#every day i grieve the fact that i will likely never truly see the night sky

[evelyn-art-05]

las estrellas,,,,,

#espacio #las estrellas #stars #space #photography #ough #every day i grieve the fact that i will likely never truly see the night sky

[tojiwrd]

the consequences of the voice in your head ; toji fushiguro

pairing toji fushiguro x fem!reader

summary it was easy to love toji but, sometimes, it was difficult to make peace with loving toji.

word count 4k

content warnings angstyyy, hurt/no comfort kind of, open ending kind of, grieving, self-loathing, comparing, lots of overthinking. toji's a good good dad, megumi's a lil ice hockey kid, naoya and toji r civil and almost friendly cousins in this

Breaking habits was difficult. Waking up on a Monday at seven in the morning was difficult. Love was difficult. These were all things you knew, and they always lingered in the back of your mind ready to put their claws into any thought that questioned why? Daybreak came and went everyday, sunlight got chased away by silver streams of moonlight, and these thoughts—no, facts—remained asleep, waiting for the moment to pounce onto the occasional question that flitted across your mind: why was love difficult?

You knew there was no true answer; there was no prose you could read written by a qualified doctor on WebMD that told you exactly why love was difficult. It just was. You could ask friends, family, and even strangers on the street and they could give you an answer that, in their own circumstance, ranging from calm to increasingly tumultuous, was true. But you could never get an answer for yourself from anybody but yourself. Perhaps breaking habit was difficult for Toji Fushiguro because he had learned that love—not the fleeting kind that you have when you meet a one-night-stand and immediately feel like the stars had aligned that night for the two of you, only to feel near to nothing for them until they turn into a silly anecdote—could only happen once, with one person. 

For you, breaking habits was difficult because when you were thirteen, your friend handed you a cigarette and said once you get used to it, it’s akin to the feeling of laying on your bed and the duvet is warm to the bone on a chilly day. 

Waking up on a Monday at seven in the morning was difficult for you probably because as soon as your eyes flickered open, you would see Toji staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows with a rueful look on his features. The first time you’d seen this image was the morning after you, Toji, and little Megumi Fushiguro moved into your new place. It brought a smile to your face, the kind of smile that is only worn by a person when they admire somebody when they aren’t looking. That was until he opened his palms and stared down at his fingers, right hand coming up to softly brush the empty ring finger. He’d bit his lip slightly, and you just about missed him from seeing you awake, before he reached down to the pocket of his plaid blue sleep shorts you’d gifted him and pulled out a ring—the ring, you’d realized—and placed it on the empty finger he was focused on. 

You had beat yourself up over witnessing him having a moment as private as that for the next week without his knowledge, but there was truly no way to bring it up to him afterwards organically. 

You could say, “Hey! I actually saw you put on your ring from your last marriage on your finger that morning when you thought I was asleep.” But that would, in nearly every case, not go down well.

Toji had told you, though, why this had grown into a Monday morning ritual. Well, he didn’t exactly tell you that he woke up a few minutes before you to reminisce about his late wife and their marriage, but you’d put the pieces together like you always did. Apparently, Toji’s late wife would always wake up early on Monday mornings and prepare an otherworldly breakfast for herself, Toji, and Megumi; she claimed it started off the week right, and it always made four-year-old Megumi more inclined to wake up on Mondays. In hindsight, perhaps it was silly that you clung onto that little tidbit Toji had told you in passing when Megumi brought it up, but when you saw him wake up on Monday mornings and start his day off by playing a video reel encased in his mind of Megumi’s mother, Megumi, and himself, it was difficult for you to feel comfortable by your presence around him on Mondays. Still, it was hardly Toji’s fault for missing somebody he’d spent years with who got taken away from his life so suddenly. 

You were just overthinking like you always did.

A Thursday in late June marked one year since you had been living with Toji. A year of going to sleep next to him and waking up with him there. It was a silly anniversary, and you weren’t going to mention it for it would most likely garner confused looks from the Fushiguro’s, but you still decided to cover the dining table with a variety of well-enjoyed foods between the three of you. 

There was a small photo-frame that stood in an arbitrary corner of the table where nobody sat. It was a small, old digital camera picture of you, Toji, and Megumi on a lake and camping trip your friends had dragged the three of you to. It was simple; Toji was sitting on a log, five-year-old Megumi between his legs who grinned wildly with a s’more in his hand, and you sat next to Toji with your head leaning on his shoulder. Your friend had gifted it to you on a random Tuesday, and when you smiled so wide at her, she embarrassedly brushed you off and said, “The person who printed this said there’s a discount if I get two pictures printed for the price of one. I just thought the picture of me and my husband would look good with you and your… Toji.”

Neither Toji nor Megumi had seen the picture. Well, not until the moment Toji walked in with a sweaty Megumi wearing his junior league hockey uniform. Megumi was babbling about the delicious smell until he saw the new addition to the table (after cooing at the takoyaki from his favorite restaurant and telling his father he knew he could smell it while they pulled into the driveway) and picked up the frame with his growing, stubby fingers.

“Is this from Lake Ashi?” he asked excitedly, eyes tracing every corner of the picture as if he was recounting the exact moment it was taken. When you nodded, he said, “I had such a good time there!”

You smiled, and ruffled his dark locks before retracting your hand and saying, “Go shower!”

He stuck out his tongue at you before he ran upstairs, saying something about how nobody can start eating until he’s back. 

You walked to Toji who was watching the scene play out from the other end of the table and wrapped your arms around his neck. “Hey, how was your day?” You grinned slightly as your body melted against his frame, a strange sense of euphoria enveloping you even though you’d only been apart for a day.

His arms wrapped around your waist and he bent down slightly to peck your lips. “Thrilling. I watched a bunch of seven-year-olds run around ice with sticks longer than them.”

“Sounds like a fun time,” you replied, nuzzling into his chest, right against the soft thumping of his heartbeats.

“What’s the good food for today?” he asked, stepping away from your hold and scanning the dishes on the table with a puzzled expression.

You smiled teasingly. “Why? Do I not make good food everyday?”

He snorted, and you concluded that the way he looked at you then was with love. The usual deep set of his brows were relaxed as he reached over to you and flicked you on the forehead. Lovingly. “I cook all the meals because the last time you tried, there was a fire alarm and the entire building had to evacuate.” He paused, staring at you while you opened your mouth to stop him from continuing. He beat you to it, though, by saying, “At four in the morning, too.”

“Me and Megs wanted a late-night-snack,” you argued playfully, slapping his bicep. 

“That you ended up getting in a 24 hour convenience store after running the entirety of the fire department and residents wild.”

“Semantics,” you brushed him off. Walking over to the plates, you started scooping portions and placing it on the plate until you remembered Megumi’s demand.

Your body unconsciously carried you to the photo frame and you picked it up, smiling slightly. Toji walked to stand beside you, his eyes uncharacteristically focused on the slightly overexposed picture. His fingers reached to pull it out of your hands and you didn’t stop him when he walked to the small ledge above the (fake) fireplace to place it between the small collection of Megumi photographs. It was a small gesture, but it was more than you could ever ask for.

Your mind skipped over the fact that all the other photos on the ledge were either taken by Megumi’s mother (five of them were) or had her in them holding Megumi (two of them did). Although whenever your friends had come over to your place, they’d cautiously asked you if you truly are OK with keeping pictures of his late wife in your living room and you’d always said that you were perfectly fine with it. Honestly, it was never your intention to erase her from their lives because, after all, she was Toji’s wife and Megumi’s mother. There was no erasing her, and that was fine whether or not you had a place in their lives.

When you came home from work the next evening, the house was relatively quiet. 

You walked into the living room, feet aching from having to wear short-stump heels but, still, heels all day. Every single day at your job as an editor for a magazine made you question whether or not you truly had the skill to walk around heels, even short-stump ones. But once again, the feeling of taking them off with delicacy because you were afraid the rough insides would scrape the parts of your skin your sock didn’t cover gave you a feeling of triumph. You were convinced that the day you come home without the visceral urge to shred the dark pieces of footwear into pieces would be the day you could claim you were invincible. 

You didn’t call out to Toji because you figured he was probably with Megumi, shopping and whatnot, doing simple father-son activities. He hadn’t texted you all day, and the little demon slithering through your thoughts wanted you to overthink (like you always did) and go berserk. But you had learned to tame that little demon (severely distracting yourself by doing anything and everything).

When you had changed out of your work clothes, showered under a moderately warm stream of water, and thoroughly washed your face to stave away the office particles, you sat down on the couch expecting a text from Toji. It was nine in the evening, and it was dark outside. He had never gone this long in a day without dropping you a text, even if it was just a word, and you weren’t wrong for expecting it. Breaking habits was difficult.

When you scrolled through your missed notifications and scrolled past your friends’ messages, making a mental compartment in your mind to reply to them later, you were surprised to find that Toji had, in fact, not texted you but Naoya Zen’in had. Toji’s cousin. It was simple, short, lighthearted, and it read:

missed you today!

It could have been Naoya texting the wrong person (it wouldn’t be the first time) but an itch in your mind told you it wasn’t.

??

It was simple, short, and lighthearted. You were surprised at how quickly the bubbles appeared on his side of the chat; you barely had time to exit the screen before he’d replied:

the stupid zen’in dinner is boring without you there to annoy toji

he said you were feeling sick tho. feel better

It was rude not to reply, but it was ruder for you to find out this way. Find out what, exactly? That Toji had simply not wanted you to go to the once-in-a-while Zen’in family dinner you had been to a grand total of one time. That was one incident you always pushed to the back of your mind—something you couldn’t do with the Monday morning incident(s) because they always played out in front of you, never missing a week—because if you thought about it too much, you would end up shattering your entire heart and it would all be your own, unstoppable mind’s doing.

Toji wasn’t the one to invite you to dinner last year. Surprisingly, the callous cousin who had manifested in the form of a breaker of peace today was the one to invite you. Your boyfriend had his jaw clenched throughout the entire interaction, and you were sure it was because Naoya wasn’t meant to meet you. You had been at his apartment while Megumi was in school to spend time with him when Naoya burst into his cousin’s home through the spare emergency key Toji had hesitantly given him. It started with Toji yelling at his cousin that it is actually rude to barge into someone’s house without knocking and that the rule applied even if they were cousins and yes, it still applied after they had come closer after being distant and despising each other their entire childhoods. It progressed to you making tea for Naoya that burnt his tongue and Toji telling him that you are no good with anything that heats up. It ended with Naoya bringing up the dinner and how he, too, was introducing his girlfriend (now his wife) to the family and it would be lovely for you to be there, too. He’d said something about divided fire.

The dinner itself was what you could call pleasant. You met his family and they were as civil as they could be surrounded by many people who are related to them. The entire time, though, Toji was bouncing his leg up and down and brushed off your hand when you tried to stop him. 

You do remember his mother had said something to you that ticked Toji off, and it wouldn’t take a mastermind to figure out why. 

“You’re the perfect girl to have as a daughter-in-law, dear.”

Truthfully, you hadn’t realized that Toji would see her words and level its severity higher than you would. That was why after the longest hand of the clock ticked thrice and his chair scraped against the floor when he stood up and walked away wordlessly, you were shocked.

You assumed that, today, Naoya had taken his wife to the Zen’in dinner. You could have texted her to confirm, but you knew. And you weren’t sure if you had any right to be mad at Toji over this. 

When you walked over to the television next to the (fake) fireplace, you noticed something missing. You knew it was missing because despite it only having been a day, you had looked at the picture of the three of you on that ledge for so long the night before when Megumi was fast asleep and Toji was immersed in a book and the image of the scene had been ingrained into your mind. It was somewhere beside the habits, Mondays, and love compartment. 

The picture wasn’t there.

And the only trace in the living room of you being a part of Toji and Megumi’s life had vanished as soon as it materialized. It was just a picture, but it was the first one that you had brought out in the house. Toji was the one to keep it between the other pictures, and he was the one who took it off, too. You understood second-thoughts, and you knew he probably had strong feelings about it but it still hurt. It was akin to being handed candy as a kid then having it taken away from you after the first bite.

You had been heartbroken before, but the way your heart sank into a cold abyss was a feeling you had never experienced before. You weren’t sure if this was your heart breaking or the tendrils of a boyfriend-girlfriend argument sowing its way into the universe and you were just the first to realize it. It had been a year and a day in this apartment you were convinced turned into a home over that time. A year and a day since you and Megumi began collecting stickers from the different stores you went to and stuck to the corners of his whiteboard. A year and a day since you and Toji woke up with each other in the same room after a night of you tossing and turning, coming to almost-there consciousness when Toji would steal the blanket back from you and pull you into his warm embrace because you had a tendency to hog it. 

The door clicked and you weren’t sure when you had gone back to the couch and began wordlessly staring at the ledge. You weren’t sure when this house stopped feeling like home for you, despite your best efforts to make it one. You weren’t sure if it ever was because there were no pictures of you, Toji, and Megumi in the living room.

You barely noticed Megumi coming towards you, pressing a slobbering kiss against your cheek and mumbling, “So tired. Gonna go to bed now. Goodnight.”

When Toji was the only presence you could feel—not see, because you were sure that seeing him would ruin you when you were in this state—in the room, you continued questioning whether or not you could get upset at him over this.

So, you said simply, “I haven’t had dinner yet.”

You heard him sigh softly. When he came to sit next to you and say, “Sorry, love. ‘Gumi’s practice ran late.” You knew Toji, so you knew he probably thought it was overkill to use his son for this lie.

It was like a time bomb was ticking, and you were the time bomb. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, and he was sweet. It made you think, for a hitch of a moment, that he cared. And you knew he did. Care, you mean. Just not in the way you had convinced yourself he did. It might’ve been your fault because you always saw Toji as your boyfriend when, in harsh, world-turning reality, Toji was just your boyfriend.

You have had many boyfriends over your lifetime, so what prompted you to believe Toji was anything more serious? Just because Toji came with a past baggage that weighed just about what you could help him carry and an adorable, hockey-loving seven-year-old kid? Because he moved in with you? People move in together all the time. Hell, you lived with a girl you only spoke to when you had to make a cleaning schedule for the room back in university for a year.

“No,” you replied truthfully. 

In that moment, you were scared of how this interaction would end but you were more scared of how the words you carefully locked away in your mouth had been tampered with by some universal force and were just about to come out. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. You finally turned around to look at him, and you didn’t realize you had stared over every inch of his face, as though memorizing it to a tee. He seemed to realize that, too, because his fingers fished for your hands and suddenly your hands were warm. Under his touch. 

“I haven’t had dinner.” You were sure the words would come rampaging out of your mouth, ready to strike blows at Toji where it hurt, but you were reduced to a mere shell within now and the minute you saw Naoya’s text. 

“Baby?” he asked and it hurt. “D’you want me to make you something? I can. Whatever you want.”

“How was dinner?” you asked, and you wanted to make yourself believe you weren’t waiting for a ‘ha, got you!’ moment, but you weren’t perfect. 

“We just stopped by the convenience store to get some food.” You hated that he was lying because if you didn’t know the truth, you’d believe him. Toji, you realized, was good at lying. 

“Naoya texted me,” you said, shaking your head as if you were trying to get rid of any thoughts.

“What?”

“Naoya texted me. Said he missed me at dinner.” At this point, you knew Toji could see the cracks in your facade. 

Toji didn’t reply for a moment, and you felt like you both were blessed with the silence you needed for a moment. You weren’t prepared, you didn’t have a set of bullet points you wanted to discuss with him like you usually did when you were at odds. No, this time you were discussing everything you always omitted from those bullet point lists; they were off-the-table because you knew they would do more harm than good. They would break the cycle of a comfortable relationship. 

“I didn’t think you wanted to go,” he said, sighing as he squeezed your hands lightly. 

You exhaled sharply. “Please don’t lie, Toji.”

“I mean it—”

“Please don’t lie.” If you weren’t aware of Megumi upstairs, you probably would’ve raised your voice an octave higher. Just because you felt like you had to. But as you pleaded with him, your words came out soft, delicate, and a complete contrast to the red, hot, fiery anger taking space through your veins. 

“I didn’t want you to go,” he admitted.

You had never been stabbed, but you were sure this is close to what it would feel like. “Why?” you croaked out. 

“My family, they’d start asking about when we’ll get married and… yeah. Jus’ didn’t want the hassle.”

“Will we?” You didn’t think before you spoke. 

“What?”

“Get married.”

“What?”

You changed the topic swiftly because truly, you didn’t care about getting married to Toji. As long as you had him and he had you. “Where’s the picture, Toji?”

“What picture?” Surprisingly, he sounded almost OK with talking to you and didn’t curl into himself like he usually did whenever topics such as this almost arose. Almost, because they never completely did. 

You felt like you were breaking an unwritten rule. 

“You know what picture.”

“I kept it in the room, Y/N,” he said, sounding as though he was treading carefully. As though you were a hibernating bear, ready to pounce. 

This shouldn’t be hard. Love shouldn’t—

“Why?” you whispered, closing your eyes as you felt the salty wetness build up. 

He didn’t respond, and you weren’t patient. 

“Why, Toji?—”

“Because it didn’t belong there.”

You wanted to laugh. He might as well have kicked you and knocked the air out of your lungs because the latter did happen. You found it hard to breathe under his stare, his nostrils flaring in annoyance the way they did. 

You didn’t want to ask why, because you knew why. You understood why, and you wished you could be blind to human emotion, to human flaws and errors because it would be a lot easier to walk away from this with the feeling that he was wrong and you were right.

When you stood up, your joined hands pulled away, too. If you weren’t as cynical as you were in that moment, you probably would’ve thought it was symbolic. Because a part of you was slowly pulling away from him, too. And love can be hard, you realized and accepted once again, but it doesn’t have to be dealt with all the time. 

You weren’t sure if you could continue fighting constantly with the thoughts inside your head just so you could feel that Toji is here because he wants to be, and he’s not doing it while comparing you to his late wife. It was difficult to feel you being pushed away from him and his son’s life, even though it happened in the form of a photo frame from a small printing store. But maybe, just maybe, love shouldn’t be harder than you can handle. 

“Do I belong here, Toji?” you asked, a sad smile forming on your lips. 

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst #toji angst #toji fushiguro angst #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #jjk toji #toji x you #fushiguro toji #toji fushiguro #toji fluff #naoya zenin loml

[ambrozjas]

Could you do a songfic with the song 'Mary' by Alex G with Dallas?

I love your writing sm it genuinely makes me happy <3 take your time with this request and have a lovely day !!

mary is the girl that leaves you to rot ꨄ︎

✧˖*°࿐ notes 🧸ᰔᩚ

i cried makjng this n im so proud of it n i love alex g sm

✧˖*°࿐ warnings ᰔᩚ

major character death, grieving reader, weird descriptions of adrenaline because i’m obsessed with it, song lyrics r in italics !! 💕

✧˖*°࿐ word count ᰔᩚ

2276 words, 12170 characters

. ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄ . ˚◞♡ ⃗ *ೃ༄

mary is the girl that i wanna kiss

she’s got big red eyes and big red lips

she’s got big sharp teeth and big fat hips

dallas winston was known as a lot of things. he was a hood, a filthy greaser, a pervert, an idiot. and while you had heard all of these things about him, you had never actually spoken a word to him besides a gruff, “watch where you’re going” when you bumped into him.

you took notice of the hollowness in his dark eyes, the way his hair was always tussled, the way a new purple bruise was always blooming on his cheek, the milky skin that shone through the small slit of his shirt lifting when he stretched, the fullness of his pink lips whenever a cigarette was sticking out between them, how soft they looked..

no, you told yourself. dallas winston was a no good hoodlum who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. that’s all he was, and that’s all he’ll ever be. but how wrong you’d come to be in the future.

mary is the girl that i wanna fuck

she’s got leather heart and leather gloves

over the next few weeks, your mind couldn’t help but wander about dallas. you practically analyzed every part of his being. the way his eyebrows furrowed when he struggled to light the cancer stick meticulously placed between his index and middle finger, his leather jacket creasing at the forearms in the process.

but of course, your thoughts had to be interrupted. whether that was for the better or worse, you couldn’t decide.

“hey! what’cha lookin’ at?” your friend slides up next to you on the bench, slipping out of the sun’s reach and under the tiny umbrella shielding you two as she followed your gaze. you both were at a small diner, eating outside despite the tulsa heat causing your thighs to sweat when you sat down. you didn’t mind the heat, maybe that’s why you started playing with fire by talking to dallas winston.

you muttered a quick, “nothin’” when you saw your friend roll her eyes and groan at the fact that you were watching him, dallas. you snatched the juice box that she held out to you while she continued to watch dallas with two younger kids chase a group of small kids around, shouting about in an attempt to scare them.

“i still don’t get it. yeah, he’s a bit cute but i don’t understand why you’d go for a guy like that—“

“i’m not going for anybody. ‘s it a crime to observe the locals?”

“bit creepy but,” she paused as she tsked, “not a crime.” she sighed, sipping on her own juice box once more.

she’s the only girl that i wanna love

when you had finally mustered up the courage to talk to ‘the big bad wolf’ himself, you got through the brief scoffing-at-your-attempts-at-conversation stage and actually realized that dallas isn’t all that bad. maybe he’s wore you down, maybe it’s just habit at this point, but he’s actually tolerable when he’s not around all these dumb broads who are looking for a quick bang.

it took a while. like, a long while. but dallas didn’t mind you anymore. you were no longer the pest that buzzed around his ears in hopes that you weren’t swatted away. dallas claimed he didn’t have friends, need friends. but you’re one of the closest people that would ever get a chance to see dallas the way he truly is. you had met the curtis brothers, already recognizing sodapop from school before he dropped out. you had met two-bit, an obnoxiously flirty drunk who threw teasing remarks at you and dally at night long. you had met steve, although all he did was sneer at you when you got close to him, similar to a dog with a piece of beef in its mouth.

when dallas had finally asked you out, it was curt. grumbling a small offer in an attempt to sound tougher so he would mask his awkwardness if you said no. but if you’re being honest, you couldn’t imagine being with any other boy besides dallas winston. he plagued your mind, planted like weeds that you couldn’t get rid of. whether that were his intentions all along were unknown, although you wouldn’t put it past him. dallas was an interesting guy, for sure.

listen to me baby, i don’t mind

i wanna be with you and waste my time

“y’know, you don’t have to be here right?” you asked him, watching as he blowed another cloud of smoke through the small gap his mouth provided on the other side of his cigarette occupied lips.

he merely glanced at you, his arm behind his head as he lounged about on your bed, weight crinkling the sheets.

“because if—“

“can you relax? i wanna be here, otherwise i’d get up and leave right now.” he plucked the cigarette from his mouth as he fully turned his head to look at you.

you shrugged, “i wonder what’d make me ask when you’ve said ‘i’m wasting my time’ and ‘how long are you stretching this out’ and—“

“alright, alright. i get it.”

you sat in silence for a bit, feeling a bit awkward at the fact that you pulled his card and had said nothing more. you were convinced dallas would leave once he had sat up, dusting some ash off of his dark shirt.

“how long ‘til you finish that thing?” he pointed to the paper on your desk below you, leaning his elbows against his thighs as he got comfortable in the new position.

“why? you need t’much attention?” you cooed at him teasingly, still keeping your eyes glued to the paper.

“feels like you’ve been workin’ on it forever. i don’t wanna spend my time in silence while my girlfriend is just working on her homework.”

girlfriend, you repeated in your head. he’s been getting pretty ballsy with this label thing, huh? you smiled to yourself, writing one last sentence before putting your pencil down and getting up from your desk. dallas’ eyes trailed your figure as you stood between his legs, his hands instinctively resting on your hips.

you would almost call it domestic, the way his brown eyes gazed at you. the brown eyes that were so full of disdain and resentment for the world, somehow had room for adoration whenever he looked at you. you always admired that about him.

you placed your hand on his face, before giving him his wishes and unceremoniously plopping on top of him. you couldn’t deny him, dallas winston always got what he wanted.

give it to me baby, i feel good

i wanna feel whatever you think i should

sing it for me, baby, play my song

i wanna hear your daddy sing along

“i dunno.” he said, shrugging his shoulders.

“what do you mean you don’t know?” you put your hand on your hip and looked down at dally, a cancer stick shoved between his lips as usual.

“i don’t dance, ‘specially not with losers like you.”

“hey!”

it was the perfect moment, you were at a family party with dally. you two decided to go to a small clearing behind the house, the smell of trees wafting in the air. it was distant enough that nobody would see you but it was close enough that you could still hear the music faintly blasting through the speakers.

“c’mon dal, nobody can see us. just you ‘n me.” you held out your hand, tilting your head as you offered for a final time.

he stared at it for a second, eyes flickering between your face and your hand as he cocked an eyebrow similarly to two-bit’s habit.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes. “fine, guess i’ll just go find another guy to dance with. i’m sure andy would love—“

and then came dally’s hands on your hips pulling you back towards him when you tried to saunter away back to the front of the house. you yelped as he tugged you towards him, getting up from the small white garden chair.

you laughed and threw your head back as dallas tried to twirl you, he was almost comically stiff as he did a small two-step shuffle with you in his arms.

“wow, so romantic.”

“shut up.”

you leaned forward and rested your chin on his shoulder, relaxing in his embrace as the music changed to a much slower song. you assumed the adults were slow-dancing with each other, too. you found it funny how when you were little, you would gag at anybody else doing these actions and now, you just realize how in love they were with each other.

you mumbled the lyrics a bit as you swayed in dally’s arms, resting your eyes as his hands came to sit on your waist.

dallas relaxed a bit, too. he listened to your sweet voice as you lowly whispered the lyrics from off the top of your head, mumbling incoherent phrases at lyrics you didn’t know.

if you had told anybody else about this, about how you had practically domesticated dallas winston, about how he was no longer the big bad wolf of tulsa but instead of a common dog who rested his head in your lap, they’d never believe you. they could never believe that he could be anything else besides a greaser, that’s all that mattered in this town. you cherished these moments, oblivious to the futures ahead of you and dallas.

mary is the one who leaves you to rot

she says, ‘i am real and you are not’

that phone call from dallas still haunts you. his voice was breathy, you heard him groan at the slightest shift of movement, he sounded like he was on the verge of tears.

“what did you do, dal?” you remember the way you clutched the landline, your palms had already been sweaty. one second you were hunched over a desk stressing about math homework, and the next you were pressed up against the wall as you frantically tried to get dally’s location.

you remember the way he had whispered your name over the phone. his voice cracked as he repeated it. for a while, it was ‘doll’ this and ‘baby’ that, he rarely called you by your name anymore.

“please, just tell me where you’re at dallas.” your voice was barely a whisper at that point, you were surprised at how the phone picked it up. you pressed your forehead against the wall as you begged him not to go once he told you his goodbyes. you remember how before he slammed down the phone, he let out a small cry.

“i love you.”

and then came the familiar dial tone.

you remembered feeling a pang in your heart, it was like your vision went blurry. your throat was practically coated with barbed wire as you fought back a sob, biting your fist to avoid a cry from escaping your lips, an old habit you had learned from dallas whenever he tried to hide from you.

it was nothing like the movies, where a dramatic string quartet would play in the background as you ran in slow-motion out the door. your mind couldn’t think, your thoughts couldn’t focus. your thighs started shaking as you ran out of the door, not even bothering to put shoes on.

the cool air hit your legs, creating a pebbles effect against your skin as the goosebumps raised. your legs didn’t stop, you ran until you couldn’t anymore as you followed the noise and the array of police cars that made a bee-line down the street to the old convenience store.

you remembered the burn in your nostrils and at the back of your throat, the cool air hitting both your bare shoulders and sinuses. that didn’t stop you, though. all you could think about was dally.

you remembered how your eyes couldn’t even focus on what was in front of you. all you saw was dallas, and in his hand was a gun, in replacement of his normal cigarette.

she says, ‘i am real and you are not’

you couldn’t eat after that. who could eat so casually after watching their boyfriend be gunned down right in front of them?

it’s all a blur now, your adrenaline blocking out most of the details. all you remember was crying, as shouts came from the gang, yelling about how dally was just a kid. those screams still haunt you to this day. even now, you can’t look at a pack of kools without thinking of dallas.

you understand why he did it for johnny. johnny was the closest thing dally had to a family. if he was alive now, you’d smack the shit out of him though. you weren’t selfish, nor were you a mean person, but you couldn’t forgive dallas for doing this to you.

as you laid in bed the night of his death, you remembered how dally had made promises that were soon proven to be empty about escaping this small town, to a place with no worries. you realized now how stupid it sounded, but that didn’t matter to you because you had dally. had. and now what you had was gone, lost with the solemn memories of resting against the silk pillows and whispering small words that no other person would ever get to hear, for those words would never leave that bedroom, and those words would never leave your mind either.

you know it now, that dallas was trying to just plant himself in your mind. in his own sick way, he wanted a piece of him to be left with you. and you couldn’t deny him, dallas winston always got what he wanted.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ the outsiders did NOT have to go that hard with that “whatever dally wants dally got” quote

kiss kiss ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🍒 ꒱

#the outsiders x reader #the outsiders #fanfiction #x reader #dallas winston x reader #dallas winston #angst fic #songfic #dally imagine #the outsiders dally #dally winston #dallas winston headcanons #dallas winston blurb #dallas winston imagine #dallas winston fanfiction #the outsiders fanfiction #ambrozjas #kiss kiss

[igotanidea]

Crawl back to you: Jason Todd x reader

Summary: Mexican!reader celebrating dia de los muertos, going throught the process of grieving after Jason's dead and her process of getting better through the years with a little plot twist at the end.

Thank you @thefandomdiaries07 - I played with the idea somewhat, hope you'll like it.

Disclaimer: this is not, in any way, a hate on religious belief, the reader's attitude just fit in the plot. (no offence to anyone meant here, truly)

***

Dia de los muertos.

Day of the Dead.

Despite her origin and upbringing Y/N never really felt connected to this celebration.

Remembering people who died and who she was too young to remember in the first place felt just … weird.

Of course, her mother, aunts and grandmothers got her involved in preparing the ofrenda and preached her about the importance of preparation for the souls’ arrivals but she always did it only half-heartedly, putting on a fake smile and pretending to enjoy the festivities.

But deep down she felt like a freaking hypocrite, while in fact not feeling anything.

And when her family moved to Gotham, out of all places, it got even worse. Poor girl felt conflicted, unaccepted, unsure of who she was and dealing with identity crisis, going as far as renouncing her ancestry to fit in the crowd. She was a teenager what else could you have expected.

Anyhow.

A few months passed and she got used to that god forsaken, lawless hole, keeping herself a bit away from her family, even if technically she was still living the same house. But with her struggles with ethnicity and traditions, she was a bit of a black sheep of the family, having not many true friends and spending most of the time alone,

recklessly wondering alongside the streets, pretending to be a freaking globetrotter. 

 And that was how one day she got involved with the batfamily, starting from being saved from an assault, by the Batman sidekick, Robin.

Jason Todd.

Whose name she learnt a few weeks later, having lost all the hope to see that red, green and yellow bird boy ever again.

However, surprisingly, those two clicked fast enough and even though they were technically still young  teenagers something bigger than friendship started creeping in.

He kissed her for the first time when they were 15.

And it was magical, romantic and send her into a spiral of love and dreams and worries and thoughts about future.

It was pretty much prefect for a whole year, as they somehow managed to make it work despite being forced to keep their relationship a secret from both families.

Imagine the panic that would spread in her family if they knew she was in love with a vigilante.

Imagine the panic that would spread in his family if they knew he told his identity to a girl he fell for.

That was obviously a no go.

So they kept on meeting in secret.

Almost every night she sneaked out of the house to check out on him after patrol and he was escaping Batman’s watchful gaze to have at least a few hours together alone with .

But one night changed everything.

He went to search for his biological mother.

And she should have stopped him or tell him how reckless he was being or do anything to dissuade him from this idea. Instead she laid her head on his shoulder, holding onto him tighter, kissing his lips briefly and making him promise he’d report to her the second he gets back.

A promise he never kept.

***

 “Hello? Who’s this?” she picked up her phone, blissfully unaware of the news that was about to fall upon her.

“Hey… um… is this Y/N?” an unrecognisable male voice reverberated on the other side

“Yes” she frowned “Who is this?” the girl asked again.

“My name’s Dick Grayson. I’m Jason’s older adoptive brother. We’ve never met but… I know you two were close…”

Wait. Did he just say were close?

“What – what happened…?”

The receiver fell from her hand, tears flooded her face and her heart broke in half.

***

His funeral was probably the worst day of her life, even though she couldn’t remember much more than the see of blackness, plenty of people she knew from Jason’s stories but saw for the first time and some meaningless words of consolations.

***

YEAR ONE

It had been eight months since his death and she was still grieving, unsure if the pain in her chest would ever subside or the tears would ever dry.

In that short time, she had become very close to Jason's brother, Dick, who was the perfect definition of an eldest child and had sort of taken her under his wing (pun intended). After everything with Jason and everything in between, she couldn't and didn't want to stay in Gotham, a place that was a painful reminder of the past.

Y/N took a different route every time she came across the places where they hung out or where they first kissed and where they secretly met at night and considering the fact that Gotham wasn't that big, it was slowly becoming impossible to move. And going to school and seeing couples and happy people was like a shot to the heart, making her a walking fountain almost every school break.

She felt a sudden need to get away from everything and moved to Bludhaven, where she started a new school and where Dick made sure she was safe and (as much as possible, meaning not much at all) happy.

It was October and dia de los muertos was right around the corner, of which her family was kind enough to inform her, inviting the girl to the family celebrations, and mentioning the resulting obligations of the living.

Making her angry at first.

Angry and with the sense of unfairness and stupidity of life. You’re there one second, enjoying the presence of the loved ones, and then, in another second you are just gone and it’s like you never really existed.

What was the point of life, apart from constant suffering and uncertainty of tomorrow?

 This whole celebration freaking sucked, and she was not going to celebrate the death, having loved and lost the most important person in her young life!

But…

Once she got herself into that spiral of thinking, Y/N slowly started feeling something more than annoyance at her nation’s cultural habits, overwhelming depression and lack of any motivation to move on. Maybe…

It was the first time she had someone she knew to remember. And to hope that maybe, on this special day, his soul  were walking amongst the living and watching her from the other side even if she could not do the same.

Maybe…

And if he was, maybe it was her only chance to somehow communicate with him, tell him all the words she kept hidden in her soul, that never found a way out. Perhaps from the silent beating of her heart he would feel the love that was still there, the longing, the needing and the fact that despite being gone, he wasn’t and would never be forgotten by her.

Her eyes grew wide and she jumped off the bed, gathering all the necessities and beginning her work.

***

“Y/N?” Punctual as always Dick entered the apartment, carrying the box with her favourite takeout. It was their Thursday tradition to have some good food and hang out together and he was not going to be a breaker. But he definitely did not expect to see his friend kneeling on the floor in front of something that looked like a tiny stairs, painted in red, green and yellow ending with an arch. It was decorated with something he recognised as salt, candles, water and marigold flowers. And the whole apartment smelled like lavender for some reason. “Y/N? What are you doing?” he put the food on the table, seriously concerned by her mental state.

“Oh!” she almost jumped at the sound of his voice, turning around to face him. “Hey, Dick. It’s just a little celebration.”

“Of what?” he frowned, not understanding a thing. “What is this?”

“ofrenda” she explained, like it was the most obvious thing in the world, but his confused gaze made her realise that maybe not everyone were familiar with the festivity. “an offering.”

“An offering? Of what? To who? And why?”

Y/N almost rolled her eyes.

“I thought Bruce made you go the private school. Don’t you know anything about dia de los muertos?”

“I thought you were done with your national customs?”

“I was…” she sighed deeply reaching for the picture she was about to hang in her little altar. Jason, smiling, happy at some point back in time, that was never supposed to go back. She took the photo at one of their walks in the park in the autumn, with the sun shining and colourful leaves falling down from the trees. “but things have changed…” Y/N whispered, caressing Jason’s cheek on the photo, her eyes still shining with love and affection, but also tinged with sadness. “I miss him…”

“I know, Y/N. I miss that little prick too.”

“Yeah, he was a prick, wasn’t he? And an asshole, sometimes.” She chuckles as Dick sat on the floor next to her. “I bet if he’s around he’s annoyed at us bad-mouthing him.”

“If he’s around?”

“Yeah, the whole point of this day is that the souls come back to earth to visit us.”

“so it’s basically something like Halloween.”

“ more or less so. But cut the haunting part.” She smiled a little “We can’t see the deceased but we can feel them…”

“do you?”

“do I what?” Y/N frowned at his question. “Do I feel him?”

“Yeah. Sorry if it’s too soon or too bold thing to say, Y/N…”

“It’s not. It’s okay. I can’t exactly feel him, but it doesn’t mean he’s not here. We both agreed he was a prick sometimes, maybe he’s just hiding from me. Just to tease me. But that won’t stop me from calling upon him even from beyond the grave.”

She stood up and put the picture at the top stairs.

“Hey Todd, if you’re somewhere there, I’m not gonna go easy on you. See you next year, you little asshole.”

YEAR TWO

“Hey, Y/N, I dropped by decorating store and bought some things for your ofrenda this year, wanna take a look at them?”

YEAR THREE

You know, Dick, I’m not sure if Jason would appreciate us using the cape here….

“Your limiting my imagination….”

“I don’t care. I’m in charge. Remove it, now”

YEAR FOUR

 Did you make the ofrenda without me, Grayson!?

YEAR FIVE

No way in hell she was going to let Dick take charge this year. For the past four of them he was growing more and more fond of the day of the dead, starting from assisting and doing shopping ending on going behind her back in finalising his own crazy concept. And finally, the tide had changed and Y/N had to put her foot down.

“What do you mean  you want me to leave?!” Dick cried out the second she told him what punishment she chose for him “Y/N! Why?! It’s so unfair, I – “

“You hijacked my preparations last year. And two years ago. And to tell the truth, three years ago as well!”

“I didn’t – ok, fine…” he raised his hands in surrender “but you can’t blame me for that! It’s really fu-“ he stopped in the middle of the sentence.

“You wanted to say funny, didn’t you?” Y/N raised an eyebrow and Dick blushed a little. Maybe it was a bit inappropriate and unfortunate word to use.

“NO! No I wanted to say… um…” Dick was desperately searching for more accurate wording, also starting with fu, but obviously the alternatives were even worse.

“See that’s the whole point. You kind of missing the message of the day. Yes, sure, it’s supposed to be fun way to honour the dead and tame death in some way, but still it’s also supposed to be at least a little bit of an opportunity to stop for a second and think about things and people.  I really appreciate your positive attitude and it’s not like I’m kicking you out, but...”

“but you do.” Dick smirked and nodded with understanding.

“I just feel like I need to be alone for a while, ok? It’s been five years and at his point I feel like I sometimes need to focus to even remember his face without a photo. It’s all becoming a blur, lost in the joy and amusement. And I don’t want that. I want to remember.”

“Is that why you never gave any boy any chance to –“ he cut out again without really thinking what he was saying.

“Grayson… “ she trailed warningly.

“I’m out! I’m out! Don’t hit me!” he rushed towards the exit. “Just call me when it will be safe to come back, ok?”

“Got it. Now get out!” she chuckled, closing and locking the door behind her friend.

Every little word she said was true.

She wanted to remember.

She had to remember.

It was the only way to fill that little dent in her heart, that Jason left when he died. She couldn’t just let go of him, even though Dick was probably right, and after so many years she should have moved on.  But both her heart and her soul refused to do so.

Maybe you only get one chance to meet your soulmate and Y/N was close to sure that  Jason has been hers.

”It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" she whispered the quote to herself while reaching for Jason’s photo she chose for this year’s decoration, turning them over in her hands for a while, looking at the face of a 15 year old she used to know “I wonder what you would look like now. Bet you’d be even more handsome and all the girls would be jealous I got such a catch.” She laughed a little “Hope you don’t hear me now, cause god damn, that would be such an ego booster for you.”

“You don’t look so bad yourself.” The sudden male voice coming from behind her made her jump (almost the mirror situation to the one that occurred five years ago when Dick found her preparing the ofrenda). But this time it was not Dick standing in her apartment.

“What the actual fuck!?” she yelled taking a fighting stance she learned from Grayson, knowing it would not help her at all due to the shaking of her body at the view in front of her.

“Handsome, huh?” Jason Todd in the flesh, absolutely not dead, brushed some unruly hair from his forehead, looking at her with a playful expression

“¡Estas muerto! ¡Eres un fantasma! ¡¿Qué está pasando?! Cómo –?“ as usual when she got nervous she started using Spanish. (you’re dead! You’re a ghost! What’s going on?! How-?)

“Baby…” Jason took a step forward, hesitantly. “Baby…” he opened his arms “I;m not dead, I swear to you. I-“

She cut him off by diving into his embrace, holding him tightly, wanting to make sure that he wasn’t just a friction of her imagination and needing to feel his warmth, the beating of his heart and his breathing.

“You’re really here!” she cried out, tears falling down her cheeks like a waterfall when she nuzzled into his chest. Honestly, she didn’t need any explanation, at least not at this point. She only wanted him close, afraid that if she let go for as much as a second he would disappear again. “Swear to me this is not a dream…” she muttered, against his shirt. “Swear to me.” Her entire body shook from the shock, she felt so small in his arms, but also safe as never before. It was like after five long years she got home again, that this missing part of her heart was found, and immediately jumped into the place reserved solely for him, unrepleacable. She was whole again and that was what count.

“Baby…. Oh, my sweet girl…” Jason wrapped his arms around her, caressing her back and hair, pulling her even closer, wanting to comfort her, to give her all that love and peace she was deprived of for what felt like ages. “I’m really here. I’m here. My baby… I’m back to you.” He whispered, closing his eyes, feeling equally, if not more emotional than her. He’s been through hell but the only though that made him keep on going was her. His angel. His joy. His only source of light in the eternal darkness that seemed to surround and swallow him. His grip on her tightened and he hoped to convey all these unspoken words to her through hugs and caresses and the gentle brushing of his lips against her temples.

“I love you…” she sobbed desperately, blurting out the only thing that was on her mind at the moment. “I missed you and I love you and –“

“I know baby. I love you too. And I promise you, you’ll never have to worry about hanging my picture in your altar ever again. Ever. I’ll crawl back to you every time and not even death can stop me from being with you. ”

And they just stood there, next to something that was supposed be an tribute to not-so-dead Jason Todd, holding and hugging each other tightly, creating the little bubble only for them two and being so very happy cutting out the entire world and reality, lost in daydream that happened to be the upcoming future for two people that have loved, have lost, and luckily, have found a way back to each other.

Talking could wait.

Silence, in the company of the only person that mattered, came first.

#jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd x y/n #red hood x y/n #jason todd x you #red hood x you #jason todd angst #jason todd fluff #red hood angst #red hood fluff #dick grayson x reader

[ghostofskywalker]

The Galaxy Can Grant A Second Chance

Hunter/Fem!Reader

Words: 2,083

Summary: You didn't think you would ever see them again, but here they were, and you are forced to face the truth behind why you left all that time ago.

Prompt: "I'm not leaving. Not this time"

Note: this is part of the bad batch xreader exchange, which i ran! my prompt came from @knightprincess, and i had a lot of fun writing it! To the see the other fics in the exchange, check out @cloneficgiftexchange :)

i have not seen any of the bad batch season 3 at this point (my brain is hyperfixated on dimension 20 atm), so this is obviously set prior to that, but of course i like to imagine that crosshair eventually finds his way back to his family <3

Clone Troopers Masterlist

The first time you caught a glimpse of the Bad Batch through the window of the mechanic shop you worked in, you were fully convinced it was a hallucination. There was no way they were here now, it had to be a trick of the mind, a manifestation of some guilt you hadn’t yet processed. 

You had left no trace when you disappeared, there was no way they would be able to find you. 

If you had only seen them once, you might have truly chalked it up to some kind of exhaustion (this job certainly had hours different than you were used to working, along with the added stress of the Empire’s rule over the galaxy), but it happened again. This time hours later, you could see what looked like the back of Tech’s head and Wrecker’s hulking frame pass through the crowds on the street. 

As your stomach dropped, you rushed to the shop’s tiny windows, staring out as people walked along the street, trying to catch a glimpse while also keeping to the shadows. And after a few desperate moments, you felt comfortable confirming it: that the Bad Batch was indeed here, on the surface of Tatooine, and you didn’t know why. 

The note you left was more hurtful than you wished it had to be, but you didn’t want anyone trying to follow you. Did this mean they were actively tracking your movements, that they were risking their cover (and their lives) to find you? Or was this simply something of a coincidence, an unfortunate reality that neither they nor you had any part in? If you were too obvious about your presence, and their reason for being here wasn’t related to your disappearance from their ship, you were now risking everything you fought so hard to protect. The bounty on your head had been (and still was) growing exponentially by the day, and after a while you could no longer ignore it. The Empire had placed a hefty price on your head, and it was clear that they were willing to go to great lengths to get what they wanted, making your mere presence dangerous to anyone you cared about.

It was hard enough leaving in the middle of the night like you did, and you hoped that the forces at work in the galaxy would at least have the decency to allow you to grieve the loss of what could have been in peace, because Maker knows you already had enough guilt in your heart, you certainly didn’t need another reminder of the way in which you gave up the best life you’ve ever had. 

And then you saw him, and your heart stopped for a moment. 

Hunter had always been your favorite, and no, it wasn’t because you found his face tattoo incredibly attractive. The two of you had clicked instantly, and as much as you enjoyed hanging out with his brothers, you had a special connection with him. But the galaxy was nothing if not cruel, and it placed you both in a situation where things would never work out, because if you truly wanted more than just a platonic relationship with him, you would have to live with the fact that you were putting him and his entire family at risk with every second you stayed on that ship. 

Leaving was the hardest thing you’ve ever done, but you knew it was the best option. If something had happened to any of the Bad Batch, you would never be able to forgive yourself, and you would rather see them alive and hating you than the alternative. You thought that peace had already been made, that you finally came to terms with the fact that you lost a gamble on love for the price of keeping them safe, but apparently that wasn’t the case. 

Because here they were, and you were definitely not hallucinating. 

It wasn’t a good idea to keep staring out the window, but you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, because this was something you never thought would happen, and therefore had no mental plan in place. 

They were standing across the street, and Omega was scanning her surroundings, as if looking for something. You tried to duck away from the window when you saw her gaze passing by, and you believed that your efforts were mostly successful, but after a while it seemed like she was staring in your shop’s direction more and more. After a few more minutes, you simply ducked away, resigning yourself to begin working on the speeders you had in the back room, because their owners would be coming to pick them up in less than a day, and you hadn’t really done anything yet. 

The day was otherwise eventless, and as the hours passed the feelings of worry, doubt, and anxiety in your stomach started to dissipate. By the time you finished up your repair job on some landspeeders, you thought you might have forgotten what happened this morning.

The bell in your front room jingled, signaling to you that there was someone who needed your help. “I’ll be there in a moment!” you called, quickly finishing up the piece of engine you were installing and grabbing a cloth to mop up the oil stains on your hands (with this line of work dirty hands were expected, but you also didn’t really want to accidentally get some grime on a potential client). 

When you stepped out in the front room, that cloth fell from your hands, and that rock returned to your stomach. 

The entire Bad Batch was standing there, with a full spectrum of expressions on their faces, ones that ranged from calculating (Tech), to smiling (Omega), to nonchalance (Crosshair, who you hadn’t actually met but had seen enough holopictures of to recognize on sight). Hunter stood in the middle of the group, and the look on his face could only be described as a mixture of anger and melancholy. 

You didn’t know what to say. How could you know what to say? How would any combination of words strung together in this moment effectively communicate what you were feeling? 

But it didn’t seem like anyone else was going to say anything, so you had to be the one to break the silence. “Can I help you with something?” You tried to sound professional, but some of your feelings broke through the script. 

Out of everyone standing there, you were shocked to see Crosshair speak up. “We need to have someone look at the central wiring on our droid. Is that something you do here?”

A little surprised at the way he simply inquired about your services, you wondered if the rest of the Batch had not told him about their prior time with you. You thought for a moment before answering. “I specialize more in land vehicles, but I know something about droids, depending on what kind you have. If nothing else, I should be able to take a look at it, and if I don’t have the parts to fix it I probably know someone who does.” 

You had suspicions about what the droid in question would be, because you of course remembered the temperamental gonk droid that also called the Havoc Marauder home. But time has passed since you had last seen them, so you didn’t know for sure if that was what Crosshair was talking about. 

“It’s a GNK-series power droid,” Crosshair said, and you were suddenly aware of all the others’ gazes on you. It was the same droid, but since everyone was acting like they didn’t know who you were, you weren’t going to cause any kind of trouble now. 

“I can definitely take a look at that,” you said, and the rest of the interaction went by in a blur. What felt like moments later you were left alone (after Gonky was brought into your work area), and the room fell silent. A whirlwind of questions spun around in your brain as you searched the rooms of the shop for the parts and tools you would need. 

Did they know you were here before they stepped in the door, or was this all some kind of terrible coincidence? 

If they did know you we here before they walked in, why didn’t anyone say anything? 

And finally, why did the galaxy have to torture you this way? 

Gonky made a noise from the other room, and you just sighed. Of course it wasn’t enough for you to sacrifice your future with Hunter for his (and the rest of his family’s safety), now you had to be reminded of your treachery in what felt like the worst way. 

***

Thankfully you had all the parts necessary to refit Gonky for some new wires, and you communicated that in a message to the Batch, who promised to return in a few hours to pick up the droid. By the time the bells on your door jingled, you thought you were ready to face the people you abandoned once more. 

Until only Hunter stepped through the doorway, a solemn look on his face. 

This time, it was clear he wasn’t going to pretend that he didn’t know you. “Why did you leave?”

You stopped what you were doing, thankfully managing to hold onto the wrench in your hands so it didn’t go clattering to the floor. “I told you,” you said softly, not wanting to show any sign of regret, of weakness. You were still being hunted, and until the galaxy was free of the Empire’s hold, you had to be aware of that. Lying to him hurt, but you still believed it to be the only option.

“Two lines of scribble on a piece of flimsi isn’t enough,” he said. “And look, I’ve made my peace with things if you truly didn’t want to be around me anymore, but I need to hear it from you.” 

You opened your mouth, all set to force the lie loose from your throat, but you couldn’t do it. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you said. “The Empire has put a price on my head, and I couldn’t stomach being the reason that you, any of your brothers, or Omega got caught.”

“Why didn’t you say that?” he asked. 

At this point, it was taking a lot for you not to break. “Because I thought it would be easier, for all of us. Things between you and me were getting more serious, and I knew I wasn’t strong enough to resist if you asked me to stay.” 

You expected him to respond, to say something about how they would protect you, how you would be safer all together, or for him to even to nod, take Gonky, and leave. You didn’t expect him to start laughing. 

“What?” Now you were confused. 

When he finally stopped, your eyebrows were raised. “You know we have a price on our head that’s almost double the one on yours, right?” 

“No, I-” 

But he cut you off. “Maybe it wasn’t when you ran away, but now? We’ve caused a lot of chaos that the Empire isn’t happy about. We’re actually looking for a way to lay low for a while, and since it was an accident running into you here, maybe you could give us some pointers?”

Well, that was one of your questions answered. There was a hopeful edge to his voice that you found yourself falling for, and you thought that even though you had bolted in the middle of the night, you found yourself foolishly hoping that maybe there would still be a future for you, with him. 

“I’ve got a pretty big place here,” you said softly, and the implication was clear. “I wouldn’t mind if you crashed for a while.” 

Things between you wouldn’t fixed in a day, a week, or a month. There was still work to be done if you ever wanted to get back to the way things used to be, and maybe that was impossible. But you were willing to put that work in, to help mend where you had broken when you slipped out of the ship in the dead of night all that time ago. 

“I’d like that,” he said, and the two of you stepped closer to one another, close enough for him to take your hand. “As long as I don’t have to worry about you running away again.” 

You laughed. "I'm not leaving. Not this time"

- the end -

#TBBE24 #tbb hunter x reader #tbb hunter #sergeant hunter x reader #hunter x reader #the bad batch x reader #clone trooper x reader

[theold-ultraviolence]

The Loneliest (1/2) • Aemond Targaryen x reader

Summary: 1925. They say that the Sunfyre Cinema is haunted. Floris, your best friend and neighbor, warns you not to spend all your time there, claiming that a ghost operates the movie projector. Still, The Sunfyre is your home, as you seek comfort to escape the loneliness that marks your days. CW: 1920's au, mixes fictional & historical elements. I envision Westeros as a stand in for the U.K here. The idea of movie projectionist!Aemond came from watching the movie Pearl, although this isn't 100% based on that. Smut will come in part 2. Words: 3k.

1

1925

They say the movie theater in the town of Dorne is haunted. 

They say it belongs to the heirs of one the wealthiest families in the European country of Westeros; four siblings who didn’t quite know what to do with their inheritance, so they spent their money importing pictures from the other side of the Atlantic. Regardless of whoever runs it, some said the movie business, despite its novelty, had no chance of lifting off after the war. Who could’ve had time for such banalities? 

Only lost souls, apparently. 

Lonely people seeking comfort in the dusty silver light that carries stories within it – desperately seeking a bit of magic in dark rooms to escape their isolated days. 

And you? You might be the loneliest of all. No family, no prospects, and a job at a sleazy pub that will run you to an early grave.

The Sunfyre Cinema still stands, for people like you, with its yellowish lights shining like a beacon of hope in the cold winter nights. 

Floris, your best friend and neighbor, warns you not to walk by yourself at night all the way to The Sunfyre. She’s often stayed with you when the midnight wind sounds too much like the cries of wounded soldiers she’s tended to. Those nights, bundled up by the fire with a warm cup of tea, she tells you stories of a ghost operating the film projector. 

"The ghost that haunts The Sunfyre", Floris calls it. "A creature like The Phantom from your favorite novel by Gaston Leroux." She’s recounted her tale so many times that she’s even started to spice up its details here and there.

Sometimes, the ghost was once a prince who had his eye taken out by his own nephews; others, the prince took his own eye as a gift for his grieving mother after having lost her husband to the Spanish Flu. Knowing your taste for spooks, she’s told you that he was the suitor of a witch, who asked him for his left eye as a proof of his devotion. 

You’re endlessly entertained, but in the end you can’t help but shake your head. You practically live in The Sunfyre and have never seen such an apparition. If there was truly a monster living in the projection room, you’d be the first to know. 

Almost every night after your work shifts, you either walk or ride your bike to the deserted town of Dorne to watch a picture. Rarely are there people there with you – mostly rows of empty dark velvet seats as your companions. Often, you’ve turned around towards the spear of light that emanates from the little booth at the very top of the room, trying to catch the shadow of the mysterious being your friend has told you about, but you see nothing. 

When the picture ends, you stay for a moment, fixing your hearing to detect a huff or a growl to indicate that there’s someone cooped up in there indeed, but nothing. There’s only the grainy static as the movie comes to an end, and the slide-and-click sound of the film roll being ejected. 

It’s as if the projector operates itself. 

Could there really be a ghost in there, after all? 

2

You really shouldn’t be out in the rain like this. Shouldn’t be spending your last coins on a movie ticket, but as you rush through the downpour, holding on to your raincoat for dear life, you cannot contain the excitement bubbling up inside you. 

You had this day marked on your calendar for weeks. The Sunfyre was going to project an adaptation of the Phantom of the Opera with Lon Chaney. The fact that the theater even bothered to import new releases despite you practically being their sole customer – at least the only constant one – amazed you. So you really, really, really couldn’t miss it for the world. 

Floris had insisted that it was irresponsible. That you weren’t going to have enough money left for your month’s rent, that you were gonna catch a cold if you went out on a stormy night. Yet, as reckless as it is, you don’t care. You had been looking forward to this from the moment you’d read in the newspapers that Carl Laemmle was producing an adaptation of the novel – and even more thrilled when you saw the poster for it at The Sunfyre. 

Floris was certainly right, but you were desperate for anything that would make your gray days seem a little brighter – desperate for any novelty to the lonesome routine that sucked the life out of you, morning by morning. Desperate for a way out of the countryside. Only the pictures could offer that escape. 

So you scurry out of the rain to shield yourself under the marquee of The Sunfyre, giddily paying for your ticket before making your way to the hall that has now become a second home to you. As in most nights, you’re alone despite it being a premiere, but this was to be expected for a monday night. 

The lights go down, and the ghoulish text of the opening credits immediately envelops you into an eerie atmosphere; a score of dramatic strings carries you to the first scene of the picture, showing a man dwelling along catacombs, unknowingly followed by a cloaked figure that hides in the shadows. 

You’re on the edge of your seat the entire time – biting your fingernails and grinning as you read each subtitle slide, following along the action and suspense all doubled over yourself on your seat. As if you’ll get any closer to the screen and be pulled right into the story. Especially when the character of Christine looms closer to the phantom as he plays the piano; she curiously eyes him from the back, hesitating on calling for him to turn. 

The camera shot changes quickly, just as she’s about to unmask him! And then! 

– the film jams, cutting the action, engulfing the hall in darkness. 

The spectral vibe of the film taints the room; the longer you spend in darkness as you wait for the projection to come back on, the more you tremble. The silence is so dense it could be cut with a knife; the distant sound of the storm being of no aid to your shivering. You hug yourself tight and repeat to yourself in your head – it’s just a movie, it’s just a movie, it’s just a movie. 

But an odd sound jabs at your mental spiral. 

A grunt. 

Followed by muffled curses and clanks – as if someone was struggling with the machinery in the booth upstairs. 

Tentatively, you turn in your seat, and your heart drops to the floor when you see a silhouette from a distance. 

Gulping down your courage, you rise from your seat and walk up the stairs, aiming to reach the top row seats that are inches below the projection booth. 

You rise to your tiptoes to peek inside the booth but a sudden flash of light blinds you. 

You recoil from the stab of light only to be met with the monstrous face of the Phantom after being unmasked. The frightful sight makes you plop back down onto the seats immediately, covering your eyes while you try to steady your breathing. 

From the space between your fingers you check for the scene to be over, and once you’re calm, curiosity stirs you to look up once more.  

What makes your breathing come up in quick pants is not the fear of the movie. 

It's the brief image of a man in the projection booth. 

3 

Floris hadn’t believed you when you said you’d seen the supposed ghost. Not after she’d asked for you to describe him, and you found yourself at a loss for words. 

Alright, so you hadn’t really seen the man, merely his shadow. 

For all you know, it could've been an actual spirit in there. But it sparked a sense of determination, to see what the projectionist at the cinema looked like. 

You didn’t know why it compelled you so much. Maybe it was the deeply rooted ache in you to find a friend? To know more about the man who handled all the motion pictures you lived for? In your mind, he had the luckiest job in the world, and you wished to learn more about him. Floris, after all, didn’t share your interests. Found them odd, even though she always listened to you with great care 

“You’re always yearning for worlds that don’t exist,” she would tell you. “You’re so busy daydreaming about pictures that you’re going to miss what’s happening in the present. Embrace the real world, deary. It’s the only one we’ve got.” 

Two mornings later, you bike your way to Dorne, right before your evening shift at the pub. 

A silver-blonde woman in denim overalls, dirt-stained boots and a heavy wool coat was hiked up a wooden ladder, changing the names of the next features on the marquee. You recognize her as Helaena, for she normally worked in the ticket booth and greeted you with a kind smile every time – so pleased to see a regular, that she gifted you the pamphlets of the pictures you’d seen twice or thrice. 

You let her work, and instead wander around to the alleyway, until you stumble upon the door in the back of the cinema that had a sign hung up that read, ‘do not enter’. 

With fidgety fingers, you linger for a few moments, merely eyeing the door. 

What are you expecting to find anyway?, you ponder while chewing on your lips, over and over. Whoever lurked behind it most definitely wouldn’t want their privacy being intruded.  

Besides, what if you were banned from The Sunfyre for sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong? You’d rather be shot dead than risk not being welcomed in the one place that had become your sanctuary. 

But right as you’re about to turn the other way, the door opens. 

Both you and the man at the door freeze. 

The first thing you notice is a head of silver hair, before seeing the eyepatch over his left eye and a luminous violet-blue eye on the right – which looked big and hopeful until a frown cast a shadow over his elegant face.   

“You’re not supposed to be here!” he grunts, “Can’t you read the sign?” 

You flinch and recoil from his harsh tone, heart dropping to your stomach. “I - I’m sorry! I was just – I was just leaving.” 

You shake your head and make a run for it, but before you know it he grasps your hand and pulls you back. “Wait! I’m sorry. I know who you are.” 

“You do!?”

He’s just as flustered as you, with a pretty pink blush spreading over his cheeks and neck. Despite his height, he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, with one foot inside the projection room and the left side of his face leaning sideways, extra conscious of the eyepatch, wanting to hide it from you. 

“Of course I do,” the man continues. He looks tough and hardened by life which makes his tone of voice an utter contradiction – all soft spoken and eloquent, with an accent that betrayed his upper class upbringing.

 “You’re our best customer. Hells, you’re the reason why we haven’t even closed in the first place.” 

“I am!?” 

“Hmm.” He hums in affirmation and continues to stare. The lack of an eye didn’t make his gaze any less penetrating. 

“I’m Aemond,” he breaks the awkward silence, offering his hand back to shake, which makes you smile, and heat to spread from within. 

“Aemond Targaryen. Me and my three siblings own this place. Were you looking for something today? We don’t have a matinee scheduled – I should know, I’m the projectionist.” 

So the legends were true – it was the Targaryens who owned the theater. No wonder he didn’t sound like he was from the countryside. You’re so struck untangling his words that it doesn’t even faze you that you were standing right in front of the subject of Floris’ nightmares and your own wonder – the ghost. 

And, well, despite his pale skin he’s certainly no phantom. In fact, he’s rather handsome and regal-looking, even if he’s wearing nothing but a simple white shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, and black wool pants fitted around his waist with black suspenders. You shake your head once more, laughing to yourself as you search for a coherent reply from all the excitement you’re feeling. 

“No, not specifically. I…”

Should you confess that he was the reason you were here? Under any other circumstance, this probably would’ve been an idiotic thing to admit, but you figured, if you wanted to make a friend out of Aemond, you might as well be transparent from the start. 

“Well, I actually came by to see if I could speak to the projectionist.” You smile kindly at him, and delight in the way his eye widens in surprise, the way his stern lips tilt ever so slightly. “I wanted to thank him for the wonderful job he does. I…”

You look down with a little bit of embarrassment, but he leans a little bit to be on your eye level and nods, encouraging you to continue. 

“You see, I come here all the time, as you know,” you chuckle, “I suppose I wanted someone to chat about films with. I’m very passionate about them, and I’ve no one else to talk to.” 

It’s as if the gray clouds parted, bringing in a beam of sunshine shining right down on Aemond’s entire face, making his silver hair gleam and his crystalline eye twinkle as he grins at you – so wide, you can see a hidden dimple appearing on his cheeks. 

“You wanted to talk about films? With me?” 

You nod, finally offering your name – as you’d been too caught up admiring the man before you, you’d completely forgotten to introduce yourself. It makes him huff out a timid laugh that you instantly count as a win, as he steps to the side to let you into his little room. 

4 

You soon note that the little projection room is far smaller than you had anticipated, though the size didn’t make for a messy space in the least. Every corner is neatly arranged; the walls are plastered with movie posters shelves full of film stock in their circular, metal encasing. 

When you turn, you sigh in awe, as if you were witnessing one of the wonders of the world: the film projector, mounted right before a tiny square from which the light filtered through and expanded onto the screen. You gravitate towards it, peaking through the window to look at the empty rows of seats below you. Of course Aemond would’ve noticed you, when he had this kind of panoramic view of the cinema hall. 

“It’s something to behold, isn’t it?” he murmurs from behind you. 

“It certainly is. You’re so lucky to do this for a living. I’m on my feet wiping tables and serving cuppas back and forth until my feet can’t take it.” 

He hums again – in what you’re quickly learning is a trademark of his – before you turn. You hadn’t expected to see a slight slouch to his demeanor, and that handsome smirk to have turned down, as if a cloud had passed through his face. A look to his left and you see it:  an individual bed with fuzzy looking blankets is pushed to one wall, 

“Wait, you live here? I thought –” 

“My father disinherited me and my siblings. Gave it all to my half-sister, his eldest from his first marriage. At first we didn’t know what to do with the money he gave us to keep us tamed, so we built this.  This is all we have now.” 

You can tell there’s more storming underneath his facade, but you refrain from asking. Instead, you murmur a simple, “I’m sorry. The war has been tough for everyone.” 

The last bit has you wincing mentally, feeling so lost as to what could be appropriate to say, weary of coming out too innocent and childish, when truthfully due to the isolation everyone endured during The Great War you feel like you’ve lost the touch for communication. Often at work you find yourself stuttering, unable to complete your sentences fluidly. Maybe it’s yet another reason why you preferred the movies. Anyone can understand images. 

Aemond seems to read you thoroughly, shaking his head with a half-smile before looking down. 

You wonder then if he had lost his eye because of the Great War. 

Wonder if he’ll tell you all his stories eventually. 

Aemond finally interjects your spiral of thoughts. “So what did you think of our newest feature?” 

“The Phantom!? I loved it! Thought it was terrifying actually, but so great.” 

Aemond shrugs, leaning against his movie shelf with his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. “It was alright. They definitely strayed from the novel to make some bits scarier. I found the make-up on Lon Chaney quite excellent, however.” 

Your chest warms, all self-consciousness from before vanishing, having found someone that speaks your language. 

Nearly all noon is spent with Aemond in the projection room, exchanging views about film and literature, and he even gives you a couple of pamphlets and flyers, after assuring him that it would be your absolute delight and pleasure to promote The Sunfyre at your workplace. You even tell him he’s welcomed there anytime he feels like it. It’s a bit of a trek from Dorne, and not an elegant place in the least –  much less for a Targaryen –  but at least the drinks were decent, and every now and again you were in charge of preparing the soup of the day, which, not to toot your own horn, was a favorite amongst patrons. 

After you’ve said your goodbyes, Aemond halts as you walk away, “Wait!” 

He turns inside the projection room and comes back to hand a little celluloid square to you. “Here.” 

You bring it up against the sunlight and feel giddy realizing it’s a still from the movie.  

“I cut this little bit when the film jammed.” Aemond confesses, making your heart swoon. 

“Won’t someone notice the missing scene?” 

He just shakes his head and smiles, “It must be only a second. No one will notice."

“Thank you.” You bring the delicate still to your heart and go on your way, completely missing the way Aemond was left gazing longingly at your figure for a moment before retreating to the confine of the cinema. 

#aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x you #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #hotd fanfiction #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen fanfiction #1920s au #1920s #historical au #ewan mitchell #my writing

[mikewheeleranti]

you're losing me

sebastian sallow x reader

sypnosis: you're left to do nothing but watch as the boy you love goes on with the new fifth year looking for his sisters cure. angst, implied slytherin reader.

wc: 1k

a/n: you're losing me by beloved ts BROKE me and then i realized its so sebastian coded.

you know there's no possible cure for anne, you realized that months ago when becoming aware of her quickly spreading disease. there was, at least, no cure that could be attained in an achievable way. you've prayed to anything that a cure would come in time for your old friend, but now you fear it won't. it was a fact that this was hard on sebastian. he grieved, he mourned, and almost every night he would cry into your shoulder while you had nothing to comfort him with anymore. until he didn't.

recently, sebastian had become cold and then extremely excitable. he was always in some kind of rush, almost like he was on an adrenaline high. he distanced himself from you, which was understandable. he was grieving. he was aching, and didn't have time for a relationship. so why was he always so close with the new fifth year?

you finally had a chance to talk to him, sharing hushed whispers nearby the undercroft. you were telling him you wanted a time to talk to him about something that's been paining you, trying to see why he looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there with you, like he was waiting for something. or someone. the undercroft was you, sebastian, and ominis' precious secret since first year, which is why you gaped when sebastian's new friend came up to you both and started talking about it.

"sebastian! come quick, i found something in the undercroft!" completely disregarding your presence, they push past you to drag sebastian away.

"you told them about the under-"

"sorry, no time to talk! i'll see you later, probably." and he was gone. running down the hallway with them, the air quickly filling with loss as your heart drops. your pain was an imposition to him, he has more important things to deal with. you think of what you used to roll your eyes at when an older relative would tell you. 'you don't know what you've got until it's gone.'

you and your new friends, sebastian, anne, and ominis, were laughing down a hallway. it took a while to get ominis to talk, but you could tell these would be your friends for the rest of time. once you all got to the common room, you decided to sit on the side of the room with a window outlooking the black lake.

"do you guys think mermaids actually swim past these windows?" you hear anne ask the question after hearing 6th years talk about them.

"i wonder if mermaids are scary like i've heard in stories."

"sebastian, how would a mermaid be scary?"

"hey! you never know what they could look like, i heard fairies are actually terrifyi-"

"ahem." you and ominis had been hearing the siblings argue for 10 minutes now about mythical creatures, not that it truly annoyed you. you were glad to be hearing more of sebastian, noticing whenever he did speak, your heart fluttered. you're sure anne is well aware of this by now, not missing the way you stumbled through your words around him. she teased you about this crush constantly, and you were not safe from it that night in your dorm.

"so... my brother?"

"oh, shove off anne!"

you would forever miss the playful conversations you had with anne when you both were young. you knew anne wouldn't be able to be cured, and if one came it would be too late. what you didn't realize was that you have nobody anymore. sebastian was always gone and ominis had this on top of everything else going on with his family. you never felt the need to make other friends, because they would be yours forever. forever felt so much shorter than it did when you were 11.

you finally see sebastian days later in the common room, and you dont miss the fact he's talking to his fifth year friend with a smirk.

"sebastian! i haven't seen you in weeks, where have you been?"

"oh, sorry. we've been busy." the fifth year answers the question that was meant for him, and you once again feel it. your heart can't flutter when you look at him anymore. if you get butterflies around him, it's out of nerves.

"oh. well, can i please talk to you seb, alone?" when he finally obliges and walks over to what used to be your spot, he looks bored. he never looks bored around them, always having that glimmer in his eye that was once reserved for you.

"what did you need to talk about?" he sounds exhausted, though he was just in a great mood around them. you really shouldn't resent them in the way that you do, but all you've ever done for the sallow family is be there. putting your own feelings aside immediately for anne and sebastian. solomon thought of you as his own child, always calling you his bravest soldier. you didn't feel so brave anymore standing here in front of him.

"where have you been running off to lately? i never see you anymore and it worries me."

"i'm fine, i've just been busy with... studying." you saw him look into his lap and start fidgeting, a tell-tale sign he was lying.

"see, sebastian! what is this? you're lying to me about something and telling some random person you just met everything. it's like you're replacing me for them."

"don't call them that." he was stern with his tone, looking straight at you. never with that boyish look he had in his eyes months ago anymore, but with a cold, reserved one.

"excuse me?" you're a bit shocked that when you confided to him about how you were feeling you were met with him defending the fifth year. you really knew nothing about him anymore, and didn't particularly know if you wanted to. you were about to say something else when you saw him walking away.

"seb, wait." he kept walking.

"please." only then did he turn around to look at you, waiting for you to finish.

"please, talk to me. all i've done is be there for you, i just want you to see me. it's all i've ever wanted, please. do something, risk something, for once. seb, you're losing me."

"i'm sorry, they're waiting for me." and for the last time your heart dropped to your stomach for him. for the last time you realized he had lost you, and you had lost him. your heart wouldn't start for him anymore, he didn't choose you.

#sebastian sallow #harry potter #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow angst #you're losing me #hogwarts

[fncreature]

One Hell of a Day - Benthan

In which Ethan and Benji don’t talk for ninety minutes, and then say too much in the few that follow

A/N: This took. So long to write. But it was fun! I love writing them :D Also this is the first fic I’ve posted in probably a year, so… we’ll see how this goes! Enjoy!

Warnings: Mission: Impossible - Dead Reckoning spoilers (Fic is set after the events of the movie), Ethan & Benji might be kinda ooc, the dumbest realization I’ve ever written, badly paced imo

The silence in the car is thick and hot and absolutely insufferable.

Ethan, although he detestes it, longs for it to last. He doesn’t want to say a word to anyone, not until he’s able to compose himself- really compose himself, not so he could convince everyone else that he was alright, but to convince himself. Ilsa was gone. Grace was in Kittridge’s hands, and he was barely trustworthy. It was him and Benji, and until they got Grace back, it would be for a while. He needs the quiet. He hadn’t had a minute to breathe- or to grieve.

Benji, however, would like nothing more than to start asking as many questions as he can think of, as quickly as possible. Ethan had pressed the key into his hands, put a hand on his shoulder for a moment, and headed into the car. He hadn’t said anything to him since he’d told Ethan to literally jump off a cliff, and hadn’t heard a word since. The look on Ethan’s face set the tone for anything he needed to know and the fact that he was alone was even worse. He’s never liked the quiet, his nervous habit was to break it. It’s almost unbearable, watching him stare into the distance with his head pressed against the window like he wasn’t right there, unsure of anything that’d happened in the last half hour.

But that was Ethan, or at least that was the way he showed himself to Benji.

That is what he tells himself.

He doesn’t even know where he’s going. He just drives, taking exits every once and a while until Ethan is ready to tell him anything, anything, especially where he wants to go.  After more than an hour of driving in circles, he can’t take it anymore. “Ethan, where the hell do you want me to be going?” 

“I don’t know” He whispers, not even taking a glance towards Benji. “I don’t know. Anywhere we can rest for a night.” 

(Ethan doesn’t know what he’s doing. He has no idea where the hell to start)

He almost sounds mad. Guilty, sure. Forlorn. It’s been a hell of a day for him, Benji would admit that. It’s been a hell of a day for them both, but Ethan had jumped off a cliff. That, unquestioningly, takes the cake for having “one hell of a day”. 

He has no idea where the hell anything nearby is. They’d never go to a chain hotel, too many cameras, too many people around. Benji can’t remember the last time he’s slept in a Marriott. A motel, maybe, but he hated motels. They were unsettling. Bad things happened in motels. He much preferred when Ethan had them staying in a B&B, usually small ones in the middle of nowhere.

(Ethan likes B&Bs. They’re homey. He hasn’t had a home in a while)

Today, to Benji’s dismay, today is a motel day. Motels are unsafe, but for the most part, they are anonymous. They don’t talk to the police. They don’t remember you. Benji hates motels, but today is a motel day. He knows it.

“Could you pass me my phone?” He asks quietly. Ethan passes it over, still barely looking at him. 

He feels bad, truly. Ilsa was gone. Grace, he had no idea. Nothing good. Luther had left. He can’t imagine how hurt he feels- how hurt he is. They hadn’t had a moment to breathe in days, and if Ethan isn’t banged up at all, then he’s invincible. 

(Ethan always wishes he wasn’t)

He does a messy search for motels in the maps app and hands the phone to Ethan once a list of some nearby pops up. Part of him wonders what Ethan would even be looking for. Bad reviews? How far were they from everything? Security, or lack thereof? 

Ethan puts the phone on the dashboard. The motel is another twenty minutes away. Twenty minutes of silent hell for Benji.

(Twenty minutes of self-consolation for Ethan)

Benji wants to shatter the silence like glass. He hates it, and Ethan isn’t helping. If he’d just- if he would say anything, anything, or if he’d just… He doesn’t know what he wants from Ethan. He knows he shouldn’t expect this much from him- he’s been through so much in the past week, why can’t he let the man rest? It’s not like he wants to stop him. But he craves Ethan’s voice, Ethan’s reassurances that whatever would happen, he would handle it. He needs it. 

Today, he’d gotten nothing. He’d gotten the key to the end of the world, a hand on his shoulder, and silence. There’s nothing that’s more reassuring to him than Ethan’s comfort, even if he knows that he’s lying. He always pulls through, and he always makes sure Benji’s with him. 

He always did. He always had. He always would. He always would. Right?

It’s not over yet. They had the key, and he hoped Ethan knew what it unlocked. And he made it out visibly unscathed, which surely counted for something. But he wasn’t talking. And that… Grace wasn’t dead. She wasn’t. He knew Ethan, and he knew it messed him up when he lost someone, and he knew that he cared, maybe even too much, but…

He’d known Grace for a few days. He’d lost Ilsa and he would still speak to them, although it took him a bit. He just-

He doesn’t know. A part of him can just tell. He just knows how Ethan is, and this isn’t him grieving. Not… not newly grieving. 

He doesn’t know.

He wants to break the silence.

He doesn’t want to hurt Ethan by doing so.

Benji swallows hard, trying to swallow down his thoughts, eyes glancing up to the rear-view mirror. He tells himself to watch the road, but… He’s watching Ethan. 

(Ethan stares out the window. He can see Benji in the reflection)

His sharp eyes are slightly unfocused, staring at the scenery passing by in a blur of green and gray. His dark hair is tousled and messy, strands falling down in his face. He looks… younger, almost, head resting on the window, turtleneck up just slightly too high.  

Benji pulls into the motel lot.

He’s about to ask if Ethan wants to go in, or if he should, but he’s already getting out of the car. Benji swallows, blinking a few times, mouth open to say something but says nothing. 

His hands rest on the wheel, and when he looks down, he realizes that he’s trembling. He shouldn’t be trembling, why is he shaking? He’s not scared. He’s not scared. Why would he be scared? 

He has the key to the world as he knows it in his pocket. Why would he be scared?

(Ethan is scared)

Benji watches Ethan emerge from the office, a pair of keys in his hand. 

Its’s ironic, isn’t it? Benji has the key that is keeping them from safety. Ethan has the one that will give it to them for a moment.

Ethan steps back into the car, nodding to the left side of the parking lot, the keys jingling in his hands. He pulls the car into the farthest spot to the left, allowing Ethan to get out first and lead him to the room. Benji locks the car. Ethan leads him up the weathered and, in Benji’s opinion, flimsy stairs to the room. 

He’ll pretend that he’s fine with their room not being on the ground level. Ground level rooms were easier to escape from. He didn’t want to need to jump from a balcony, even if it was one floor up. He tells himself he’s being paranoid, but he can’t tell himself that he’s not overreacting. 

He’s with Ethan- Nothing’s safe for long. 

He unlocks the door to the room, and Benji shuts the door behind them.  Two twin beds mark either wall, a desk opposite the further bed and a small bathroom in the back on the room. The dresser’s in between the bed, and a small chair is in the corner beside the door, along with a lamp.

“Pretty shitty layout for a motel room” Benji remarks, without thinking.

To his surprise, Ethan nods. 

His heart is racing. He didn’t- and Ethan had just nodded. They stand there for a moment too long, Benji a step in front of the door, Ethan two paces in front of him, Benji staring at Ethan, Ethan staring at the wall.

Benji can’t take it.

“I- I’m going to get my laptop from the car.” He says, drawing Ethan’s eyes as he speaks, pointing back to the door before quickly rushing out of the room and down the stairs. He can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe? His heart is going a million miles a minute. 

He’s not scared. He’s not scared. He’s not scared. He’s-

He walks to the car, still breathing hard, still shaking. Why is he scared? Why now? They’ve always been doing things like this-  He’s been in the field with Ethan since the Kremlin. They’d been working together for even longer. Whether it’d been with Brandt and Jane, or Luther, or Ilsa, he’d-

Oh.

Oh.

They were alone. With each other. This hadn’t happened before. And he was panicking out because he was alone. With Ethan. 

Oh no.

He was alone with Ethan and he was panicking because of Ethan. Because of Ethan. He was shaking and his heart was racing because of Ethan. Ethan. Ethan, who would die for his friends and had always looked out for Benji and was making his heart race for some-

Oh.

Oh.

It made sense. The unquestioning trust and unwavering loyalty- of course. He liked Ethan. The nervous blabbering, the way he found his eyes drawn to him… God. It was so damn obvious. Hindsight, as it always is, is 20/20. He liked Ethan. 

He- He didn’t- Ethan- No. He couldn’t feel that way about Ethan. He couldn’t. He was Ethan’s friend. They were friends. That was all they were and all they are and all they would be. Benji opens the backseat of the car, grabbing his laptop from where he’d set it, swallowing hard and trying to stop thinking. About everything.

He clutches the laptop to his chest and slams the car door. 

“Benji”

Ethan’s voice is hoarse and soft behind him, and almost jarring. He hadn’t heard Ethan speak for a while, and the area was nearly silent, beside the sound of cars going by.

“I- You were out here for a while. I was getting worried.” He says.

Benji blinks.

He inhales. “I’m fine, I just-” Ethan steps towards him. 

“Benji, I-” Ethan inhales, pausing for a moment, “Listen, I’m sorry about earlier, and I’m sorry for not telling you anything and making you want to leave, but…” He holds the laptop against his chest, anxious, now somehow unable to talk to him. He just- Why was it awkward now? Why was it nerve-wracking to breathe when Ethan was looking at him. It was Ethan. His Ethan, who he’d known for years. He’d never felt like this around him. Why did it need to be like this now?

“It’s fine.” Benji says. He stares down at the asphalt. “Really, I’m- I’m sure you’ve- A lot happened today. It’s fine.” 

Ethan looks away, and he knows that Ethan doesn’t believe him.

He wonders, again, how battered Ethan must be. He hadn’t thought about it since he’d landed, but- He’d told the man to drive off a cliff and parachute onto a train. He wasn’t unscathed. Ethan, although he appears as such, isn’t invincible. 

He walks a bit closer, their feet barely a foot or two away from each other. “I’m sorry. Really. And I should’ve told you about what happened earlier, so we can figure out what to do next.” What comes next? He has no idea, and if Ethan has somewhere to start, then something big happened on that train. 

(Ethan has somewhere to start. And blood stained on his hands)

“It’s- It’s okay, Ethan. I could tell the second you looked at me that something had happened. I  never expected you to be forward with me, and I’m used to it. It’s fine.” He says, trying to be honest without being too honest. Being fully honest meant telling Ethan why it wasn’t fine. 

So he isn’t. He will lie to Ethan and will continue to do so until… when? He wants to? He feels like it? One of them fucks up and he doesn’t have any other choice?

It’ll probably be the latter.

“Benji. Benji. Just be honest with me, yeah? If you’re- If you don’t want to do this, if you can’t handle this, it’s okay. I’m- This is the weight of the world on our shoulders, and if you don’t want that, it’s okay.” Ethan says earnestly, in a way that makes Benji’s heart jump in a way that should be dangerous. 

What if he said no to Ethan? If he told him it was too much for him? He wouldn’t, of course- he couldn’t. Leaving Ethan, grieving, with the weight of the world on his shoulders and being hunted by most governments, by himself would be like shoving him off a cliff. 

But knowing Ethan, he’d manage to catch himself and climb back up.

He shouldn’t feel like this. He shouldn’t want to leave, and he shouldn’t want to kiss Ethan in the middle of an empty parking lot with the weight of the world on their shoulders. He shouldn’t be imagining what Ethan’s lips taste like. Ethan’s his colleague and his friend and nothing more than that.

“Of course not. I can handle myself.” He knows the words are coming out of his mouth already, but he doesn’t know if he’s lying or not. 

“You’re shaking.” Ethan notes with the slightest tilt of his head. 

He’s got to laugh this off. He’s got to laugh this off. “I’ve got the most dangerous object in the world in my back pocket, Ethan, I don’t know what you’d expect.”

Perfect. Perfect. That sounded like him, it was logical, it was perfect. He was not going to accidentally confess that he liked Ethan. He could not, would not, and should not. 

He raises an eyebrow. “You were sitting on that thing while you were driving?” Benji stifles a laugh. He shrugs, trying to keep himself from smiling. It’s… It’s funny. The thing itself wasn’t even dangerous, but it’s power was immense, and he was sitting on it for ninety minutes in a rental car. 

Ethan glances to the ground, a smile hinting at the edges of his lips, brow raised. “Do you want me to take it?” 

“Oh, absolutely.” He slips the golden key out of his pocket, the white and red gems on each half glinting in the gently fading light. Benji outstretches his hand to him, turning slightly to set his laptop on the roof of the car.

Benji would like nothing to do with the key. The smartest thing to do would be throwing the thing to the bottom of the ocean, but… Well, it almost already had been. He holds out the key to Ethan, who, after a moment of staring, gently takes the key from Benji’s hand, fingers lingering in his hand for a second too long. He closes his hand around the key and tucks it in his back pocket.

Benji raises an eyebrow, and Ethan shoots him a warm smile. He’s not thinking about Ethan’s smile anymore, though. He’s thinking about his hands, the soft touch of his fingers as he’d taken the key. He’d always made a habit of glancing at Ethan’s hands after a fight- he’d never admit it, but it was his way of telling how bad things had gone without him seeing or needing to ask. Bruised knuckles were essentially nothing. But there were times when he’d see Ethan’s hands littered with cuts and scrapes from falling, bruises all along his hands, and he wouldn’t say anything, but put bandages and something for his inevitable pain where Ethan would find it. 

Today, Ethan’s hands were littered with tiny cuts absolutely everywhere, his knuckles bruised. He assumes broken glass. But he won’t push. 

For the second time in this conversation, he has no idea what to say. It’s unlike him, it always has been, and he knows Ethan knows that, too. He doesn’t even think before the words spill out of his mouth, “You should get some rest.” He looks up from the pavement. “You should, too. We’ve gotta be ready for what comes next.”

Again, Ethan brings up the future. Benji wishes he wouldn’t. It would be so much easier not to think about Gabriel or Grace or Ilsa, or the key he’d handed to Ethan moments ago, or how the world's governments would kill them to get it. It would be so much easier to tell Ethan a simple I love you and kiss him against the car until they weren’t thinking about anything but each other. 

God, it would be easier.

And god, would it be cowardly. And Benji Dunn is not a coward. He’s not. He is so many things, but a coward is not one of them.

No matter what he tells himself.

He’s not a coward, but he is scared. He is absolutely scared. He sighs, opening his mouth to say one thing before deciding on another:

“What does come next, Ethan?” 

 He looks so unsure, a crease forming in his brow that Benji has known to recognize when Ethan was left speechless. He’d never done it. Honestly, it was cute.

So he continues, not thinking of where his words are going before he says them. “I don’t know what happened back there, and frankly, if it doesn’t provide some new, life-altering information, I don’t think I want to know. So tell me, Ethan, what the plan is. I will blindly follow you to the ends of the earth if you need me to, and I won’t even be surprised anymore. But I trust you, and I hope you know that you can trust me, so just tell me what you want to do. I’ll do it. I’ll do it.” 

He’s never seen a look like this on Ethan- It’s a mix of confusion and disappointment, sadness and some form of grief. He’s completely speechless, just looking to the ground near Benji’s feet.

God, he wants to kiss him.

Ethan swallows, letting out a breath, speaking hoarsely. “You shouldn’t.” (Grace did. Ilsa did. Julia did. He didn’t want Benji to.)

He doesn’t know what else to say, other than, “Why?” 

“It just gets people hurt, Benji. Or killed. I- I won’t let that happen to you.” He spits bitterly, still unable to meet Benji’s eyes. 

His heart races. “I will follow you to the ends of the earth, Ethan, if you want me to or not. If you need me, I will be there, whether you want me to be or not. I trust you, and there is very little you can to to sever that, Ethan, because-” He stops himself just in time. Because I love you. Because he loves him. There is no other word to describe the way he feels about Ethan Hunt. And he was about to fuck it all up, by telling him this. 

“Because?” Ethan asks, finally looking up, but still not at him. 

Benji swallows. Because he’s Ethan’s friend? Because he trusts him more than anyone? Because the bond they have is built on years of trust and trauma and everything that can’t be put in words? “Because I love you,” Is still the thing that slips out of Benji’s mouth, no matter how much he doesn’t want to say as such. 

Ethan doesn’t say a word, locking eyes with Benji as he takes another step forward, hand moving to rest on Benji’s shoulder.

And then he’s being kissed, hard, one of Ethan’s hands making its way to his back as the other remains on his shoulder. And then he’s kissing back, feeling Ethan’s chapped lips on his own as he leans forward into the agent. Benji’s hands move onto Ethan’s chest and around his waist, his warm cheeks crashing into Ethan’s as his breathing goes a million miles a minute. 

He’s been kissed before, but never like this. This was what it was supposed to be like, when people described it in stories and movies. His previous kisses had been quick and messy and nothing like this. This was warm and perfect and something that meant so much more, and as they separate for breath, all Benji can do is stare into his green-blue eyes. 

“We- I-” He tries to say something but it doesn’t come out right. “We should go inside. Safer. More private.” 

He just wants to kiss Ethan again, but doesn’t protest. He’s right, of course, but they stand there frozen for another moment, wrapped in each other’s arms, until Ethan moves his hand back up to Benji’s shoulder and lets out a light breath, accompanied by a smile. 

Benji presses another peck to his lips. 

“Inside” Ethan presses, grabbing the laptop from the top of the car behind them, and Benji grabs it from his hands and pulls him up the stairs, watching him pull the key to their room and open the door. The brunette pulls him through the doorway and kisses him against the door, pushing his head back and forcing the laptop against his chest for a moment until Ethan stops suddenly.

“Did you lock the car?” 

“No,” Benji laughs, but he just wishes that Ethan would shut up and kiss him again. He fishes through his front pockets and produces the key, and Ethan takes it from his hands and lets Benji move from the door before stepping out to the front overhang to lock the car. Meanwhile, Benji grabs a cup of water and fills it up, sipping it carefully, trying to slow his racing heart.

Ethan looks at him from the doorway, sunset fading beautifully behind him, smiling. “Geez, we’ve had one hell of a day, haven’t we?”

Benji smiles, setting the glass down and pushing the door shut, kissing Ethan again.

#Benthan #Benji x Ethan #Benji Dunn x Ethan Hunt #Benthan fic #Benji dunn #Ethan hunt #mission impossible dead reckoning #fun tibit- the og ending for this fic was to replace the last line with ‘Benji chokes on his water’ and that would be the end. fyi. #god ive never posted for this fandom so I hope this is ok. #could I have absolutely made this a ‘there was only one bed’ fic? yes. did i? no. have restraint #creature writes

[trueblu3-a]

(   mom   ->   juliette   /   1:04AM   ):   i love you

were juliette anybody else,   she might not have been awake at 1:14 on a thursday morning.   she should have been asleep,   her body was calling for it desperately,   a warning that her days of pushing herself too far were probably coming to an end   (   it may have been grief,   she knew what today was:   september 28th,   25 years ago,   her father had died   /   she didn't like to believe it was grief,   the very thought that she could grieve her father,   still,   made her sick to her stomach   )...   but she was awake.

it's not as though she was doing anything.   in fact,   all she was doing was sitting in the dark at her desk:   her cat her in lap.   she had been sitting in the darkness so long,   &   knew this space so well,   that she could see every little detail with the assistance of the near full moon.   she was staring at nothing,   just looking forward as if anticipating what her night was about to become.

her phone lighting up brought her a sense of confusion.   of course,   on this day,   she always received text messages,   phone calls,   instagram comments,   from people she hardly knew:   i'm so sorry for your loss juliette!   &   she,   being the performer she was,   always obliged   &   thanked them   (   on behalf of her,   her mother,   &   her brother who were truly grieving   ).   but this was early,   only 1 hour into the day that she dreaded all year long,   it couldn't be someone giving her their faux condolences...   &   she was right.

the text left her puzzled,   &   she stared at it with a tilted head   &   parted lips.   in the past decade,   she could not recall a single time in which her mother had sent such a thing over text   (   even worse,   she could not remember a time her mother said such a thing   &   meant it   ).   guilt started to pool in her chest,   building very quickly to a man made lake of emotions that she hadn't felt in a long time.   next came the bile,   &   she swallowed down with pressure to avoid throwing up.

guilt   &   her mother were not friends,   they were not even acquaintances.

it took her at least another fives minutes to decide to get up from her seated position.   at the king family mansion slept mei xing   &   henry,   as he always did on the anniversary of their father's death.   the very act left her wondering,   each year like clockwork,   if maybe she was the problem...   the unloveable offspring rather than the scorned victim she made herself out to be.   for some reason,   the piercing 8 letters that stared through her screen convinced her so...   completely so.

she did not live completely far from her childhood home,   but far enough...   accentuated by the fact that she sat alone in her car for an extra 3 minutes contemplating whether going to see her clearly grieving mother was the best thing to do.   perhaps this was an olive branch...

she swallowed bile once more.

departing her apartment at 1:20AM allowed her to reach king mansion around 1:40.   juliette,   having abandoned her own trust in her gut feelings   (   that was a skill saved only for crossfire   )   felt as though maybe she was overreacting when she pulled up the long   &   curved driveway.   her stomach had twisted in knots   &   her heartbeat reached a pace she hadn't even felt with a gun pressed to her abdomen.   something felt wrong without her even having the smallest piece of evidence to prove it.

the house had a way of communicating with her,   it always had:   perhaps that was why she never felt comfortable in its old walls.   it was always telling her this was going to happen...   what this was,   she didn't know growing up,   but she would:   shortly,   she would.

there was little hesitation once she put the car in park.   logic had won   &   she decided to take the front door   (   illuminated not by the usual extravagant light fixtures that highlighted the old brick walls in a warm glow,   but instead illuminated now by the thick glowing beams of the full moon   )   rather than the garage.   the garage,   while updated,   still creaked loud enough to warn anyone of her presence.

the door was unlocked,   something she was sure henry wouldn't allow on this day,   not on the 25th anniversary,   not while her mother still had nightmares of the day her father died.

it was quickly in this moment she wished she'd have a knife,   or her bow,   or even a gun to protect herself.   well trained in self defense,   whatever was happening   (   &   she knew something was   )   was personal.   so personal she felt trapped in the head of juliette king:   crossfire's intelligence nowhere to be found as she stepped through the dark archway into the pitch black,   cold home.

even with the denial of the importance of her own name,   juliette knew this house.   instinctually she reached to her left,   without even fiddling,   she flipped the light switch.

during holiday parties,   juliette would have been able to expect the staircase before her to be decorated in holly,   with poinsettias accentuating the dark,   nearly cherry,   wood.   during new years eve she would have expected drunk crowds of gotham's most elite to be adorning the stairs with the champagne flutes   &   loud piercing laughs.   during her childhood she would have simply expected the old creaking stairs that led upwards before splitting in two directions.   if she walked them,   she could go to her bedroom.

never could juliette have expected her mother splayed out as she was.   it could have been a gothic painting,   deep crimsons where footsteps once were,   skin peeling back to reveal the deepest insides of the woman she once called...

crossfire had seen a lot,   she was fine with it:   compartmentalization was key in keeping juliette one way   &   crossfire the other.   it worked,   it worked so well that she thought she could get away with it forever.   crossfire could have seen this,   juliette:   could not.   there were no coping skills in her repertoire   (   maybe there could have been,   were her mother's face so not plainly in sight,   white...   nearly purple even in the warm light of the entry way chandelier   ).

juliette king called gcpd at 1:45AM,   completely stoic,   no tears,   breath moving in   &   out of her lungs at such an uneven pace that she felt faint   &   had to lower herself to press her back to the door of her car.

jim g.ordon contacted the b.atman around 2:03AM   &   the two went to king mansion together.   luckily,   it had been an uneventful thursday   (   as if it were a gift from gotham,   saving up the tragedy for the kings,   as they deserved   ),   &   it didn't take long for them to arrive.

she had kept calling her brother,   to no response...   so she prayed to a god she didn't believe in,   prayed he was sleeping,   prayed he stepped out for a walk   &   would be back soon...   because he was supposed to be in the house,   he was in the house every year since their father died,   he comforted their mother every year while juliette moped in self pity.   he,   between the two of them   (   for all his faults   )   had to be alive.

so when the a member gcpd stepped out of the house around 2:10AM,   &   walked up to the ambulance that housed juliette   (   sat in the back wrapped in a blanket   )   &   said the words:   " i'm sorry,   we found your brother. "   it hit her.   there were no words for the loss of someone you weren't sure if you loved,   but you were supposed to.   mei xing was,   by blood,   her mother.   there were even less words for the loss of someone you loved deeply but hadn't spoken to in about a month.   never had juliette experienced such a thing,   never had she pictured that she would be in this state,   shaking as her birth self in the cold of the autumn nights.

crossfire could have done this,   she would have been fine...   but maybe a part of crossfire was in her when she stared at her mother's disfigurement,   because juliette had even calculated who did such a nasty thing. payback,   karma:   what difference did it make to r.oman sionis?

&   what karma it was   (   or maybe karma is just another word for guilt,   for blame,   for the sickening feeling that washed over juliette as she sobbed in the back of an ambulance as she realized her brother had died   ),   juliette king was the last king,   by blood.

the loneliness she had perpetuated in her own double life came to a crescendo so loud that her own screams made her ears ring.   loneliness was now objective,   not subjectively created.   loneliness was this,   loneliness had become juliette king.

#1500 words later #death / #family death / #maternal death / #brother death / #ask to tag / #juliette king : hc. #wow........ i cannot believe i wrote this i cannot believe it is 09/28/23

[mageofseven]

Oh oh! About the song things! I usually go on walks and listen to songs and daydream about them, and one of my favorite is Pray by Ryan Vasquez! I usually imagine it with Beelzebub because he's my bbg. Like fr I made a storyline in my head to it I LOVE him <3 sometimes I like to imagine it's when they were in the Celestial Realm, and other times I just funk it.

Omg, why would you do this to me???

This song is too beautiful 😭💕

I can definitely see why this makes you think of Beel

However this song makes me freaking grieve the fact that I'm awful at writing smut and this would be so fucking perfect for that.

But at the same time, it makes me wanna try??? I mean, it's been years since my last train wreck attempt (I think I was like 18? 19? And now I'm 26) and this song makes it so fucking tempting 🥺💕

To clarify though! This post will contain zero smut and will probably just be super fluffy! Maybe even a bit a suggestive, but nothing smutty.

•▪︎▪︎◇°●♡●°◇▪︎▪︎•

Story context: Lilith never fell in love with a human, the Celestial War never happened, and the brothers are still angels (and MC still exists despite Lilith not becoming human).

Beel, like both his twins, often sneaks down to the Human realm, where he met and fell in love with MC. Having to keep it a secret from all of his siblings makes the big guy feel guilty, but he's so deeply in love with MC and worships her and every moment they are together.

This starts from the morning after they...did the smutty stuff 😂

~

Beel pulled the human closer, mind still foggy as he woke up in their bed. Sadly, he was conscious enough to know what day it was, making him tighten his hold on the sleeping woman.

Wake up in the morning when sun shines in

Half awake, half asleep until you chime in

The clock striking its final chords

So get up, get out, rise and shine for the house of the Lord.

Today was Sunday, his Father's day. It was just about the only day of the week most angels saw their Father and most still never interacted with him. They all come together each Sunday to praise Father for all he's done, but in truth, only archangels like Lucifer and Michael truly speak to Him.

The angel didn't want to go, to leave his love alone in the bed after such a wonderful night.

He watched his love for a moment, focusing on the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she slept soundly.

Beel closed his eyes, the night before flashing in his mind.

The man took a finger and lightly traced MC's lips, suddenly receiving a sleepy giggle from the human.

Cause as soon as I close my eyes

Brings me back to my temple in between those thighs

My mind does a full eclipse

And the world dissolves while I'm worshiping your lips

"Hey..." She smiles sleepily at the angel next to her.

"Good morning, beautiful." He slowly stroked her cheek, like he was trying to memorize every little detail from her skin's softness to the exact placement of her freckles.

Even after last night, he still felt the need to trace every inch of her body, leaving kisses along the way till he lands at the spot she truly wants his attention with.

The angel still felt like he could taste her on his lips and it just made him want more of her. What his man wouldn't give to just ask her for another taste, for permission to pray all of his love for her down below, but he knew he had no time for it.

MC frowned before laying her hand against his chest.

"It's Sunday, isn't it?"

Beel pulled her to his chest and stroked her hair.

"Yeah..."

He had to go home before anyone knew he was gone; before Lucifer could even suspect what he was doing now.

Father, son, and the holy ghost

I'm trapped with the people that I love the most

Bad things happened to angels who broke the rules, especially the major ones like...falling in love with a human.

Romantic love was forbidden in the Celestial realm, especially with anyone from the other races. No love is allowed to be greater than your love for Father. His family...they wouldn't understand this; they wouldn't understand the intense love he felt for this woman or why he'd risk his life to stay with her.

If Lucifer found out...he'd keep Beel locked up in the Celestial realm. He'd keep his younger brother's secret in order to protect him, but would never let him return to his love's side.

No matter how much he loved Lucifer and his other siblings, he couldn't sacrifice MC for them. This gentle and loving human had awoken something in him, something he could never let sleep within him again.

She completes him. How could he ever let his family steal him away from her?

"When...when will you be back this time?" She asked softly from within his arms.

"I...I don't know." The man started to draw circles lightly on the back of her shoulder. "At least a few days."

MC buried her face in his chest and he kissed her hair.

If he had a choice...Beel would worship this woman for the rest of his life. He no longer wishes to pray to and revere his Father, the One who decided such a relationship with his love was too great of a sin to forgive.

How could loving someone so soft, so caring be a bad thing? The angel once tried to convince himself of it, but no longer. This woman was more angelic than even him and this love between them made him feel a fullness within him that he had never known.

He needed her like he needed air to breath and food to eat. And knew she felt the same way.

I kneel at the shrine

I eat from the vine

Drinking your wine

I'm feeling your spine

Bending to my design

And it's all mine

I'm begging you for one more crawl

I wanna feel your waterfall, fall

Beel heard the human sniffle before she pulled back from his chest.

"I'll miss you..." She said tearful. "I wish you didn't always have to leave."

"I know." He rubbed her back. "I leave so I can always come back you to though."

The woman nodded and he kissed each tear that fell from her eyes, kind eyes that have pulled him towards her since they both met.

He hated leaving her, but come hell or high water, he will always find his way back to her. Always. And he needed to because this man could not even imagine how to live without her again.

He will do his time back in the Celestial realm, praying that everything lines up for him soon to safely make his way back to her.

For now, he gave her a long, sweet kiss before leaving her bed and heading out to her balcony, where he released his wings

and flew away, to the home that no longer felt like home.

Hush, don't make a sound

The service is over and the king's been crowned

I managed just a soft amen

Then I close my eyes to visit you and I again

#obey me #obey me otome #obey me beelzebub #obey me mc #angel au #songfic #pray #ryan vasquez #t: astroseuss #obey me beel x mc #this was amazing omg #thank you Astro!!

[conjured-osteon]

Hiatus

{-Kicks rocks an mumble grumbles- I SWEAR this account was fully intended to have more activity but I'll be going on a Hiatus till further notice. If curious, I've added more under the cut but to keep it short'n'simple; Rough start to the year that only continued hasn't helped my creativity an instead stressed me out. (Triggers in the Tags, just in case.)}

{Starting this explanation on a softer note, I find myself having a hard time focusing on my lovely characters an this blog. Not to say I'm intending to get rid of it! But when you get nervous trying to reach out to others or don't get responded to it can be a bit disheartening an I never know what to do as a plan B. (Plus I know we all have lives outside of this. I'm just an unfortunately nervous person an sometimes the Logical Thinking gets bopped by the What If's) But I also have Bouncing Interests so at times my drive will go from full throttle to Zero without any warning because something else has gripped me like a vice.

I have been desperately wanting to work on the blog but as mentioned above, lack of interaction kills the motivation an leaves it kinda stressful cause I dunno what I can do to do better, especially when not wanting to be a pester or bother anyone. Otherwise I HAVE met some wonderful people who are a delight to chat/plot with and I am so, so, so sorry I've been inactive the past month :'D I take responsibility for that radio silence of mine.

And onto rougher notes... New Years Eve I had to say goodbye to my childhood dog. She lived a good, long life an it's still upsetting not seeing her around after nearly 15 years. Holidays already grate me so the addition only made it worse and then some other details surrounding it just, made it especially bitter for me. I've suffered depressing/anxiety fueling dreams involving her almost every night since. Following as a few days ago; one of my cats passed away. Another example of old age but losing a pet never comes any easier over the years.

Around December is when my mental state really started taking a nosedive, one I thought was going to be a temporary thing seeing as I was working odd hours for events from my usual shifts, not resting or eating properly Truth be told I'm bad at that in general bUT, grieving over the approaching vet visit on top of other stressors that came during the Holiday season. A part of the mindset I was thinking it would pass was due to the fact I don't register things that have happened/are happening immediately, an so I just guessed I was having one of my delayed responses from other things and handling present stress... Cept, it continued on in waves for several weeks in comparison to a day or two. Aaaand earlier today while I was working, I got so stuck in my own head, so tightly wound up by meaningless thoughts, arguments with not purpose and physically over stimulated into self directed aggression by getting MF'in' hiccups that I ended up reaching out to a Cr!s!s Hotline when I found I couldn't even make myself contact friends/family. My strongest Rational and Logical Thought was I needed to talk to someone before my predicament made itself truly hazardous. Immediately after, I called my partner so he'd be aware. I'm doing better at the current moment, quite chilled out actually an I fully intend to bring this all up with my Therapist this week.

I hate worrying others and I falter to express what's going on due to the always hovering thought of I'm just looking for attention, or I'll be ruining another person's day because I'm being a child. Something I've struggled with for a long time that I'm hoping-- Trying, very hard to work through.

Soooo yeah- I guess this is me saying I need to step back for my mental health. I'm still so bummed out by having to do this but I really, really want this to be a fun space I can look forward too at the end of my day without my own nagging negativities getting in the way of it.

DMs will continue to be open but I'll be much more MIA from here than I was prior, this time with reason behind it.}

#OOC {Mun} #Hiatus: Start #tw: mental health #tw: pet loss #{Uuuh I think those're the only things really needing to be tagged there} #{nothin' graphic by any means if you're worried} #{A day doesn't pass of me not thinking of Marrow an the things I so very much want to do. Just can't when it's intertwined with stress} #{Hell I nitpicked/messed with this time for an hour hUH-}

[tragedy-at-its-peak]

Section III: Steve and Nancy

Note: This is a pretty long analysis due to the fact that these two characters have a lot of history together. For everything to make sense I summarized (as best I could) the character interactions between Steve and Nancy throughout each season. Ultimately the analysis is fairly short, but I just need evidence to prove my point. Anyways, onto the analysis!

Season 1

Before I dive headfirst into the mess that was handling Steve and Nancy’s emotions in Season 4, both volume 1 and 2, it’s important to set up some context. In season 1, we see that both characters are falling for each other. They make it explicitly clear that Nancy is falling for him from the start and it is shown in the later part of the season that Steve “The Hair” Harrington, jock and bully, truly does love Nancy and cares for her. A major event, in both their story arcs is when Steve hosts a party at his house, inviting Tommy H., Carol, and Nancy. Nancy brings Barb as her plus one. At the party, Steve and Nancy eventually go up to Steve’s bedroom, supposedly to change out of their clothes, but they end up having sex. Tommy H. and Carol are long gone, leaving Barb outside alone near the pool. She dies that night in the pool. So Barb’s death also marks the day they “get together” per say. In the next season things slowly fall apart between Steve and Nancy. 

Season 2

Nancy is grieving Barb’s death and it is severely affecting her life, as seen in the first episode of the second season. Steve tries to help her out, he tells her to go to a Halloween party with him so they can “pretend to be normal teenagers”. This is where the infamous “this is all bullshit” scene happens, which leaves Steve heartbroken. The next day Nancy goes to than Steve for bringing her home and he tells her that it was her “other boyfriend” that gave her a ride home. He confront her about what she told him while drunk, ultimately ending the argument when he said “Then tell me you love me” which Nancy never says. He promptly leaves, returning to his normal school day. The two of them don’t see each other again until the end of the season. In between the argument and the next time they meet up, Steve picks up the mantle as “The Babysitter” for the Party and Nancy teams up with Jonathan. One of the last scenes of season 2, is when Steve drops off Dustin and there is a shot of him longingly looking at Nancy. As if trying to say that he still loves her, but he has to do it from a distance now. 

Season 3

In Season 3, the iconic Robin Buckley and Steve Harrington duo is created. I won’t recap this season too much except for the coming out scene. So in this scene, Steve confesses to Robin that he has a crush on her. Robin then comes out as a lesbian and Steve just accepts her, even making a (non-homophobic) joke about her crush which makes them both laugh. (I swear i’m getting to the point, but there is like so much background info needed for them). 

Season 4 (analysis)

In the first episode of Season 4, right off the bat, we see Steve complaining to Robin about girls he’s going out with. AFTER A WHOLE SEASON OF HIM GETTING REJECTED AND FINDING HIS PLATONIC SOULMATE, HE IS STILL TRYING TO GET THE GIRL?!?! Like I get it, it’s a joke throughout the season and is sort of essential when Robin says “I know exactly what I want [...] while you have no idea what you [...]”. But like she could have just referenced, we (or I) didn’t need him rant about it for 5 minutes (I am exaggerating, I know) about girls, again. And then during his “baby walking backwards” monologue, why not just let it be a “thank you” monologue? Also why is Nancy being shoved towards Steve right when she’s having problems with Jonathan? Why can’t she be independent from other people? Why can’t Steve just be platonic besties with Robin? Why does every boy and girl friendship has to have a romantic undertones? WHY CAN’T THESE CHARACTERS GROW GODDAMMIT?

As characterized by cloverspies in their fic “there’s a clock in my head (is it wrong? Is it right?)”

“Nancy and I— that ship has sailed. Like, a long time ago. Like, that ship is in Switzerland or something by now.”

#stranger things #nancy wheeler #steve harrington #jonathan byers #robin buckely

[sloanines-fashion]

Soane never liked to look weak, not to anyone, especially not in the wake of her husband’s death. Ironically though that was exactly what they all expected from her, a grieving woman who felt like someone she loved had been taken from her too soon, even if they’d been on the road to divorce for some time. Her late husband had the last laugh though because now she’d been tied to him for her rest of her life like some shitty joke he’d decided to play on her at the last second. Always wanting to get the last laugh. There was actually only one person who truly knew how unhappy Charlie and Sloane’s marriage had been in reality. Not from the beginning sure but by the time of his death it had dissolved into chaos that caused Sloane to seek comfort elsewhere, which was where Nico had come in. In fact she could hardly even remember where they’d met or when their affair had truly started but as far as she was willing to trust anyone, she trusted him, so much so that when she needed a little comfort he was the one she would call. He had seen the bruises, the ways she’d been hurt at Charlie’s hand, and heard her through tears when things had gotten just too much to cope with. And that was before you counted the amazing sex they would have to boot.

Tonight was one of those nights, walking out of the office with her mobile pinned to her ear after a particularly fractious work day, she called him to see if the man was available to come over to her apartment - guilty by how thrilled she was to hear that he would be there within a couple of hours. Long enough for her to take a shower to wash off the day and slip into something more comfortable, just having opened a bottle of wine when she heard a knock at the door. Letting out a soft sigh as she opened it. “Hey, thanks for coming over, I just didn’t really know who else to call. You know how it is when you set fire to every bridge as soon as you step off it on the other side.” Only half joking as she stepped back to let the man in. @nardinico​

#convo: nico #abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #affair tw #cheating tw

[mysoulsalchemy]

Goodbyes,

There have been so many "Anniversaries of Lasts" these past few months. Those aching reminders of, "one year ago I was… fill in the blank". Reminders of old pain, of loss, of regret. Opportunities for anger and sadness, or… chances to remember, to grieve, and to heal. There is one more. A final one.

November 28th 2023, the night you picked a fight, using some absurd issues to gain control of my emotions. My work, my photography, my Blog, my own words and feelings were your way of attacking me. You were done with me long before that night, but was a coward to just communicate that, a fight is how you end things, it always was.

I wasn't there yet, "done" that is, but the past 6 months has gotten me there. It's not what I ever wanted. It's the hardest thing I've ever done. Although I don't miss you, or us... most days, and I don't want it back, I admit there has been an ache in my heart. A hole in that place you, and us, used to fit. We always said, "we'll never say Goodbye". In fact, almost from day one, that was one of our many promises.

Well, Goodbye has come.

I've needed this 6 months to remember, to grieve, to process, and to heal--not just the hurts our relationship and its ending caused, but also to dig at the roots of the bullshit you brought to the table that ultimately contributed to its ending.

Both our hearts were already broken when we met, full of rubble from the past. We helped each other carry so much, and for that, I am forever grateful. There honestly was so much good. But those same broken hearts brought new pain to each other as well. Fresh wounds over old scars.

I've heard it said, grief is just love with nowhere to go, and I have so much love in my heart. With the death of us, something in me went cold. That love became grief, and I didn't know what to do. I had never truly "processed" grief before like this. Instead, I carried it, soldiered on, walking wounded, bleeding on those close to me even when they didn't cause the pain.

I am so sorry for the ways I hurt you, I have no excuses other than for every reaction is an action. I reacted badly to your bullshit and of the bullshit others brought to me because you couldn't talk to me but to them, and ultimately the vicious brutal attacks became to much for me to handle alone.

With this time, I've come back to myself, found genuine healing, and even a measure of peace. I've learned to recognize my own shit, as well as what was never mine even when I tried to carry it. I truly have no ill will toward you. I left because it was what my heart needed in order to feel safe in the midst of enormous chaos and confusion. Though I wish I'd seen it then, I see it clearly now. I truly do see it.

I forgive you for the ways you hurt me.

So today, 6 months later on this day I let go. An acknowledgement, and then a release. I cannot stay in this place of grief, and pain, and coldness anymore. There is too much in this incredible world to love.

Goodbye, Anna

[allwaysnighthere]

Devaluation and invalidation.

I cried myself to sleep last night and will probably do it again. I rescheduled my therapy appointment to next week. I am hopeful that this episode or phase will pass. Eventually, I can look back on it and figure out what triggered it. For now, I'm sitting here wanting to throw up.

I have a meeting in 15 minutes in which I will put on a charade to pretend that nothing is bothering me, my work has gone fabulously this week, and I am so strong. I'm all business. Truth be told, I am passionate about my career choice and it provides some relief. Still, there's an emptiness as I think about what it would mean to cocoon myself in work and school. It's easier to think and discuss a concept that isn't anchored in emotions and trying to figure out what someone else is trying to convey in roundabout ways so it's left up to interpretation.

I saw it. I read it. It's wrong and it's been wrong. I'm not surprised. As many times as I maneuvered myself into being an enabler under the belief that I was doing to the right thing to be supportive rather than be on the brunt of the anger, it only makes sense that I'd get to play the part of the fool again by joining the incinerator with the others. There are too many times to count that I let something slide despite knowing it was a lie and that it hurt me, but if I were to bring that up now that then reinforces the fact that I am a villain. That's where this almost always ends up. They're never going to admit to any wrongdoing, not when doing so is far more difficult than finding any reason to justify whatever was said or done. It's all or nothing.

Lately, it's as if everything I do is wrong. I'm supposed to know the ins and outs of all things, no matter the subject. What the fuck is wrong with you? Why is it that you can't get it right the first time? We know it, why don't you? Why can't you act, say, and do the things we expect from you? How dare you have any reaction to what you're told?

All I can focus on is my heart breaking. I grieve every day for so much of what could have been. If I've always meant so little to others, why did they bother with me at all? Why am I so inept at recognizing who doesn't care an iota about what happens to me or only cares to see that I take all responsibility for everything that goes wrong? I'm kept in the dark and fed shit, and then when I don't do exactly what someone wants me to do or I dare share my feelings/thoughts, I get the axe. Other people are worthy of redemption, grace, and honesty. Not me. And I'm so fucking stupid that I give out second, third, and fourth chances because I want so badly to believe that there is humanity in other people.

I cannot share my feelings with anyone else in my life anymore unless it's my therapist. What I've learned recently is that nobody truly gives a fuck about mental health and they will leave as soon as you mention any word of fighting a war in yourself. You're damaged goods. Who wants anything to do with garbage? Even when I was at my lowest and I put the gun in my mouth, I was still lower than dirt to them, all because I should have known from the start how to handle everything perfectly. I should have known it was time to lock up a box of memories of being repeatedly beaten, raped, and torn down, of not being wanted by my own dad, and being ostracized by my peers because I wasn't normal and I never fit in. There was never any justice. Why didn't the jury just say it outright that everything that happened to me was justified? I have tried so hard to be what everyone else has wanted me to be and I'm still rejected. They know. They will always know.

I have never felt more alone in my life than I do right now. All I've ever wanted was to be loved and valued and listened to instead of being so easily discarded, like I don't have any right to feel anything or be my own person. It will never be enough for me and never enough for anyone else.

#106 #jr #meltdown 3 #cw self loathing #cw ideation #cw sa

[sing-me-under]

So about that “Bruce didn’t adopt Jason” dream I had. I think it was mildly influenced by the “robins were never taken in by Batman” issue (can’t remember which issue it was, I think there were two), the pre-crisis Nocturna storyline, and also my own obsession with Stephanie as Robin.

I think it started with Bruce getting launched back in time by some sort of divine entity but it could also have been Bruce shown visions of the future by a divine entity. Wasn’t very clear. I think the logic in later events might lean towards the latter. Either way, the actual story begins before Bruce finishes filing Jason’s adoption papers.

Bruce wakes up from whatever future thing happened. He hugs Jason and rambles out apologies and tells Jason that he can’t adopt him. He doesn’t explain anything in any coherent, sensible way. All Jason understands is that Bruce, the person who is supposed to be his dad, is sending him away. Jason gets officially adopted by Natalia (Nocturna). Bruce and Jason never see each other in person, but they still exchange letters every so often just to keep in contact.

Despite the fact that the Observatory is fully sponsored by Bruce, Nocturna is still a semi-active thief to fund her luxurious lifestyle. Jason himself isn’t involved in the capes and masks business, preferring (and highly encouraged) to stay in school and work on charity projects using the Knight name. (Jason is legally Jason Knight here)

Meanwhile, Bruce is just sadly being Batman. Since Bruce didn’t keep Jason, Dick never barged back into the manor to yell about being replaced. In fact, Dick’s appearances in the manor become more and more rare until eventually he just never comes back. Bruce stops attempting to reach out since their interactions always end up in an argument, and Dick cuts off all connection to Bruce. No one except the OG Titans knows that Nightwing had any connection to Batman. Barbara is also semi-retired from Batgirl to focus on college.

For the next few years, Batman is well and truly on his own (technically, if you don’t count Agent A on comms). There are still a small handful of independent vigilantes scattered about, but Batman works alone. Thankfully, Gotham isn’t the worst. Most of it can be handled on his own or with some assistance from a local vigilante or, in worse situations, backup from an available League member. Bruce is running himself dry, but he’s not self-destructive either. He’s just sad and lonely.

One day, Cluemaster makes his debut and Spoiler appears shortly after. Bruce has been on his own for three years, and Spoiler is just intrusive enough to be endearing. Bruce is fond of Spoiler’s company, being reminded of Dick’s playfulness and Jason’s crassness, and more or less allows her to stick around. Once it becomes obvious that she’s going to continue to do vigilantism even after her father is locked away, Bruce decides to take her in and properly train her. (Stephanie doesn’t become Robin. She stays as Spoiler while following after Batman)

Cluemaster escapes Blackgate and seeks revenge on Spoiler. He knows that Spoiler is his daughter and attempts to kill her. When those efforts prove futile, he kills his ex-wife and Stephanie’s mom, Crystal. Stephanie, in civilian wear, kills Arthur is a fit of vengeful rage. Later that night, Batman finds Spoiler sitting on the roof of her apartment complex crying. Batman gets a grasp on the situation. He is kind to her and allows Stephanie to grieve as necessary. Bruce ends up fostering Stephanie... and like clockwork, Batman ends up with a new partner.

Batman and Spoiler work together extremely well. It’s a bit reminiscent to Batman and Robin except at Stephanie’s age (15), Dick was already distancing himself from Bruce.

Steph asks to go to the Observatory for a class project. In a moment of spontaneity, Bruce decides to go with her. There, Bruce is soon confronted with Jason. It’s the first time they’ve spoken face to face since Jason was adopted by Natalia. Bruce and Natalia have interacted a handful of times (outside of the cloak of night) since they’re both socialites, but Jason mostly kept to himself. Bruce was under the impression that Jason resented him. Turns out that Jason had thought it was the other way around.

“I couldn’t wrap my head around why you gave me up. You were supposed to be my dad. I had just worked up the nerve to call you my dad, but then you told me you couldn’t adopt me. All that effort fighting with the courts and mom to keep me with you, then suddenly, you gave me away anyway. For years, I looked for a reason. Blackmail, gossip, whatever. I couldn’t find a single thing. It’s not like you had a change of heart. You cried when you told me you couldn’t adopt me, so why?”

Bruce says he’ll explain one day. He just doesn’t know how to. He doesn’t even know if he can. Still, Bruce never intended for Jason to think he didn’t want him. The manor is and always has been open to Jason. Bruce promised that it would be his home no matter what all those years ago, and that hasn’t changed despite what Jason had believed. They talk more. Jason is a pretty happy teen, all things considered. He’s thinking about becoming a teacher. He invites Bruce to his high school graduation.

Bruce talks to Natalia for a bit. They’re more than old acquaintances but not quite friends. They get along well, catch up, talk about their work, their kids. This seems to be the case for most of Bruce’s ex-lovers. Bruce is glad that Jason is safer with her than with him. However, apparently, Natalia’s brother tried to kill her some years ago and Jason was almost caught in the crossfire. No one’s heard from him since. What rich person doesn’t have a skeleton or two in their closet anyway?

Barbara finds Cassandra and Bruce ends up taking Cass in. Much like with Jason, Bruce and Cass immediately click as parent/child. After a whole debacle with David Cain, Bruce starts the adoption process for Cass. Stephanie is kind of mopey through the whole thing. After a heart to heart, Bruce decides to adopt Cass and Stephanie at the same time.

Jason is very unhappy about this. He‘s even more confused by Bruce’s decision not to adopt him. Still, he loves his mom, so he can’t say it was for the worst. Jason starts spending a lot of time at the manor. Jason doesn’t actively get involved with the vigilante life style, but he’s something like the Lucius Fox to Steph and Cass’s Spoiler and Black Bat.

Tim has nothing to do with vigilantes, but he also befriends the Wayne kids through normal means. (Tim moved into the neighboring plot and Steph’s class shortly after Cass’s adoption and after his parents died overseas.) He’s very good friends with all of them and is basically a staple in their household as much as Jason is. They’re pretty sure Tim is aware of their identities, but no one is going to say anything about it. They’ve also never met Tim’s uncle and they’re almost convinced Eddie Drake doesn’t even exist but there’s no way anyone could have forged all the documents and paper trails and emails so like—

For a while, life continues. It’s Batman and Agent A and Spoiler (new name pending) and Black Bat. It’s Bruce and Alfred and Stephanie, Cassandra, and Jason and Tim is also there. Barbara has finished college by now and is considering picking back up the Batgirl mantle, but she’s also found her calling in information and computer sciences. Barbara is only sometimes in contact with Dick, and she hasn’t held a full conversation with Bruce in awhile.

At some point, Jason starts an internship with Wayne Ent under Bruce himself. It’s not official, but Jason is Bruce Wayne’s heir. Neither Stephanie nor Cass want to inherit the business, Jason has been raised in the Gotham elite scene since he was 12, Natalia inherited her adopted father’s wealth but not his business, and Jason has aspirations.

One day, the JL gets wind of a planned attack on the Wayne household. The specifics are unknown, so they determine that the best course of action is to just lock down and keep close security on Bruce Wayne and related companions. (The JL doesn’t know Batman’s identity. Batman has been a part-time member since they’re founding, and they only know that Bruce Wayne is their benefactor.) The JL partners with the Titans to watch over the Wayne household while the league members track down their enemies.

The Titans have never really hid their civilian identities, mostly because they don’t have any to begin with. (Wally inherited the mantle of the Flash and transferred from the Titans to the JL. Roy is only kind of an honorary member nowadays, having long since fallen out with hero community. Dick… doesn’t really have a civilian life. When he became Nightwing, it was like putting on a new mask over the Robin mask. As far as anyone is concerned, Robin is his secret identity.)

The Titans introduce themselves to Bruce as an undercover task force posing as a security detail while the JL deals with the rest. Despite their frankly lackluster disguises, Bruce immediately recognizes “Rob”. He’s honestly surprised that the Titans agreed to babysit the Waynes on behalf of the JL considering they’ve always been independent frontline players. This isn’t there usually MO.

Dick, Bruce, and Alfred all sort of tip toe around each other, none of them wanting to call the other out and acknowledge their pasts and their real identities. Eventually, Dick gives in first. Over the years, he’s matured and realized that Bruce may be controlling and overprotective, but it had always come from a place of love and good intentions. Once Dick got over his anger and teenage angst, he realized that he had long since drifted away from his family and didn’t know how or even if he could return. His place is with the Titans, but he missed Bruce and Alfred and his childhood home. He found himself homesick a lot, especially in recent years as he compares himself to Bruce/Batman. He’s the same age Bruce was when Bruce took him in.

Once the threat has been neutralized (in a rather fantastic spectacle involving the Titans and a mini battlefield on the Wayne Manor’s front lawn), the Titans prepare to leave. Bruce, who has settled into his role as a father, reaches out to Dick and tells him what he told Jason: the manor will always be open to him, no matter what. Once the Titans have all left, Dick stays behind for a little bit. He properly introduces himself to the new kids only to be taken back by their sheer starstruck. After all, Dick was Gotham’s boy wonder, Robin! They all grew up with Batman and Robin. He was their idol, the reason they became what they were! Sure, they knew from B that Robin grew up to become Nightwing, but they didn’t think they’d ever get to actually meet him!

And then my dream ends there.

I like to think that Dick leaves, his heart a little lighter. He’s more settled into himself in this world. He doesn’t carry the burden of eldest sibling. He’s never had to deal with Bruce’s grief or the fear of being replaced. He’s got his own problems, but none of them have forced him to keep a smile. He and Bruce used to be two birds of a feather, soulmates in every way that mattered. That hasn’t changed. Even after all these years, they still work together like a perfectly oiled machine. Nightwing moves into Bludhaven. Sometimes he crosses into Gotham. Dick visits the manor every so often. He’s more like an estranged uncle than an older brother.

I think that Stephanie is always weighed down by her father’s blood on her hands. Bruce would find her sitting on the rooftop, and he’d hold her hands and rub circles in her palms until she’s ready to go back to sleep. Stephanie often worries about never being good enough, but her dad cares and loves her unconditionally. Batman may not kill, but Bruce will help her hide the body. For that alone, Steph wants to at least do right by him. It’s strange, but they bring out the best in each other because they are kind to the worst parts of each other.

One day, Bruce will tell Jason about a prophetic dream he had years ago. If Bruce kept Jason, then Jason would die. It feels anticlimactic. All these years searching for a reason, and it was as simple as that. It’s alright in the end. Bruce isn’t his dad, but the spirit is still there. At the end of the day though, Jason will go home to his mom and kiss her on the cheek.

I like to think that Talia will drop off Damian at the manor to hide him from the LoA’s civil war. Without a clear line of succession in the form of the Robin mantle, Damian won’t feel inclined to fight anyone to assert his status. After all, Bruce’s heir is Jason Knight, a civilian not even related to him. Bruce’s first partner, Robin, has become the leader of the second generation of heroes, but Nightwing is mostly unrelated to Batman (with the exception of the few times Dick took up the cowl in recent years to cover up some identity shenanigans). Batman currently works alongside his daughters, the two Batgirls, who more often than not constantly undermine his authority. There is no heirarchy in the Bat clan. Damian is satisfied with being the biological son, but he’s also lost in how to assert himself when nothing follows traditional rules. Hell, there’s even a random civilian neighbor that sleeps in the family wing every other night.

Damian doesn’t get the chance to understand the relevant dynamics before Bruce “dies.” The bats completely fall apart in their grief. Jason throws himself into his work at Wayne ent. Stephanie steps up as The Bat, adjusting her uniform to look as terrifying as possible (cryptid style). Cass leaves to Hong Kong. Tim goes on a worldwide tour to prove Bruce isn’t dead. Damian gets handed to Dick of all people because no one else is suitable to handle him. Dick is the only actual adult with any experience handling kid supers (hero or otherwise). In the year that Bruce is lost in the time stream, Dick becomes Damian’s pseudo-parent. When Bruce returns, they co-parent. They’re closer than they have been in years.

#personal #dc #This has been sitting in my drafts for a whole MONTH #why did I never post this #anyway #batfamily