies! He works super hard to learn guitar for her sake! We love a king who can encourage his queen!

Manga Highlights: Kaminari thinks of the most important person to him and surprise! It’s Jirou! All of the feels can commence.

Heroes Rising: They were in it!

Troubling Signs?: Kaminari does love his women. And men. Kaminari overall is a huge flirt. But Jirou appears to have his heart strings. ❤️

IX: BakuDeku. Status: Rising. 👑

-Alternative Statuses include Winning, Thriving, Soaring. It’s just been non stop content this year. 2020 is truly the year for BakuDeku. The shippers can rejoice.

Anime Highlights: Three words. Be. My. Cane. The OVA’s helped fan the flames of the BkDk hearts with a surprise! Deku tops! Not only that, we got a lovely shoulder tap of encouragement in the canon material. While in season 4, Deku’s primary focus was Eri. Bakugo and Deku still had their moments to be hella gay.

Manga Highlights: Where do I even begin? I guess we’ll just cut to the chase with Bakugo Katsuki: Rising. We finally saw Bakugo’s true feelings manifest for Deku and if getting stabbed for him isn’t the ultimate showing of love, then idk what is. BakuDeku’s rounded out the year with the Volume 29 cover AND the volume 29 cover drafts to eat at our heart strings. Overall, their relationship got the spotlight in the manga this year. And we’re bound to start 2021 with a dramatic confrontation. Hand holding seems to be the key with these two and it didn’t stop with Heroes Rising...speaking of.

Heroes Rising: The entire movie. Like....yeah. That’s it. [OP, your bias is showing. You have to be SPECIFIC.] {But random criticizer in my head, if I lay out the entire plot of the movie, my post will be too long} [OP....] UGHHHH Okay okay. The POPSICLE MELTING. THE HAND HOLDING. THE CHARACTER DESIGNS OF WHAT MIGHT AS WELL BE THEIR LOVE CHILDREN. Did I mention? “It’s fine if it’s you?” CAUSE YEAH. Oh and All Might randomly officiating their wedding in their heads like idk. Isn’t it just simpler if I say the whole movie??!

Troubling Signs?: Well these two’s relationship is extremely delicate and while it has non stop soared this year, Deku might not take too kindly to Bakugo almost dying for him. Will they stop pushing each other away? Time will tell.

That’s all for this year folks! Happy Shipping and good luck to everyone next year!

#my hero academia #bnha spoilers #bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #bakudeku #izuocha #tododeku #todobaku #DabiHawks #endhawks #KiriBaku #kamijirou #kirimina

[dollslayer]

Fight or Flight

Steve Rogers x Reader

Summary: Steve comes clean, in the aftermath and shock you turn to the one person who you know you can trust.

W/C: 2,369

Warnings: Implied cheating, angst, swearing

A/N: Hello! I wrote this for @sweetlyscared 's 1k celebration (congrats, it's well deserved!), prompt is in bold. I'm still pretty new to writing and this is my first true Angst fic so any and all reblogs/comments are super appreciated! Please check out my other stuff if you liked this fic!! Cheers!

PART TWO I Masterlist

____

The feeling of everything crashing around you was slow. Like your world was moving in slow motion as you processed the words. Everything else he was saying became distorted, going to waste as he tried desperately to explain himself to you. All you could hear clearly was your own breathing while you tried to will yourself to do something, anything.

Fight or flight is a funny thing, you were always so feisty and eager to fight back, A Bulldog, Steve had affectionately called you. But when he told you he was in love with someone else, that he has been in love with someone else for months, your body couldn’t find anything in it but to walk away.

Your breathing picked up and your eyes searched the ground, refusing to meet his. You felt your legs raise you up to stand and start walking away, unsure of your destination. When you pivoted to leave the room your eyes met his briefly, staring emotionlessly as his desperately searched for anything at all in yours.

“Where are you going? Doll, please, can we talk about this? I’m, I’m so sorry I-”

Whatever else he was saying wasn’t heard over the noise of opening the door and shutting it behind you. You didn’t know where you were going or what you were feeling other than the obvious. You were in a state of shock, it’s one thing to hear awful news and another to understand that it’s true but you were fastly approaching that truth head-on.

You paused for a moment in the hall and heard no movement come after you. You almost let yourself be surprised but he’d admitted he gave up on you a long time ago, so it only makes sense he wouldn’t fight your exit. You kept walking and tried to hold the floodgates of your heart closed for a bit longer.

Flashes of what was said come back to you slowly as reality sets in. “I can’t put this off any longer. I want you to know that I will always love you, but there’s someone else.”

Your head hurt like it would as if you were already crying, the blood pumping in your ears and pressure building in your temples that would no doubt evoke a long-standing headache. Your face felt hot as you stepped into the elevator, maybe you’d go for a walk in an attempt to fend off your tears. Or maybe you’d walk to a safer place to have an emotional breakdown. Whichever is easier.

Brisk gusts of air greet you as you exit the building, making you realize you left your jacket on the arm of the couch. You took a second to evaluate yourself and noticed you’d also walked out in your house slippers and a thin pair of leggings. Trying to evade the cold you tucked yourself in the doorway of a bodega down the street and dialed Bucky.

Two rings and he picked up.

“Hello?”

“Did you know?”

The silence on the line only reminds you of the blood pumping in your ears. The silence tells you everything you needed to know.

“Liste-”

You hang up.

You’re breathing even harder now. Who else knew? For how long? How long was I the joke? You need to find somewhere else to be soon or all these strangers are going to get an eyeful of a grown woman sobbing. You dial the last number you’d expect to at a time like this.

“What’s happening, shortstack?”

You can hear Tony’s grin through the phone and his easy greeting gives you momentary comfort.

“Can I come over? Something happened.”

“I’ll let Jarvis know to let you in” Tony’s tone is understanding, not needing you to explain further, just letting you know you can come to him.

____

Tony’s only seven blocks from yours and Steve’s shared apartment, a fact you’re grateful for when you feel your feet aching every time they hit the pavement. The conversation replays in your head, you try to word what happened in your head and your anger starts overtaking the heartbreak. It’s almost a welcome reprieve from the settling heartbreak but you’re not sure if you’d rather be numb to it completely.

When the elevator doors open Tony’s waiting for you with two tumblers of scotch in hand. You shake your head and move past him to the couch. He joins you on the opposite armchair and sets both his elbows down on his spread knees, resting his face in his hands.

“Would you like to talk about it or not talk about it?” He asks with a sigh.

You don’t make eye contact with him so you don’t cry, choosing to focus on the Iron Man coffee table book you’d gotten as a gag gift for Tony all those Christmases ago. It almost distracts you enough to laugh, the fact that he just has it out. But you need to tell someone what happened and get it all out before you can let yourself feel it all.

“Steveisinlovewithsomeoneelse,” You rushed it all out in one breath afraid if you didn’t get it out fast enough that you’d break. “He has been for months. He said he doesn’t know when it all changed but when he was with her things just clicked,” you paused to collect yourself, “But don’t worry, I’ll always hold a special place in his heart and he hopes this won’t affect the future of the team or our friendship.”

“Oh, and he’s really sorry.” you added.

You laughed bitterly and shook your head in disbelief. His delivery had been so cold but so sincere, very to the point but pained in its delivery. “I just, whatever we had, it’s just gone. Things are just different now, with her, this kills me though, please believe me. You’re still really special to me.” Bullshit. Special enough to act as a placeholder until someone better comes, special enough to cast aside.

You’re broken momentarily from your spiral into anger by the sound of a glass hitting a coaster a little too hard. Looking up, you find Tony quietly seething. He and Steve aren’t close by any means so you figured that he wouldn’t have known, it’s why you called him over anyone else.

He moves slowly to your side on the couch and pulls you into his side. You can smell his aftershave and what you think might be burned grease from one of the many things he’s been tinkering with in the lab, it smells like him, like comfort.

“That fucking asshole. Unbelievable, I don’t even…” He leaves the thought unfinished.

His hands move up and down your arms in a soothing motion and you finally let yourself have it. You don’t even realize you’re crying until you feel the tears wet his shirt when you bury your face in. You sniffle up tears and snot when your face heats up.

There’s no way to know how long Tony lets you sob into him, no doubt ruining his vintage Depeche Mode shirt. Somewhere in the back of your mind you make a mental note to buy him a new one later. But for now you’ll just allow yourself to cry and you can deal with the world in the morning.

____

Tony lets you fall asleep on his chest, feeling somewhere between furious and heartbroken by proxy. He thinks about letting you sleep and giving Steve a piece of his mind but figures that’s not what you need right now. Your phone sits on the table and he touches the screen to check the time. No notifications on your homescreen except for a missed call from Bucky and an old photo of Steve making a funny face as your background.

Had Steve not even tried to call you? Had he not even tried to go after you? Why was Bucky of all people the only one to be trying to get a hold of you? Prick.

Selfishly Tony is glad that he has a good reason to be rude to Steve now, he has to admit. You two had always been close but when you and Steve started dating he saw less and less of you. He couldn’t fault you for it though, you were so in love with Steve and you knew that the relationship between the two of them was strained so you kept your distance a bit.

He thought of all the sacrifices you’d made for Steve. You gave up your childhood home in the Bronx that your parents had willed to you to move in with him because he wanted you to be closer to the tower. You gave up a promotion and transfer to DC when you were still just an agent, granted you were an avenger now but it doesn’t matter, he’d made a very big deal out of you turning it down. You gave up the friendship the two of you had.

It was incredible, really. How much you had done for him only for him to turn around and love someone else behind your back. Brave enough to fight aliens and terrorists but too cowardly to break up with you and leave you with some dignity. Did anyone else know about this?

Tony had to stop himself from getting too angry, afraid he’d wake you up. So instead he went back to plotting up schematics for the half-finished suit mod he’d been in the middle of when you called.

____

It’s been a week and you still haven’t properly talked to Steve. After two days on Tony’s couch you need to look at things from a logical stance. Where am I going to stay? It’s not like you had your parent’s place anymore and you didn’t want to sign a new lease on an apartment. You could always move into the tower but that meant a higher chance of running into Steve.

You were thinking about all of this out loud to Tony when he offered you the guest bedroom in his penthouse. You were shocked, he’s always been a generous man but after you drifted apart from him you were surprised he even let you stay these past few days. Maybe now was a good time to rebuild your friendship with him and have some space from work.

What’s work going to be like? You agree and go on a temporary leave from the team, just a month to collect yourself. If you really wanted to you could go back but the thought of seeing everyone that knew about Steve’s affair was humiliating and enraging in one go.

It turns out Sam had been playing therapist to Steve in all of this, Nat figured it out through some sleuthing, and Wanda had inadvertently heard his thoughts about her. And none of them thought to tell you? To save you from the anguish but to let it fester? Steve wasn’t the only one that betrayed you. They all had.

What will I say to him? Should I say anything to him? Turns out the answer was ‘nothing’. You texted him to let him know you were moving out and you’d be by to get your things as a courtesy. You walked into an empty apartment and you were almost relieved.

He’d chosen to not be here but he’d left you a letter on the kitchen counter next to a framed photo of the two of you on vacation last year. You scoff but don’t touch the letter. Every ounce of restraint you have is being used as you leave it untouched. But you don’t need to know what excuses or apologies he has on deck, nothing he could say would exonerate him of his wrong-doings. You had no intentions of speaking to him but secretly you hoped he suffered as he stewed in his guilt and inner-turmoil. He deserves to.

When you pack you leave every gift he ever gave you, taking only what you’d brought with you in the first place. You take one look at the unmade bed and almost go to make it out of habit but then you think of the two of them there together. All the long missions you went on without him, all the times you stayed late at work or went out with your friends. How many times had he been here with her while you were there?

You end up only leaving with two suitcases and a backpack full of things. Tony waits for you in the lobby, understanding you wanted your space when you went to get your things in case Steve was there.

The elevator doors open to him taking a selfie with a couple of fans and shaking hands. He’s all too happy to be recognized but when he sees you his eyes soften. Not out of pity, but fondness, like he’s proud of you for getting out.

He sends you a questioning look with a silent question. Are you okay?

You smile at him and for the first time in days it’s a genuine, non-placating, happy-to-see-you smile. It’s okay, I’ll be okay.

He takes one of your suitcases from you and helps you load them into the back of the car before opening the door for you. The drive back to Tony’s is silent but comfortable. The trust you have in each other is strong and unspoken. Something you’ve always been grateful for between the two of you.

He doesn’t ask you about Steve or what happened, always letting you come to him first, which you appreciate. And when you talk he just listens. No bullshit unsolicited advice about moving on or how everything happens for a reason or getting back out there, just listens.

You know the road ahead is long and it will be difficult, but you have someone in your corner and the knowledge that what happened isn’t your fault and that you’re a badass and fuck Steve Rogers and fuck anyone else that did you wrong in all of this. Maybe you’ll forgive them someday but for now you’re gonna focus on you and work on building yourself back up. You’re ready for the ups and downs, you’re ready to fight.

#sweetlysad1kchallenge #steve rogers x reader #tony stark & reader #steve rogers angst #angst #implied cheating #marvel fic #marvel au #marvel x reader

[sarasapen]

Among the Blues and Greens

Another installation of the Little One series.

Summary: Meditation often allowed for Jedi to discover and learn about their thoughts and feelings, aiding them in solving their problems. This meditation session unfortunately reveals more than you’d like.

Or the one in which Obi-Wan’s Padawan realises she loves him.

Warnings: Language, meditation, slow dancing, yearning, revelations, forehead kisses, Past Obitine relationship mentions

Word Count: 3k

Star Wars Masterlist

-------

 You were a fraud.

 Whenever you felt particularly emotional, you meditated, as any good Jedi was supposed to do. Before daybreak, the gardens at the Sundari Royal Palace were relatively uninhabited, at least by people. You didn’t mind the plants and animals. Their energies were soothing, incorrupt, they just were. That’s how you find yourself there, for the third day in a row, trying desperately to calm the tempest that’s seen fit to take up permanent residence in your mind.

 Why were you a fraud? A fake? A poser?

 Because here you were, years of training under your belt, pretending to meditate. Fraud.

 It was an old ‘trick’ that young Padawans- very young Padawans, you added- resorted to when they were made to meditate. Sitting there with your eyes closed, trying to keep your breathing even. No actual self-exploration or deep diving into your mind, just putting up a facade that any force insensitive being wouldn’t see through.

 Unfortunately for you, Obi-Wan Kenobi was Force sensitive.

 “You’re pretending,” He muses, lowering himself beside you and crossing his legs, assuming the same position you were in. You keep your eyes closed, forcing your breaths to remain even as if he hadn’t even spoken. He sees right through it, amusement weaving into the deep blues that were his signature.

 Oftentimes you wondered what it was like, to be in the middle of all that was him. Observing one’s signature from the outside was very much different than actually experiencing it. Each individual’s signature was different, and his signature was always so wonderful… You wanted to learn more about it, about him. But you knew you wouldn’t ever dare to be brash enough to even brush your signature against his, let alone delve into him fully.

 His signature morphs, from the vibrant, rich hums to a gentle, soothing wave. He’s meditating.

 You scowl.

 He’s barely been sitting down for a minute, and he’s already accomplished what you’ve been trying to do for the past three days.

 “Focus your thoughts on something,” He suggests quietly, sending out a wash of calm over your prickling irritation. He’s guiding you, as he used to do years ago when you were a young and distractible little thing, and you let him.

 You’d let him do anything.

 You’re swept backwards into the deep abyss that’s your mind, and you fall freely, watching Obi-Wan’s signature withdraw slowly from yours. It’s like watching waves upon the shore, gently sweeping backwards and away, taking with it such tiny, essential parts of you while simultaneously shaping you into a thing to behold. It was always, before anything else, soothing.

 He didn’t like studying others’ energies too closely. It was a common trait amongst blue sabers, whilst reading people's energies were crucial for the Jedi, studying them at great lengths could often prove to be uncomfortable. But yours, he had said. He wouldn’t mind spending days traversing the inside of your mind if you’d let him.

 When you were younger, you’d asked him what your signature looked like to him. He said it was a mass of shades of green that were so beautiful he doubted the mere names of the colours or any other descriptive words would be able to do them any justice.

 Beautiful, was the word he’d always use.

 And he was…gentle, and kind, and smart. You exhale slowly, no longer stiff in your posture. He’s always been so patient with you, even with his occasional sarcastic comment. The perfect Jedi.

 Even as a youngling, you’d hear exaggerated stories from Padawans slightly older than you, or, at least, he insisted they were exaggerated. A few years into your training with him, you began to think that maybe the far-fetched stories weren’t so far-fetched after all.

 You’re so lucky, younglings would say shortly after you had become his Padawan. After all, Master Kenobi’s previous Padawan was the Chosen One. You’d have to be something special to attract his attention.

 And you were lucky. But not for the glory and the awe that sparkled in people’s eyes at the mention of his name. It was for his undivided attention on you, his genuine interest in the things you enjoyed, his efforts to shift your training to aid in what you wanted to specialise in, even if it was wildly different from what he was good at.

 Not that there was much he wasn’t good at.

 You loved the way he carried himself, not with arrogance or pride (both of which you thought would have been deserved), but with a humble sort of almost shyness. You loved that he pushed to do better, to be better, not for himself but for you and Anakin. You loved the way he conducted himself with people, even those considered to be the lowest of the lows, he treated them with so much respect and kindness.

 Perhaps it was just that he was a decent human being, but that didn’t mean you loved him any less.

 You loved the way he’d throw in a sharp remark when facing an adversary, or the way he’d stand tall even in the face of-

 Hold on.

 You loved him.

 You loved him. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

 “What are you thinking about?” Obi-Wan calls from beside you, his voice no louder than a low murmur, and it still makes you flinch. “You’ve grown tense.”

 Play dumb. You could do that. Just… blurt out something random and leave it at that, and then you can-

 “She seems nice.”

 FUCK. Not that fucking dumb oh stars above you were so fucking screwed-

 “She… The Duchess?”

 “Yeah, your Duchess.” Oh kriffing hells, if you could just. stop. talking.

 “Duchess Satine is not my Duchess,” His force signature dips suddenly, as if he’s reeled everything back into himself. It pulls you along with it, and you can no longer pretend that you’re meditating. Not with the way your Master turns to face you, studying your features with a concerned curiosity. You tense up again, keeping your eyes trained on a lone tree, a distance away. There’s a caterpillar crawling on one of the branches, and you focus on that. You can tell that he can tell. He’s always been so good at reading you.

 “You…” He starts, but stops himself, straightening and regarding you once again.

 “Sometimes I find myself having to meditate more than usual. Even up to a few times a day, if I’m…” Obi-Wan’s gaze flickers down from your eyes for just a split second, a movement so quick he doesn’t even realise he’s done it. “Distracted.”

 There’s a stutter in your signature, one you try to hide by slamming up your walls, but the brush of Obi-Wan’s hand against your arm has you faltering. The waves of him approach slowly once again, waiting patiently beside the storm that’s your signature.

 “What’s gotten you so tense?” He probes gently, the weight of his hand against your shoulder mirroring the gentle reassuring taps of his signature against yours.

 “Do you love her?”

 You know what. There’s a ledge. Right there. You could just jump off. If you were dead you wouldn’t be facing this amount of embarrassment.

 “...I used to,” Obi-Wan reveals, and his admission surprises himself more than it does you. Not that he wasn’t aware of what the extent of feelings for Satine used to be, but admitting it, out loud? It was something he had never done before.

 “Used to?”

 “It was a lifetime ago, when I was still a Padawan.”

 It’s strange. Neither of you want to continue talking, to keep delving into dark and murky uncharted territory, between the blurred depths of what’s allowed and what’s forbidden. It scares you. It scares him too. 

 “So… what? You decided to give her up?”

 He should say something about the way of the Jedi, that attachments were forbidden, and that had anyone else known, they would’ve expected him to leave Satine. If it were anyone else asking him this, he would’ve said it, accompanied by a deserved lecture on subtlety and manners.

 But you’re the exception.

 You’d always be his only exception.

 So, instead, Obi-Wan says, “The Duchess, while a remarkable woman, has a very different outlook on life than I do, even back then.”

 There's a stretch of silence that he feels like he needs to fill. “Besides, it gave me the chance to meet people even more remarkable.”

 “Not many people can compare to the Duchess of Mandalore,” You mutter, closing your eyes to block out the sight of him when he gets to his feet.

 “No,” Obi-Wan agrees. “Although the Duchess couldn’t come close to comparing to you.”

 And with that heart-stopping revelation, he leans down and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead.

 “Focus,” Obi-Wan whispers in your ear, and then he’s gone.

 Now you really couldn’t concentrate.

——

 “Breathe,” Obi-Wan had instructed you, sitting beside your fidgety body with his own long-since perfected form.

 It was the second week into your Padawan training, and it had taken Obi-Wan twenty three minutes to get you to sit still. Not including the sixteen minutes it took to get you past the normally three minute walk from library to your room, or the seven minutes it took for you to pad over to him and sit beside him. Not for your lack of trying, Obi-Wan mused, watching you fidget once again.

 Your eyes fly open at his words.

 “If I stop breathing during meditation will I die?”

 Yeah, okay, that one was on him. It takes a lot of control for Obi-Wan not to choke on his overwhelming surprise at your words.

 “Meditation can only occur when you stop speaking, little one,” He hints, keeping his posture straight. Thirty two minutes now, he’s been sitting in this position, not meditating, but focused on your wild little signature.

 “Oh, yeah,” You concede, shifting again and screwing your eyes shut.

 Master Kenobi, the whisper-shout in his head very nearly startles him, and Obi-Wan can’t keep pretending his focus is impeccable. He turns to regard you with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. If I stop breathing during meditation, will I die?

 Again, to your credit, you weren’t exactly… speaking.

 Perhaps that’s why, with a self-indulgent smile, he sends back a quick no.

 Okay, you accept happily, shifting again in your seat. Your early days were so much like Anakin’s. Both of you, filled with a curiosity and outlook on the world that only children could view, and it baffled him to no end that both of you viewed him in exactly the same way.

 You just accepted everything he said without much thought, readily eager to believe that your Master was always right, because what else could he ever be? It was perhaps that specific period of time during both his Padawans’ training that Obi-Wan was the most stressed. The first few years were the years he felt as though he could disappoint you the most, to fail to protect you and teach you and nurture you.

 He didn’t fail. He didn’t even come close. You’d tell him if you could. Anakin would tell him too. But it just wasn’t a conversation Jedis had.

 And…there.

 You’re not meditating. Obi-Wan opens his mouth to say something, but the words die in his throat when he feels you oh so carefully reach out your signature. He follows along at a distance, careful not to alert you, and he watches as your signature gingerly approaches the plant situated outside your apartment door.

 The plant. You were connecting with the plant.

 You’re calm, he realises. Nearly ridiculously so, if he didn’t know any better he’d think your signature was that of a fully trained knight. The spurts and bursts and branches that were usually your energy flutter gently down, acting obedient and serene.

 It’s… for lack of a better word, beautiful.

 So with your thoughts centered around that little plant outside, all Obi-Wan has to do is give you just a little nudge that blocks out all other distractions for you- maybe it’s cheating, but he wants to see what will happen.

 And then you’re meditating.

——

 “It’s the first time I’ve worn a dress!” Swishing the fabrics of the skirt around you, you’re easily entranced by the movement. It’s a pretty dress, courtesy of the Mandalorian court, floaty and airy with barely there off-the shoulder sleeves. It reveals more of you than Jedi robes would ever, but you’re so enraptured with such innocent curiosity that Obi-Wan doesn’t even try to suppress the affectionate smile he gives you.

 “You look lovely,” He responds honestly, pushing himself off the couch and taking slow steps towards you.

 “I feel like a… like a…” You pause, glancing up from your skirts to fix your eyes on him, mind racing.

 “Like a?” Obi-Wan prompts.

 “Like a cloud!” You settle for, twirling around as if to emphasise your floaty feeling.

 “A cloud?” He confirms, voice laced with amusement. He takes your hand, twirling you around once more through your giggles.

 “Yeah.”

 “Well, you’re the prettiest cloud I’ve ever seen,” Folding his hand over your own, he steps into your space mid-twirl, his other hand coming to press flat against your back. He doesn’t know what propelled him to do this, to press you against him and pull you into little steps around the room. The giggles he gets from you are enough to diminish any second thoughts he gets, so he hums softly, pressing his cheek to the top of your head.

 Your little impromptu dance session is made to end as quickly as it started, a knock on his door reminding the both of you the reason for such fanciful dressing.

 A dinner.

 It was exciting to you, as most off-world mission events were, so different from the usual routine of your life on Coruscant. Your excitement is blindingly obvious, and yet Obi-Wan, who’s long since tired of having to accept invitations lest the Jedi be perceived as discourteous, Obi-Wan says nothing at all. He gives you a warm smile and gestures for you to move towards the door.

 And oh, what a dinner it was. The food was marvelous, the company a little less so, but the moments you’d glance up at your Master to find him already watching you made up for it. If only he weren’t seated so far away… and so close to the Duchess. You don’t turn your head in their direction again.

 Apparently a royal dinner on Mandalore was not just dinner, so after an hour of sitting at a table several seats away from your Master and surrounded by boring politicians, you’re ushered into a ballroom. Several ask for your hand to dance, but you turn them down with a polite smile and even politer excuse. You want to dance, you do. Just… not with them.

 Then you see her.

 She had changed her dress, and she was gorgeous. Elegant and beautiful and carrying herself with such grace even on the dancefloor, she looked every bit the Duchess she was. You sort of hated her.

 “The prettiest, huh?” You mutter bitterly under your breath, taking a moment to try to calm yourself. You take another breath when you turn to face Obi-Wan, expecting his eyes to be on her. Everyone’s eyes were on her.

 He’s looking at you.

 You immediately curse yourself out for the snide comment, hating that you’ve revealed yourself, your insecurities, that he’s going to admonish you for a silly little comment that just slipped out.

 Instead, he holds his hand out towards you, and bends down a little in a bow.

 “If I may have this dance, my dear?” The words come out as a low murmur, and even with the loud applause of everyone around you signalling the end of the Duchess’ dance, you hear him perfectly. Your cheeks are flushed and you’re trying impossibly hard to keep your breathing even as you slide your hand into his, letting him lead you to the middle of the dance floor.

 It’s strange, you think.

 The two of you have been in arguably far closer quarters than you were in now, with a decent amount of space between your bodies, joined only by your hand in his and his other hand on your waist. You’ve trained together, sparred together, been forced into close confines in the middle of missions and on occasion even slept in the same bed together.

 Obi-Wan’s grip on your hand tightens, the tips of his fingers skimming up your back and brushing tantalisingly against the skin that’s uncovered by the dress.

 No, this… this, in front of a whole room of people from all over the galaxy, this was far more intimate than anything ever before. It’s almost as if you’ve been transported back in time just a couple of hours ago, when it was just him and you in the privacy of your quarters.

 “The prettiest,” he confirms, voice low in your ear. Your breath hitches at his statement and all its implications. “It’s not even a competition.”

 Good things, as all things do, must eventually come to an end. Obi-Wan guides a slightly tipsy and very giggly you back towards your room, laughing despite himself when you trip over your own two feet. The last thing he wants after a successful mission is for you to get concussed by falling.

 He bends and effortlessly sweeps you into your arms, letting you swing your legs in the air. It’s not the first time he’s been in this position with you. Perhaps he’s carried you like this a little too often. His thoughts don’t linger on that topic for long.

 You change out of your dress and sit cross-legged in front of him, letting him brush out your hair and pull it back into a braid for you to sleep in, actions so practised that they’re not even spoken about.

 And on the floor of your room, discarded almost carelessly at the end of the bed, lay two weapons beside each other, one green, and one blue.

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The next one will be Obi-Wan’s revelation ;)

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Obi-Wan taglist:

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