#her breathing is wonderfully healthy again

[beenbaanbuun]

Hey!! I just read your most recent Addams!MATZ fic and the angst is DELICIOUS. Your talent for writing is incredible and your creativity really shines through with each and every fic. The fluff, angst, and even the smut are so wonderfully well done, you're one of my favorite ATEEZ writers.

If you're up to it, and feel free to ignore this, but I'd love to see a part two to the angst Addams!MATZ where seonghwa talks to hongjoong and hongjoong comes to apologize. If that's not something you see yourself continuing, I completely understand!

Make sure to keep yourself healthy and hydrated and get plenty of rest.

thank you for the compliments!!! they mean the world to me. i’m glad that my passion for writing and my love for these boys shines through in my work. here is a continuation <333

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seonghwa doesn’t even bother to knock before barging into his husbands office. yes, he thinks anger is an ugly emotion, but that doesn’t mean he is immune to it. in fact, it’s the only thing running through him as he steps through the doorway and slams the heavy slab of oak behind him. hongjoong hasn’t shown you the courtesy of being polite; why should seonghwa show his husband the same.

upon hearing the bang of the door, the overworked businessman turns around, pen still in hand and glasses low on his nose. he was half expecting to see your feisty little self again, but instead he’s met with the sight of his husband. if it weren’t for the sneer that twisted up his husbands pretty face, he might’ve explained the same thing he’d tried explaining to you. something tells him that seonghwa wouldn’t have appreciated being told ‘i’m busy, i’ll come and talk to you when i’m finished designing these pieces.’

“what’s wr—” hongjoong doesn’t even get to finish before seonghwa cuts him off with a scoff and a petty roll of the eyes. it’s hardly like him to wear his emotions on his sleeve, and yet hongjoong can see each one of them clear as day. hurt, anger, disappointment; emotions that he never wants anyone he cares about to feel. his heart sinks just a touch as he realises who those emotions are aimed towards.

“you are a piece of work, hongjoong,” seonghwa spits, sounding beautiful even with venom laced through his voice. hongjoong knows that’s the last thing he should be thinking right now, but he can hardly help admiring his husband, even when he is seething. it takes the man a second or two to knock himself free of the love-induced haze and allow the words to sink in. “do you think you’re in the right for yelling at our darling? do you think that just because you’re overworking yourself it gives you the right to make her cry?”

hongjoong’s world comes to a standstill. the clock on the wall stops ticking, the heart in his chest stops beating, and most importantly, for the first time in weeks, the brain in his head stops thinking. finally, finally, it’s no longer filled with a myriad of complex ideas, each one overlapping yet individual in its own right. finally he just has one singular thought. it’s just a shame it isn’t a good one.

he made you cry…

hongjoong made you cry…

it repeats in his head, over and over like a mantra. it taunts him, the idea that he’d upset you so much feeling like nails on a chalkboard. his hairs stand on end and his breath catches in his throat. lord below, what has he done.

“where is she?” his voice is weak, pathetic, nothing like he usually sounds. seonghwa has to admit that his resolve takes a hit when he hears it leave his loves mouth. he reminds himself to remain strong; your pain is his priority right now. “seonghwa, please—”

“take a guess, hongjoong,” seonghwa replies, once again cutting his husband off. this time it wasn’t out of anger but of fear that he might cave if he has to listen to hongjoong’s heartbroken pleas for much longer. the pained look on his face is enough to send seonghwa’s heart into overdrive; he doesn’t need any more distractions from the real reason he’s here. “where might you usually find her when she isn’t with one of us?”

the rug in front of the fire—jongho.

hongjoong almost feels ashamed that he even had to ask; he should’ve realised the second you silently left his office that you’d gone to seek comfort in your favourite onikuma. realistically, though, he should’ve realised a lot of things. it hurts him to know that he was too focused on work to do so.

he stands, and he’s grateful when seonghwa shifts to the side to allow him past, even going as far as to re-open the heavy door for him. hongjoong isn’t quite sure he deserves the soft hand that’s placed against his back as he walks through the doorway, but he appreciates it nonetheless. now isn’t the time to be wondering how he ended up with such a beautiful individual as a soulmate, but he finds himself lingering on that thought as the two of them begin their journey to the living room. it’s hard not to when the warmth of seonghwa’s touch never once leaves him.

in fact, it’s only when the two of them step through the archway that seonghwa gives a small shove to the bottom of hongjoong’s spine before going to reclaim his spot on the couch. with a single nod in your direction, seonghwa redirects his husband’s attention and hongjoong lets his gaze flicker to the floor.

the first thing he’s met with is a glare from the mutt he’d been so reluctant to allow into his abode. normally, the beast would be scolded for being so bold as to openly disrespect his master, but he let it slide this time. he can hardly tell him not to give him the attitude he so clearly deserves. in fact, this is light compared to what he would’ve expected from the overprotective creature.

at least hongjoong knows he’ll make a wonderful guard dog…

“dove,” hongjoong coos softly as he dips down to your level. he can’t remember the last time he’d sat on the floor, but this feels necessary. the closeness is something that he finds himself craving, wanting nothing more than to have you next to him again. he won’t lie and claim that the sole purpose of this is to comfort you; he needs it too, to stave off the guilt that has begun to eat him alive. “can you look at me?”

there’s a certain element of pain in his voice that tells you he’s being sincere. that he truly does feel remorse for how he treated you. whether or not it’s seonghwa that forced it upon him, you don’t particularly care. all you want is to feel hongjoong’s warmth again, so you listen. you turn your head until your watery eyes meet his.

“there she is,” he gives you a humourless chuckle, a sad smile twisting the corners of his mouth up and the corners of his eyebrows down. the warmth of his hand as he places it on your cheek is comforting; more so than any words he could say. you just need him close. he seems to realise that as he turns to the werewolf, dangerously aware of the way his ears twitch angrily above his head. “may i take her, yeosang? i promise i’ll be gentle with her.”

“you weren’t gentle with her earlier,” yeosang growls, behaving more akin to what hongjoong expects from him. it almost has hongjoong flinching back in fear of yet another bite-shaped bruise on his hand.

“that’s true, but i would like i make it up to her,” hongjoong is soft as he speaks, less so for the sake of the angry mutt, and more for the sake of you. he doesn’t want you to see any more anger from him. “besides i really think it should be my little dove’s decision as to whether i get to hold her, don’t you?” yeosang snarls, huffing in dismay as he unravels his arms from you and lets hongjoong swoop you into his. manipulation never really has been the man’s style, but he has to admit that it works wonders with the mutt. use you as leverage, and yeosang will behave like a fully trained lapdog. he’s just like them in that respect; so desperate to make you happy that they’d risk everything, dignity included.

it’s not hard for you to let yourself be passed around like some kind of teddy bear as a pose to a real, living human. you’re tired from crying, not to mention desperate for the confirmation that you’re still hongjoong’s good girl. in fact, as hongjoong tugs you into his grasp like a rag doll, you find yourself leaning into his grasp. it’s so soft compared to his sharp words and cutting tone earlier, and his familiar scent of spices fills your nostrils. it dizzies you, but hongjoong is there to catch you…

“i’m sorry,” he whispers into your ear as he pulls you up to straddle his crossed legs, “my darling dove, will you forgive me?”

you don’t answer. you don’t find it necessary to. the way you see it there’s nothing to forgive; you annoyed him, he yelled at you. it’s give and take, and despite your emotions getting the better of you, you refuse to place the blame on hongjoong. not all of it, at least.

“only if you forgive me too,” is the answer you finally settle on, mumbling it into his neck. he squirms a little at the tickling sensation, and in your own mind, you find yourself thinking he’s cute.

“you have nothing to forgive, my dove,” he answers, “but if it will make you forgive me, then yes; i forgive you…”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #ateez scenarios #ateez fic #opposites attract universe #matz x reader #yeosang x reader #hongjoong x reader #seonghwa x reader

[cowgurrrl]

Wonderfully Bizarre

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Author’s note: DID YALL REALLY THINK I WAS JUST GONNA LEAVE YOU WITH THAT (i also don’t love how this turned out but I couldn’t leave y’all with all that heartbreak)

Summary: You and Joel try again [1.2k]

Warnings: fluff (finally)

You end up staying in Ireland for a year and some change. Fifteen months if you're being exact. The Beginning of the End is flawless. It's raw and real and one of the hardest things you've ever done, but it's done. You've been home for about a month. Elizabeth was ecstatic to see and show you all her new toys and make fun of Carolina for being too pregnant to bend down and pick her up. She's having another girl any day now. You thought your heart would burst when they told you on FaceTime, and you immediately went into overprotective aunt mode, asking what they needed, the due date, everything. You were gonna be back in the States around this time anyways, but being home permanently makes you feel better.

You did a lot of growing in Ireland. You had to in order to tell the story you were trying to tell. You feel like a completely new person, and you're still trying to figure out if you like it. You think you do. You want to. This version of yourself is slower and takes more time for little things. She sees there's more to life than work, but it's okay to be dedicated to your career. It took you half a decade in the industry to find a healthy work-life balance, but you finally did. Better late than never, right?

The sun is shining, and the ocean air is blowing through your hair, and it feels beautiful. Your sunglasses are big enough to obscure your face so people don't stop you whenever they walk past you on the boardwalk. An email from your manager, Sierra, pops up on your phone, but you don't jump to answer it. She knows the press is not your only priority right now. She knows she can wait. You smile when a familiar twang calls your name, and you stand to hug him.

"Hey, how are you?" Joel asks as he rubs your back, and you smile as you lean back to look at him. He's got a little more salt and pepper in his hair than the last time you saw him, but it suits him. Getting older looks good on him.

"I'm good. How are you?" You ask. You sit across from each other, and he takes a big breath.

"I'm good. Busy."

"I've heard. Congratulations on your Grammy."

"Congratulations on your Golden Globe nomination," he says, and you bow your head just a little in gratitude. He smiles and gets quiet as he just stares at you. You wonder what he thinks about how you've changed. Your hair is shorter, but not as short as when you shaved your head for the movie. It's growing back in slowly but surely, but it's taking longer than you thought it would. "It's really good to see your face." He says. Heat rises to your cheeks, and you have to fight a smile at his words.

"Yours too. How are the girls?"

"They're great. Sarah just started classes at UCLA." He says, and you gasp.

"I remember her telling me about that! What's she studying again?"

"Psychology."

"Smart girl. And Ellie?"

"Ellie's starting high school in a week. She's just… thriving. She's in the art club at school and even won a few prizes."

"Wow." You breathe, and he nods.

"Yeah," he says. "How are you? How was Ireland?"

"It was good! Very rainy and cold but good. I think it might be my best performance to date." You say, not modest about it at all, but he doesn't care.

"I've no doubt."

"Oh, and I got a dog."

"Really? What kind?"

"Big old mean one," you say as you slide your phone open to show him the picture of your big-headed gray pit bull with a flower tucked in her collar. "Her name is Daisy."

"She's beautiful. Rescue?"

"Showed up on my doorstep one day without a collar on. She's been with me ever since."

"I'll have to meet her one day." He says.

"I'd like that," you smile. "How's Angela?" You ask, and he sighs.

"I don't know. She left about a week after you did. Left Sarah a note sayin' she was sorry, but she couldn't do this, blah blah blah."

"That's awful. I'm sorry."

"Yeah, me too," he shrugs. "Anyways. Now that you're done with Beginning of the End, what's next? I'm sure you've already got somethin' lined up."

"I'm, uh... I'm actually taking a little break. At least, until the movie comes out." You say, and his eyes widen. You feel a little shy about admitting that you're pretty much nothing, but you have Daisy now and your little family.

"That's a big deal."

"Yeah, it's weird to not be working, but this role really took a lot out of me. I think I deserve a break."

"You do," he says, smiling. "'M proud of you."

"Thank you." You say as you stare at him.

You talk about anything and everything. He tells you about Sarah's experiences at UCLA and how the tour went. From what you saw, it was sold out night after night, and he kept getting bigger. He looked so happy. You tell him that Carolina's pregnant and give him the few details about the movie you are legally allowed to share. It's easy and fun and so perfect. You can't get over the fact that he's right here in front of you after so long, and things aren't super awkward or weird. It feels like you're picking up right where you left off. Well, before everything went to shit. You're laughing at his jokes and smiling, and he's maybe flirting with you? His boyish smile and stupid jokes always did it for you.

"Are you," he clears his throat like the words won't come out otherwise. "Are you seein' anybody?" He finally asks after about two hours of conversation.

"Joel Miller," you say. "Are you trying to ask me out?"

"If I was, would you say yes?"

"Depends."

"On what?"

"If I've gotta sign a contract or not." You say, and he laughs. The sound of his joy fills a hole in your chest you weren't even sure was still there.

"No contract this time. Just us."

"Promise?"

"On my life."

Years down the line, you'll tell your son, Samuel, about this moment. The moment you decided to give his dad a second chance and the moment that would, unknowingly, change everything. You'll tell him that sometimes people come into our lives at the wrong time, but if they're the right person, then they'll come back when they're supposed to. He'll grow up hearing that story and seeing you and Joel be completely and utterly in love like nothing ever happened. But you don't know that yet. Sam is years and a few heartbreaks away.

What you know right now is that Joel is looking at you the same way he used to, and you're smiling at him, and everything feels right. In this moment and in moments of reflection, you won't be able to explain why you say what you do, but you know it's okay. You don't have to have all the answers. So, you look at Joel and say, "Okay."

And that was it.

#one for the money two for the show #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel tlou #the last of us x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller the last of us #tlou au #the last of us au #rockstar!joel

[enoriver1989]

Is "Call It What You Want" about Lily?

Who is Lily? Lily Donaldson is an English model born in London. She has also lived in New York with an apartment in the East Village. I believe she could be the muse for Taylor Swift’s song, “Call It What You Want” (and many other songs, too).

Disclaimer: I do not know who any song by Taylor Swift is really about, and this is just a fun theory based on lyrics and publicly available photos and information. People are free to interpret songs in different ways, and a song’s meaning is always so much bigger than trying to decipher which “muse” it may or may not be about. Again, this is just for fun.

Credit: I used a lot of information from the blog Tily Nation to help in making this post, and it is a great resource for more information about Taylor and Lily if you are curious.

“My castle crumbled overnight”  “All the liars are calling me one”

I think these lyrics indicate that the song is describing a time period sometime after July 2016, when Taylor Swift’s public reputation was negatively affected by events related to a recorded phone call with Kanye West, leading to the hashtag #TaylorSwiftIsOverParty trending, and people calling her a snake. Taylor shared a diary entry from August 29, 2016: “This summer is the apocalypse.” I think the US presidential election in November 2016 may have also contributed to Taylor’s decision to “run away” and hide from public view at that time (“nobody’s heard from me for months.”)

Taylor appears to start spending more time with Lily Donaldson in October 2016, although they were friends or at least acquaintances long before that. On Halloween, Taylor celebrated with Lily and other friends at her Cornelia Street apartment, and Lily was photographed leaving Taylor's apartment the next morning (Nov. 1). 

On November 24, 2016, Lily spent Thanksgiving with Taylor, Taylor’s family, and a few other friends in Rhode Island. Lily sat next to Taylor at the dinner table (between Taylor and her dad). Earlier that day, Taylor drove Lily around in a car and acted flirty, and Lily posted a snapchat with the caption “My Uber driver is so pretty.”

“I recall late November / Holdin’ my breath, slowly I said / You don’t need to save me / But would you run away with me?”

I believe Taylor may have asked Lily to “run away with” her to England in late November. It seems that Taylor started renting a home near London in December 2016. She celebrated her birthday on Dec. 13 with a cake confirmed to be made by Hummingbird Bakery in London. Taylor and Lily also made sweet birthday posts for each other around this time: Dec. 13, 2016 and Jan. 27, 2017.

On Jan. 3, 2017, Taylor wrote in the Lover Diary that she was “essentially based in England” and had been together with a secret lover for three months without anyone finding out. I believe she could be referring to October, November, and December 2016 with Lily. Taylor indicates that she’s worried about people finding out and wants to keep the relationship private in order to protect it, but that she is happy.

In a scene from Miss Americana, Taylor appears to sing the song Call It What You Want from inside her rental home in England, and a woman's voice (that sounds different from Taylor's) sings "I did one thing right" while laughing, as Taylor lifts her foot into the air as if to point to the person she is singing to. Taylor also drives on the left side of the road in another scene, suggesting they are in England.

In the film, Taylor says, “I was falling in love with someone who had a really wonderfully normal, balanced, grounded, life, and we decided together that we wanted our relationship to be private.” This interview with Lily describes her as someone who has a “healthy work/life balance”, who is private and introverted and is not interested in sharing much of her life on social media. Taylor's lyrics describe her lover as someone who stays above the fray of public opinion during a difficult time in her life.

"My baby's fly like a jetstream / High above the whole scene"

Taylor’s instagram story (in which she plays Call It What You Want) shows photos of her riding a horse and painting on a canvas.

Some of Taylor’s paintings were in the reputation magazine with lyrics as captions, and in this video Taylor says that she’s “painting about her feelings.” Lily has a passion for riding horses and oil painting (she wanted to go to art school before she became a model).

In conclusion, I think Lily could be the muse for “Call It What You Want,” and other songs by Taylor Swift in the reputation era and onward. I believe their relationship may have started in late 2016 and ended sometime in 2019. If you want to learn more, again, the blog Tily Nation is a great resource! And if you think the song is inspired by a different muse or if you just enjoy the music and don’t care who a song is about, that’s cool, too. This is just a fun theory.

#gaylor #gaylor swift #lgbetty #tily #reputation #call it what you want #taylor swift

[eviexstratford]

So Watch Me Fly | Self-Para

Evelyn was terrified. Which she knew was to be expected. It had been a wonderful visit, even though she had actually missed Gray’s presence at their home. She could at least be happy in the fact that she was indeed giving her poor sister a break from their parent’s relentless bothering. And, now that they had seen for themselves that she was happy and healthy and doing well, they would ease up. So that had been good, and seeing her friends again? Nothing could have been more perfect. She and Landry continued on as if no time at all had past, as best friends did. And Devon? After a bit of awkwardness and obvious lingering guilt on his part, they went on much the same as well. Like the life-long friends that they all were. But too quickly those wonderfully rare few days of catching up were gone, and now it was time. And Evie wondered if she could really do this..

Don't know why I'm frightened I know my way around here

It was time. They had done as they’d planned, Devon going out first and a small bit on his own before she was ‘introduced’ and joined him. In those precious few moments, she took that time to collect herself.

But I'm not in any hurry And I need a moment

To look down at the exquisite costume that Elijah had lovingly and perfectly made, it’s vibrant reds and oranges designed to complement the Flamenco music that she and Dev had chosen. And she had been right, it was almost like he was there with her. Before she knew it though, it was time. One more deep breath and then she was gliding towards Devon on the ice, her smile wide as her ears nearly throbbed from the deafening applause. That was all for her ‘big’ intro, as there would be time for bows later. Now, without missing a beat, she took his hand as they went into the routine that they had been practicing (under the watchful eye of their coach this time) for months. And..it was perfect. Flawless, just as their countless practices had led up to. It made it all worth it, the rushed pain in the butt weekends that she had spent, flying from school to the rink only to fly back again before she felt like they had even accomplished anything. Obviously they had, as Evie was in her element. Shimmering and sparkling, and not just her costume. She herself sparkled as she always had, becoming one with the sounds of Charo’s Caliente’.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0QgrirVDH1Y

She and Dev locked eyes and hands, flying apart only to come together again, the chemistry that had always been between them even more evident as they completed the more sensual steps towards the end. Then it was over, at once almost as fast as it started while also seeming to last forever. Devon dipped her before bringing them nose-to-nose as the music ended with the same flourish as they did, laughing and breathless. They parted then, Dev keeping hold of her hand as they took their bows. Her name was chanted, yelled. Signs were held up and roses were already being tossed onto the ice. It really was almost as if she had never left.. The two of them, still hand and hand, then glided off the rink and into the waiting arms of their coaches and friends.

I'm trembling now You can't know how I've missed you

The break was a short one but she enjoyed it. Watching Landry work her magic on the ice was always something special, and she had a moment to text her parents and Jason in the crowds before it was time to go change for her solo skate. This one..it was special. She had designed her costume herself, a confection of ice blue velvet shot through with silver threads that cascaded onto the flowing chiffon skirt. It would make her shimmer once again but in way this time. This was the Evie people were used to seeing: fragile but strong, delicate but capable. Charming and captivating and maybe even a bit theatrical. ‘Flamenco Evelyn’ had given them something different but this was what they were all here to see. The two sides of her; fire and ice. It was ice’s time now, and she was ready. Music that she had carefully chosen swelled as she glided onto the ice once more, the ice her home and the crowds her family.

I'm coming out of make-up The lights already burning Not long until the cameras will start turning And the early morning madness And the magic in the making Yes, everything is as if we never said goodbye

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_5erci6mNvQ

The words of the song resonated with her, as did the emotional tone of the singer. Which was why she had picked this version, though it may not have been one of the more common or popular ones. It suited her and that made it hers. Evie started strong and stayed strong, the routine that she had a hand in choreographing like second nature to her now. She knew what was coming, and what’s more..she knew that she was ready for her. Closing her eyes, she sent a prayer to whoever happened to be listening and then simply..went for it. Small body torquing and turning at her will, Evelyn counted the rotations. One, two, three, and then, miraculously..four. She had done it; she had landed a quad! Tears of joy and pride streamed down her face as she finished the routine, this time ending with a soft and graceful bow. Yes, she had done it. She had reached past the pain and darkness of that first year or so after her accident, reached into a place of light and strength and accomplished something she never dreamt that she would. 

And this time will be bigger And brighter than we knew it So watch me fly, we all know I can do it

Pale eyes shimmered with tears as Evelyn looked into the crowds once more, the faces of her friends and family coming into focus as if they were the ones spot lit. She made her waves and blew her kisses, then simply stood and took it all in. Basking in the love of not only those who were there but those who couldn’t be, but whose love had still just as much brought here there. They had brought her to this point and she would be nothing without any of them. After mouthing a final ‘thank you’, she once more skated off the rink and into Landry and Dev’s waiting arms. Yes she was home, but there was also another home in her life now. And she couldn’t wait to get back to it and share her triumph with the new family in her life. She could do that now, knowing she would be back. Her life..was just where it was supposed to be.

@grayxstratford  @quinten-sawyer  @professor-shaw  @liamoftheirish  @xdamienblackx  @elijahxxwilson  @everlasting-unicorn @leibxedelman @lesliestedeman @ava-montgomery​  @margeauxxadkins​

#Evie things #new dreams #headcanon #self para #i know that no one is actually going to read this literal novel lmao #but i had to get it out of me and she wanted to thank everyone who's helped her in this journey! <3

[aurumacadicus]

Fictober 26/31 -- “I’m doing it, shut up.”

Lottie is wonderfully at ease with her body most of the time, but even she has her insecurities. Luckily she’s got healthy coping mechanisms, one of which is creating chaos as only the youngest, unhinged sibling can.

--

Clint chewed on his cheek thoughtfully, watching as Lottie obediently followed Bruce’s instruction through various yoga poses. She was the only one besides Natasha who could really do the poses without some form of modification, but he wondered how much of it was practice and how much of it was because she was a cat sometimes. She was more flexible than anyone on the team, and she had such fine control over her mutation that she could simply partially shift for the strength she needed.

Not that she needed to for yoga. She’d appeared in the gym to join the rest of the team in a sports bra and shorts, showing off the fact that she was basically pure muscle. Tony had dropped his water bottle. Clint wished he could make fun of him, but he’d spewed his Gatorade all over Thor. She’d always looked so… soft, under her comfy sweaters and swooshy skirts. ‘Even domestic cats have a low body fat percentage, so no matter what I do I just look like this,’ she’d said, clearly embarrassed, and covered her exposed stomach with her arms. They’d all privately decided it wasn’t a topic for discussion based on that.

Natasha had tapped out to go spar with Thor and Steve, but Clint noticed them all glancing over when they took breaks. Tony had tapped out after getting a call from R&D that was just screaming, and he’d sighed and muttered colorfully under his breath about running a company and stalked off. Clint was going to make a highlight reel for him. Steve had made a really interesting noise when Natasha had used her thighs to fling him across the mats.

“So, can you do difficult poses?” Clint asked as Lottie, upside-down, rested her knees on her elbows.

“Crane pose is difficult, Clint,” Bruce admonished, scowling at him.

Clint stuck his tongue out at him, then rolled his eyes. “I mean, sure, it’s advanced, but it’s not like… top hardest yoga pose, is it?”

“Yoga is a spiritual exercise,” Bruce began.

“Yeah, I can do what some people call the top five,” Lottie said, apparently oblivious to the fact that Clint was just teasing her. She tipped her head back to look up at them, blinking slowly. “I’ve talked about Maryam before. Her mom ran her own yoga studio in town. She let all of Maryam’s friends shadow classes so long as we were respectful and helped clean up around the studio.”

Clint couldn’t help a wry smile. “Let me guess. You were especially helpful.”

“I couldn’t say. Apoorva was never really fast and loose with her praise,” Lottie answered, and somehow managed to shrug even with her knees on her elbows. “Probably wouldn’t have felt right, anyway. Cat,” she offered, pupils going feline in demonstration before going round again. “She leaned more into the meditation teachings of it than the Americanized version.”

Bruce perked up. “Oh, do you think you could ask her to suggest some reading materials for me?”

Lottie blinked up at him in surprise. “Uh, yeah? Probably? Can I relax now?”

“Oh my god, yes,” Bruce spluttered, checking his watch. “Lottie, I’m so sorry.”

Clint watched Lottie stretch her legs back up, then back, until her toes touched the floor. Then she simply stood the fuck up, as if her weight hadn’t just been entirely on her arms. “My spine would simply snap in half,” he murmured to himself.

“We could start with an easier position for you,” Bruce offered.

Clint turned to give him a bitch face. “I meant because I’m old.”

“You are pretty old,” Lottie said sympathetically.

Clint stood more on instinct than actual anger, fists coming up. “Old enough to throw you out the window.”

“I’ll snap you like a twig,” Lottie replied, scowling at him, before she giggled and covered her mouth. “I’m sorry. I can’t keep a straight face that long. You know I don’t mean it, right?”

Clint had never for a moment assumed she would. Still, he wasn’t one not to milk a situation in his favor. “You can make it up to me by doing the top five hardest poses.”

Bruce swiveled to glare at him again. “Clint. Behave.”

“I dunno how,” Clint said, and was probably only saved from being punched by Lottie shrugging.

“Yeah, sure,” she agreed.

Bruce turned to look at her and sighed, put upon. “You’re rewarding his bad behavior.”

“I don’t think he knows what good behavior is,” Lottie reasoned.

Clint nodded along, because that sounded about right. Then she grinned, and he realized she’d meant it as an insult. “Hey!”

“I’m doing it,” Lottie cut in before he could say anything else, throwing herself into a handstand. “Shut up.”

“…This is a hard pose?” Clint asked, dubious, as she began spreading her legs.

Bruce crossed his arms and scowled at him. “It takes a lot of core strength and balance, Clint.”

As he watched, Lottie shifted her weight onto her right arm, lifting her left hand up to rest on her hip. Her arm didn’t even tremble. “Holy shit.”

“This isn’t even the hardest one,” Lottie told him smugly.

“I wanna see you do the hardest one,” Clint said.

Bruce rolled his eyes, groaning quietly. “You’re such a child.”

Clint glanced at him, raising his eyebrows in challenge. “Can you do it?”

“No, because I’m older than you. I’d fucking disintegrate,” Bruce scoffed.

Lottie put her hand back on the ground, bringing her legs back together as well. “I don’t find the scorpion pose as difficult as most people,” she said, legs coming forward, forward, forward, until she could tap her toes to her forehead. “I find Sirsasana li Padmasana more difficult, but that’s because I hate putting my head on the floor.”

“ARE YOU DOING THE SCORPION,” Natasha bellowed from the mats.

Clint watched Lottie casually turn on her hands to face her. “Hmm I don’t like this actually.”

“She’s a backwards C,” Bruce agreed, looking faintly green in a sickly way and not a hulkly way.

“You asked,” Lottie scoffed.

“Okay but you’re kind of freaking me out,” Steve said, hiding behind Thor. “Please stop.”

“No, I want to see how long she can hold it,” Natasha argued.

Lottie grinned, wide and sinister, and—for lack of a better term—started sprinting toward the mats on her hands.

“NOOO OH MY GOD,” Steve shouted, terrified, and Thor flinched.

Clint watched her chase the two of them around, cackling, then sighed and looked up at Bruce. “Tony is going to be so upset he missed this.”

Bruce sighed and crossed his arms. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much.”

“Huh?” Clint said, but then Steve was grabbing him, picking him up, throwing him in Lottie’s direction. “STEVE WHAT THE FUCK?!”

It didn’t even help, because Lottie expertly swerved around him to continue chasing Steve. Clint decided he deserved it.

.-.

“Oh,” Clint said, as both Lottie and Tony, scorpion posing, cornered a screaming Steve in the common room. He almost felt bad for him.

Luckily Thor eventually came and scooped the two of them up, scolding them about knowing when to end a joke as he carried them away.

#aurumacadicus writes #original character #marvel #fictober

[lexa-griffins]

Ngl very interested in that angst route in Older Moms AU. 🫣

👀 its definitely not the vibe I want for the fic as it really is about them as two older women who have high school going on college-aged kids and now are faced with two new babies after no having them for more than a decade and dealing with the way parenthood changed and how they themselves have changed since they were new moms.... but the angsty route is also so tempting sjsjsnzk

Like they turned their lives around for these new babies. Everything they had started getting rid of was suddenly needed again, in double. And as the months went on, they were really excited for these babies, they loved them already and so did their older kids.

And everything is going so wonderfully until Lexa starts losing blood during the delivery. The doctor told them she was fine for a normal delivery despite everything and although Clarke had talked about how maybe it was best to play it safe and have Lexa have a c-section Lexa wanted to at least try going natural. And then all hell breaks lose.

Because suddenly theyvare pushing Clarke out if the room and she understands the medical talk going around her but she can't fully process it because thats her wife and their babies and someone just tell her straight what's happening, is she going to lose the three of them? They have two older kids dont they get that they cant lose their mom and Clarke cant lose her wife and their two little miracles dont they get that?

The first baby that's delivered is healthy, a strong baby girl that looks so much like Lexa. They try everything they can to save the youngest baby, but she's too weak, too tiny. She only lived three hours, and those might have been the most painful three hours of Clarke's life up until the moment they tell her she's passed. And now she's here. Holding her beautiful new baby daughter whose twin fought sonhard but didn't make it. And Lexa is still not awake. She's out of danger but nownits a waiting game until her body recovers and she wakes up.

And what happens when she does? How is Clarke gonna tell her one of their babies is gone? And the kids, oh the kids were so excited to meet their baby sisters, how is Clarke gonna hold it together when she introduces them to only ome of the twins and tells them the other isnt with them anymore or that their mom is in a coma because she lost so much blood? The kids who did everythduring Lexa's pregnancy to make sure she was healthy and didn't strain herself too much because they are smart kids who knew this pregnancy was risky.

Those two days are a complete blur, betwen tears and the joys of the first two days of their daughter's life, overshadowed by the grief and the gloom of her mother not yet having held her.

And when Lexa wakes up she feels so heavy. Not pregnant heave, just her entire body is heavy. Her children are all in the room with her, a newborn sleeping in her oldest son's arms... only one newborn. She knows the moment Clarke looks at her with tears in her eyes. They lost her. They lost her and Lexa never got to see her or hold her. The surviving baby is placed into her arms and she is so beautiful and wonderful and Lexa cannot believe she is here but there should be two and her baby was alive and she was breathing and living and then she wasn't.

Every first of their newbaby daughter has the shadow of her sister on it. The first feeding is so wonderful until they tell Lexa she might need to pump more frequently because her body is still producing milk for two babies, not one. The first smile, the little purposeful sounds, all so magical and a reminder of the one that's not here. Every single fear Lexa had about being a mom again in her mid 40s are both put to rest with their healthy baby and were realized with the baby that's not here. Going back to the house, the double of everything they got just standing there as a reminder.

Their oldest kids who are grieving and being faced with death like this for the first time and being able to understand it. How attatched they are to the baby, watching her like hawks because they are afraid something might happen. Doing the same with Lexa because they stated at their mom connected to machines and machines for two days being unable to wake her up.

Clarke gets a vasectomy soon after. This happens in the actual fic canon too but while there is a light-hearted funny event because there's no way they are letting this happen again, in this alternative route is because they cannot imagine this happening again not when their baby isnt here anymore.

#letter opened #au: older moms #tw baby death #its fine this is not what actually happens dont worry #those two little girls are fine and being smoothered with kissed from her moms and her older siblings fjdjdksso

[dva-0n-l1ne]

Xiao holding Ganyu from behind while she gives birth to their 2nd child

“Hgn..! I-it hurts…” 

Ganyu breathed out, her back pressed to Xiao’s chest. She was basically sitting in his lap, legs spread, deep in labor. His arms were around her, rubbing her swollen stomach as it contracted. She let out small whimpers. Her water had broken around an hour ago and progress has been slow. 

“Shhh… You can do this. You did wonderfully the first time. Just let your body guild you.” Xiao mumbled against the top of her head. There wasn’t much he could do for her besides encouragement. He had complete confidence she would birth another healthy child. She was so strong. 

“H-hah… T-the pressure is building! I-i have to push! Hugh!”

Ganyu’s body seemed to finally reach its peak, the baby fully dilating her cervix. With a deep breath she bore down as hard as she could, letting out a small cry of pain. The baby’s head slowly dropping into her birth canal. She finally relaxed, falling back against Xiao’s chest, “That’s it, you’re doing great.” He praised, wiping some sweat from her forehead, “Next contraction, give another big one.” Ganyu weakly nodded her head, feeling her stomach tighten with another contraction, she pushed as hard as she could. Trembling in his lap as she felt the baby sink further out of her cervix. Again she relaxed as the contraction ended, 

“I-it just feels so big!” Ganyu whined, her poor insides were being spread wide around the baby. Even without pushing, she could feel it moving lower slightly. This was admittedly a much easier birth than her first one. She knew what to do now. What to expect. That didn’t make it any less painful or hard.

“H-here comes another one…!”

“Come on, big push!”

“Hnnngh!”

Ganyu pushed down hard once more, her entrance now starting to bulge from the head of the baby. A peak of blue hair was starting to show. First a tear drop but then it started to spread wider, “I-it burns so much…” She squeezed her thighs tightly. She had to relax. Let her body naturally stretch around the head. Slowly she started to crown, making her whimper, pressing herself against Xiao for support. The baby’s head had her stretched almost to a breaking point. Tears were in poor Ganyu’s eyes. She just wanted the baby out. She weeped softly, Xiao pressing kisses on her cheek.

“You’re almost there… Soon we get to meet our new baby.”

She nodded her head, “I-i want to meet them so badly…”

She had been waiting eagerly for nine months to be the proud mother of two beautiful children. Both fathered by the man she loved so much. She couldn’t give up now.

With a new wave of strength, she sat up a bit again, getting ready for the next contraction. She pushed down as hard as she could. The baby’s head inching forward and then back again as she relaxed. This continued for several more pushes until she let out a cry, the baby’s head finally popping free from her in a gush of fluid. 

“You’re doing great honey… So close.” 

Ganyu could feel the baby turning inside her, getting her ready to get the shoulders out. It gave her a moment to work her energy back up again, “I-i want to meet my baby!” She cried, pushing down again. The shoulders came easier than the head. One popped out, then the next. Then the rest of the baby slowly slid out of her. Xiao was quick to catch the baby for her, letting her lay against him as he cleaned it, and then gently laid it into her arms,

“S-she’s so perfect…” Ganyu stammered, now crying with joy now that her baby was here. A healthy little girl with her blue hair and the start of tiny horns. They now had both a son and a daughter. 

“Perfect, just like her mother… You did so good.” Xiao praised, pressing kisses on her cheek, holding her against him as they basked in the joy of their second child coming into the world. 

“I love you so much, Xiao… Thank you for letting me be the mother of your children.” She looked up at him with a smile, her words being cut off by his lips against hers,

“I couldn’t think of another person I’d rather have a family with, Ganyu.”

#A horned pleasure: Ganyu #//Undercut because its so long #But fuck yeah #I need more birth prompts #I loved this #I hope its okay njdfjkd

[verkja]

Day 3: Lost

Decided to do a one-off story with unnamed characters (lady whumpee, nonbinary 'whumper' of sorts) for this. Some of the future writing prompts, if I manage to do them, might be about my OCs, or I might just do more like this; we'll see.

CWs: Violence, injury, captivity, forced to fight, unwilling whumper, asking for death, mentioned tooth whump, begging, implied starvation, screwy power dynamics, open ending.

Words: About 1K

Their next punch was even less enthusiastic than the last. They doubted it was strong enough to rip through a sheet of paper, had one been present in this bizarre gladiatorial ring.

It still sufficed to knock their opponent to the ground. Again. Frankly, they probably could’ve toppled her over with a light puff of breath at this point, but she kept getting back up.

They’d been panting earlier in the fight, when she’d been putting up at least a token resistance, but that had been long enough ago that they were no longer even slightly out of breath. Taking a few steps back, they watched unhappily as their opponent braced herself against the wall and slowly, painfully, dragged herself upright again.

‘Look,’ they said, as she wiped a trickle of blood from her chin with a shaking hand, ‘you have to know you can’t win by now. Hell, you’ve already lost. Just give up. I don’t want to hurt you any more.’

She didn’t reply, only grinned mirthlessly at them. They’d knocked out a few of her teeth - or maybe she’d already been missing some of those, it was hard to tell. She’d been in bad shape when she entered the ring, covered in bruises, emaciated, with an arm that looked like it had been broken and healed crooked.

They didn’t want to think about how long she’d been trapped here. It had only been a week since they’d been captured, and they were already feeling the effects of the ordeal. The organisation behind this establishment had kept them locked in a small, dark room with minimal food and water, only letting them out to fight as entertainment for the shadowy audience hidden in the shrouded seats around the ring.

It was impossible to know why they’d been chosen for this. They had no fighting experience, weren’t even physically fit - they’d worked an office job, for goodness sakes, their idea of exercise had been walking to the pizza joint a few blocks away rather than taking a cab. But the rules they’d been given were simple enough: Win, and you go free. Surrender, and you stay to fight again tomorrow.

Refuse to surrender, and… Well, their captors hadn’t mentioned that option, and they hadn’t tried figuring it out. Their previous opponents had overpowered them easily, and they’d surrendered before being seriously hurt. It made sense to try and stay as healthy as they could until the organisation matched them against an opponent they actually had a chance of beating.

Now that had happened, but it wasn’t going how they’d hoped at all. When the doors of the ring had opened and they’d seen who they were up against, their heart had leapt. The woman facing them had been slumped to one side, swaying on her feet, unlikely to be a threat even to someone as average as they were. They’d thought it would just take a punch or two before she gave up, and they were free to return to their friends and family and normal, wonderfully boring life. Of course they’d felt bad for their opponent, but it wasn’t like they’d asked to be here any more than she had.

Although she’d put up more of a fight than they’d anticipated, even from the start it had been clear she knew she had no chance at victory. It had almost seemed like she was trying to make them angry, more than anything, and that had mystified them. If she’d tried that on some of the people they’d been up against earlier in the week, and refused to surrender, she’d have been killed without hesitation.

They’d assumed that she hadn’t tried it on anyone like that, but now they were beginning to suspect she hadn’t gotten the chance, and it made them feel sick. The organisation must have only put her up against people who were in similarly terrible condition, to watch the poor captives slug it out until one of them expired from sheer exhaustion or, fragile from malnourishment, broke something serious enough to die from.

To avoid any deeper reflection, they grabbed their opponent by the front of her tattered shirt and yanked, tossing her past them and onto the ground again. She hit the floor and rolled, not on her shoulder or with any coordination, but like an empty can discarded carelessly out a car window.

‘Just surrender already. Please.’

Her shirt folded into a valley between her shoulderblades as she pushed herself onto hands and knees. Before she could rise, they hurried over and shoved her back onto the floor with a heel on her spine.

‘Please,’ they begged her. ‘What’s the point of putting it off? We both know they’re not letting us out of here until one of us gives up, or until one of us dies, and it’s obvious you can’t win. Don’t make me - well -’

‘Do it.’

It was barely audible, a cracked, hoarse whisper against the blood-covered concrete. They might’ve been able to pretend she hadn’t said anything, if the audience hadn’t been so maddeningly silent.

‘Come on,’ they said, leaning down to speak more quietly. ‘I’m not going to - I’m not that kind of person. I can’t do something like that.’

Only the side of her face was visible, cracked lips curved in a smile even with her eye swollen shut.

‘Then surrender.’

They stood back up quickly enough that their head spun.

‘I can’t do that either,’ they said. ‘There’s no way. Look, I have a life, I have -’

They went silent. She probably had friends waiting for her too, a home to return to, pets to care for... There was actually nothing they could say to convince her to give up, was there? She had no more reason to care about them than they had to care about her.

Absurdly, even though she was lying on the floor bleeding, and they were unharmed, the two of them were at an impasse. There was no way out - except to kill her, or to give up what might be their only chance of freedom.

How could this be happening to them? They’d never asked for any of this. They were just a regular, unexceptional person, content to live an absolutely unexceptional life where the hardest decision they had to make was whether they wanted their coffee hot or iced. They weren’t cut out to make this kind of horrible choice, where no matter what they did, something would be lost that could never be replaced.

They closed their eyes and made a decision.

@whumpmasinjuly

#personally like to imagine the POV character surrenders #(much to the other character's surprise) #and later the other character comes back to rescue them somehow #WiJ22day3 #whumpmasinjuly #whump writing #lady whump #my writing #alt text #cw:violence #cw:injury #cw:captivity #cw:starvation #open ending/cliffhanger #WiJ22

[pinkieloveheartpastel]

• WARNING. I use large letters very frequently.

• WARNING: *18+ BLOG!!!* I WILL BLOCK YOU IF YOU REFUSE TO RESPECT MY BOUNDARIES. PERIOD.

• This blog is ran by a kink-positive and kinky being who refuses to stand for any sort of kink-shaming, and will happily block you if you do so!!! This blog is also being ran by the Evil Kinky Sex Demons™!!!

• This blog is also being ran by a mentally and physically disabled person. Crippled mentally and physically.

• DISABLED UNITY!!!

• THIS IS A PRO-WHORE/HO/SLUT/HOOCHIE BLOG!!! WE SUPPORT WHORES, SLUTS, HO’s, AND ANY OTHER WORDS USED TO DESCRIBE PEOPLE WHO ARE CONFIDENT IN THEIR SEXUALITY, WHO KNOW WHAT THEY WANT, AND WHO ENJOY HEALTHY, AND SAFE CONSENSUAL SEX!!! AND BEING SLUTTY AF HAS NO GENDER!!! RESPECT THE WHORES, OR GTFO!!!

💕💕💕 SEX WORK (it’s in the name) IS REAL WORK!!!! WE SUPPORT SEX WORKERS AROUND THESE PARTS!!! 💕💕💕

BEING A SLUT IS ALSO GENDER-NEUTRAL. MEN, WOMEN, ENBIES, MULTIGENDERS, ETC, ANYONE CAN BE A SLUT!!!

• Black people, especially black women (CIS, TRANS, INTERSEX) with brown, dark brown, and black skin, unambiguous African features, and 4c hair deserve to feel beautiful, handsome, pretty, (etc.), desired, and like royalty, so fuck you, and fuck off.

• This blog FULLY AND AGGRESSIVELY SUPPORTS FAT POSITIVITY, FAT ACTIVISM, FAT ACCEPTANCE. FAT PEOPLE DESERVE TO SIMPLY LIVE, FEEL BEAUTIFUL, AND BE TREATED WITH BASIC FUCKING RESPECT. PERIOD!!!

• When I say all bodies are beautiful and valid… I FUCKING MEAN THAT SHIT!!!

• Trans people of all forms and all bodies are extremely valid!!! Neo pronouns, xenogenders, etc!!!

• Otherkin are also extremely valid!!! Period!!!

• Mspec (Bi/Pan/Etc) Lesbians/Gays ARE 100% VALID!!! LOVE YOU MSPEC BEINGS!!!

~About Me~

(WARNING, I WRITE A LOT!!!)

Hello my little earthlings!!! My name is Jonathan Edgar Pinkaroony LoveHeart Pastel!!! ^-^

Sometimes I refer to myself as Eddie for short, or Pinkie as a nickname!!!

I love being referred to as Mr, Miss, and Mx, so call me by any of them!!!

~ 🧚🏿‍♀️🌸💕 ~ The Basics: ~ 💕🌸🧚🏿‍♀️ ~

I am a beautifully, and wonderfully-made black trigender being, first and foremost, and I want people to know, once again, that I AM NOT WITH THAT ANTI-BLACK SHIT!!! I AM PROUD TO BE BLACK!!!

I am also very otherkin (alien, fairy)!!!

I am also a proud black intersectional feminist!!!

✨✨✨ I am also pro-QUEER (this includes mspec genders and sexualities), and pro-PROTECT BLACK TRANS PEOPLE, OR ELSE!!!

I go by She/Her, Fae/Faer, They/Them, He/Him, and It/Its, and I am physically in my early twenties, but I am immortal!!!

I am also a pink fairy princess!!! ^-^

I adore pink. Mainly pastel and light pink.

I am deeply sensitive and soft-heart and proud of it!!! Not everyone is tough and hardened and that is okay, and I refuse to be shamed for that!!!

💕💕💕 I am also a deeply romantic person who often daydreams of all kinds of wonderful, sickeningly sweet scenarios involving romance and such. Something out of a fairytale. I also love writing about, and talking about it, and I hope to make someone happy someday, because my heart is way too full of love to have it be given only to myself and my friends. 💕💕💕

I am a self-diagnosed Autistic person who is semi-verbal, and I see and feel the world with a very unique perspective, and I feel that is beautiful. 💕💕💕

I also suffer from generalized anxiety, depression and suicidal thoughts, and OCD, which is a struggle. Especially when it comes to OCD. But I’m here and I’m doing my best, and that is a plus for me! It is important for me to say this, because people need to know that black people having mental illnesses is real, and that our trauma and struggles are valid and painful, and is not a “white” thing. Mental illness does not discriminate.

I am also forever moving through the world with a funky body. With so much pain, and so much fatigue, and very little breath, and a funky-looking spine, but I’m still here!!!

~ 🧚🏿‍♀️🌸💕 ~ My Interests: ~ 💕🌸🧚🏿‍♀️ ~

First of all, I LOVE FANTASY!!! From writing, to drawing, to dressing up, to making things, fantasy is in everything I do, and it’s what I eat, sleep and breath twenty-four seven!!! Fantasy is life!!!

I am a writer who prefers to make slice of life erotica fantasy stories focusing on romance, love, and sex, as well as polyamory. I hope to get published someday, but I also want people to simply read my stories, and see the vast universes that I’ve created. Especially with so much diversity, which means a lot to me. Seeing so many characters from so many walks of live who live differently means so much to me.

I also create extremely passionate rants here and there to express how I feel about many different topics, such as bigotry, the environment, witchcraft, global warming, animal rights, fashion, mental health, and so much more!

I am also an extreme girly girl who adores all things feminine, delicate, and vintage (Edwardian, Victorian, 50s, 60s, and 70s), as well as kawaii fashion, and is determined to make most of my clothing pink, but I am also a goth and a metalhead, and strive to drench the other half of me in black, skulls, bats, spiders and spider webs, and all things gothic!!!

I am a big lover of not just gothic, but also alternative, and demonic aesthetics!!!

I want to look like a fairy princess with cute tattoos consisting of vines, leaves, flowers, hearts, and cute words and quotes that I created myself, but I also want to make myself look like a goth demon who crawled right out of the deepest depths of hell, and with ancient tattoos all over my face and body.

I tend to fluctuate between those two dramatically different styles. And sometimes, they merge.

I also aspire to be a fashion designer who designs fantasy fashion, as well as a cosplayer, and I also greatly enjoy dressing up very, very colorfully. I can fluctuate between looking like a doll, then a fairy, then a rainbow clown, and then a gothic demon.

I am also a Witch, Pagan (Norse and Hellenic) and Theistic Satanist. I also love practicing with flowers, which are mainly pink, as pink is my signature color, and a color which influences me greatly, and means many different wonderful things to me. I also use many things for my altar that I feel represents me, and what I value most. For example, I often draw hearts and spiral-shaped vines, because the heart means a lot to me, and represents love, compassion, empathy, passion, emotion, and change for the good, instead of bad. I also draw vines with flowers and leaves, which represent nature for me, and it’s everlasting growth in life.

I also love using heart-shaped items, such as this golden locket that I got from a vintage store years ago, as well as my drawings, statues, fake plants, glitter, lace, frills, and other things.

I also use witchcraft for dressing myself, as art in general is also something that means a lot to me in my craft.

I also care deeply about nature, non-human animals, and the environment. I cannot do everything, since billionaires are the ones who control how the environment works, and we must stop that, but I can do some things, such as recycling and not littering, and that means a lot to me. I wish a lot more people cared, BECAUSE I AM FUCKING TIRED OF SEEING TRASH BEING THROWN OUT OF VEHICLES, AND PILED UP INTO DITCHES!!!

WE ALREADY HAVE BILLIONAIRES FUCKING EVERYTHING UP AS IT IS!!! STOP IT!!!

Also, animal abusers deserve death. Period.

Abusers, period, deserve death...

I am also a wizard who just wants to grow a full, thick, luxurious beard to fly away and slap bigots with. uwu

I also collect dolls and stuffed animals. I just love how cute and detailed they are, and I appreciate the artistic effort that was put into their appearance. I see both the dolls and stuffed animals as my companions, and I’ve also given my stuffed animals their own names, so that I can connect more with them, and imagine them having souls of their own.

I FUCKING LOVE COTTAGECORE, FAIRYCORE, PRINCESSCORE, GRANDMACORE, GOTHCORE, ANGEL/DEMONCORE, VAMPIRE CORE, CLOWNCORE, LOVECORE, KIDCORE, FUCK YEAH!!! 💕💕💕

I also adore vintage aesthetics in general, besides clothing, and enjoy learning about, and indulging in all things that are historical.

I love all kinds of music genres, but I am a metalhead and a goth. Period.

My two favorite bands of all time are UnSun, a gothic/Industrial metal band that officially ended back in 2016, and The Birthday Massacre, a rock band that is the epitome of a gothic fairytale, and I will eat you if you disagree.

My main favorite goth bands are: SCARY BLACK, Wisborg, Rosegarden Funeral Party, Faith and the Muse, Horror Vacui, Switchblade Symphony, She Past Away, Diva Destruction, etc!!!

My other favorite artists are Cecile Corbel, Melanie Martinez, One Eyed Doll, Jhené Aiko, Birdy, Troye Sivan, Tove Lo, Charli XCX, Spiritbox, Lacuna Coil, Netta, BAMBI VALENTINO!!! (formerly Maddy Ellwanger. My favorite album by her former name is ‘Hunny’, which is from 2017, and omfg I love it so much!!!), Baarka!!!, Raja Kumari!!!, and so much more!!! I love ALL kinds of music!!!

That is all for now, little earthlings!!! Thank you for reading, and have a wonderful day, night, evening, whatever time it is near you!!!

🌸💕💕💕🌸 ~ Pinkie ~ 🌸💕💕💕🌸

#kawaii #pink witch #the color pink #girly girl #hyper feminine #cute uwu #so cute uwu #nature witch #soft black girls #soft black women #black nonbinary woman #nonbinary woman #black enby #enby #queer #queer woman #trigender #trigender woman #feminine boy #feminine man #femboy #alien girl #alien

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter twenty - “collateral damage”

delicate masterlist

word count: 2k

synopsis: bucky and y/n deal with the emotional fallout of her departure from wakanda.

pairings: bucky barnes x fem!reader

warnings: mildly suggestive content, nothing explicit, 18+ readers please.

The flight home was wretched. Sleeping on the jet was impossible. Every time she shut her eyes she saw his face. If her mind did somehow manage to drift off to sleep, Y/N dreamed of him and woke up trying not to rip her hair out.

"We can still stay in contact, right?" Bucky asked as they were walking back from the waterfall.

They had left their catharsis by the water, still upset, but now calmer and more logical.

"I don't think so..."

"What? Why? It's not like we don't have the technology to do it."

"I know, but.." Y/N trailed off, trying to think of a sensible excuse.

Obviously they could stay in contact if they wanted. But any kind of phone call would be able to be tracked or recorded. That, and she didn't want him to hang on to someone who betrayed him. She couldn't imagine the guilt she'd have hearing Bucky's "I miss you's" or "Baby doll's" from miles away, knowing she lied to him.

"You don't even have a phone..."

"That's an easy problem to fix."

"I know... I just think you should focus on the rest of your healing, and... you know, I'll have a lot of work once I get back...." she took a breath. "I don't know if it's super healthy for us to cling on to each other when it... may be better to move on..."

"Move on?"

"Yeah..."

Bucky stopped walking and turned to face her. They both stood still and he stared at her, confused, as if he was trying to figure something out. He knew her well. She was scared he'd see right through her.

"So let me get this straight. When you're here we can talk all the time and... plenty of other things. But when you're away we can't even call each other?"

"Bucky..."

"That's not all, is it?"

She sighed. "I'm just... worried... about- like-... getting in trouble. If someone overhears or tracks a phone call...What if someone finds out where the 'Winter Soldier' is and comes here to exact revenge?"

That was partly true. She'd never want anyone bad to find out where he was. But no one was tracking her phone calls; she wasn't really a person of interest. In all likelihood, it probably wasn't something she'd have to be terribly worried about.

However, if anyone overheard or saw Bucky on the phone, they'd know it was her, and she doubted anything she could say would convince them that she didn't tell him about the arm.

Or maybe no one would find out. She just didn't want to take the chance. The last time she took a chance, this happened. She wasn't willing to do it again.

He stared at her with dejected eyes. "You know you don't have to worry about me. I'll be okay."

She rested her hands on his forearms and laughed sadly. "Bucky, I don't think I'm ever not gonna worry about you."

He was already in her heart. She didn't think he could leave now.

He let his eyelids fall shut. "I really don't want you to go."

She closed her eyes as well and let her forehead rest against the top of his chest.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't want to leave you either. But you're gonna do so well, even without me. And every day I'll wake up and think 'wow this man is sexy and has good coping mechanisms! I wish I was him!'"

In the midst of his sadness, she made him laugh. It was a despondent, quiet laugh, but she managed to lift his mood all the same - even if just a little bit. She'd always make everything better.

He gazed down at her, eyes heavy, and without even thinking about it... "I love you."

She looked down at the grass below her feet. "Buck..."

"I do. I'm sorry but I do."

She wrapped her arms around the middle of his back, pressing her face into the crook of his neck. He grabbed her shoulders and pulled her in tight, one arm up her back and the other cradling her head.

In the tiniest whisper, she let the truth flow out from her chest. "I love you, too."

The clouds provoked her, so peaceful and quiet, while her head was a big, loud mess. Y/N leaned her head on the window, glaring at them and wondering if she should've said what she did. That she loved him. Internally, she debated whether or not it would make things worse. But she wasn't going to see him again; she might as well have left him with the truth.

Time was lost to her. She thought she would be landing soon, but she couldn't be sure. She couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

-

Bucky sat at the lake - their lake - and just stared into the water. It felt so strange to him, that she was gone. One minute she was here and now he was just... alone.

It was so quiet. Too quiet. Of course being alone was quiet, but after Y/N left, the air just felt empty.

He wished he could talk to her. Whenever he was upset, all he wanted to do was talk to her.

"So, is this... d-do we say goodbye now?" he asked when they got back to his hut.

"Yeah..." she sighed. "yeah."

"Are you going back to Europe?"

"Yes. Belgium. Haven't been in my apartment in forever."

"Belgium," he wondered. "It's nice there. Safe. What are you gonna do for work?"

"Probably just continue where I left off on my research. Fancy brain stuff, ya'know?"

He grinned, proud. "My smart girl."

She looked around her, as if watching for something. Or someone.

"Buck, I think I have to go now."

"Just one more minute? Please. I wanna remember you like this. Not sad and crying."

Y/N smiled, grabbed his hands, and kissed his knuckles. Both flesh and metal. Because they were both part of him and she loved him. All of him.

Then, she placed both his hands on either side of her face. Softly she said, "remember me like this," before bringing their lips together.

He looked down at his vibranium arm, twisting his wrist to watch how the plates whirred.

Since the first moment he put it on, he had been using it to be gentle, loving, and affectionate. This arm was good. This arm wasn't used for death and destruction and violence.

With this arm he held her, kissed her, loved her. And now she was gone. And now it felt like dead weight.

— ONE WEEK LATER —

Whenever Bucky looked at his bionic arm he saw her. It began to make him sad.

His hair had been getting longer and longer. He could cut it now, now that he had two arms. But every time he tried, all he could do was stare at the arm and hear her voice in his head.

"That's your heart. That's you. You're all heart, Buck. You're so deeply, wonderfully human. All the way to your bones."

That was the first time he expressed real distress about missing a limb, he recalled. That was the first time they kissed. Funny how that transition was made, funny how she could remedy some of his worst emotions.

His days were boring and uneventful and nearly silent. He sat alone a lot. There was no laughter anymore, none of her laughter. There was no more holding, no more kissing, no more loving. The arm just felt... wrong? Like what it was born from had died.

-

In Belgium, Y/N felt incredibly uncomfortable. She knew she just needed to adjust to the change, after getting to used to life in Wakanda - life with Bucky. Her vacant apartment didn't feel as homey.

It had been, what, a year and a half? About a year and a half since she had been home. About a year and a half spent with Bucky.

Her apartment seemed so... barren. Void of life. And cold. She was used to the Wakandan heat. When she closed and locked the door behind her, she looked at the golden square that the sun cast through her window. It reminded her of that heat.

Y/N sighed, cursing her very own hippocampus for providing her with memory.

"God, I wish you had an AC in here."

She was in his bed. Well, she was on top of him, straddling him, in his bed.

"Is it hot or is it just you?" he joked, poking at her sides and trying to not pout at the loss of her lips.

"Ha. Ha," she rolled her eyes and brought her face back to his.

"Wait," Bucky said and gently pulled her face away to examine it. "You are a little warm."

"It's okay," she quickly tried to resume their previous activity.

"Hold on-" he got cut off as Y/N kept pecking his lips over and over.

"I have-"

Kiss.

"An idea-"

Kiss.

Lightly he pushed her shoulders away, nearly giggling. "Stop it! Just wait a second!"

Bashful, she conceded. "What?"

"Just-" he reached out and put the vibranium hand on her forehead, effectively cooling her down a bit. She closed her eyes and flashed a goofy smile.

"That feels nice."

Then, suddenly, he wrapped both his arms around her back and flipped them over so that he was on top. He smirked.

"Oh yeah, you just wait."

She hung her keys up and took a deep breath, absorbing the emptiness. This was her new normal; she just had to get used to it.

-

"I just- I don't really... I don't think I need it," Bucky tried to explain.

Want it, he thought. I don't want it. I can't stand to even look at it.

"You don't need it?" Shuri asked.

"Yeah, it-uh it takes a bit of getting used to and I think I just need a break. And I wouldn't want to damage it so... figured it's better with you."

He was better at lying than he gave himself credit for.

"Okay," Shuri accepted his answer and began to detach the bionic arm. "But you let me know if it's uncomfortable or painful anywhere so I can adjust it. Alright?"

"Alright. Thank you."

Finally he was rid of it- that cursed metal weighing down on his soul. Maybe now he could focus on other things. Maybe. It didn't seem likely...

However, as the days drew closer, it did make him slightly - only slightly -  less nervous about the trigger word experiment. Now he didn't have a weapon attached to him. Though he reckoned he was the weapon.

No. He wasn't supposed to think like that. He knew Y/N wouldn't want him to. He knew she would say something like, "You aren't what they tried to make you into. You're you and all HYDRA's awfulness can't change the good at your core. My Bucky. You're perfect."

He'd deny to high heavens that he was the farthest thing from perfect. Bucky had no clue how she could say such things. But her conviction never faltered.

Soon enough the day came. The experiment. All he could think about was how she was supposed to be there. He didn't want to do this without her.

But now, he found himself sitting at at a fire on some mountain with one of the Doras. It was dark and it was scary. He was scared.

"It is time," said Ayo.

Nevermind want. He wasn't sure if he could do this without her.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I won't let you hurt anyone."

He was still scared. He still didn't trust himself. But, staring into the fire, he thought back to a past conversation.

"You don't have to trust yourself. That's hard enough as it is and Hydra didn't make it any easier. You just trust me, alright? ... And I will not let anything happen to you."

Bucky didn't have to trust himself. He just had to trust her. Even if she wasn't here, even if she was on another continent, all he had to do was trust her. When Ayo began reciting the trigger words, that was the one thing thing he held onto. The one thing that kept him afloat.

His trust in her.

delicate taglist: @emmojoy @bakugouswh0r3 @thefridgeismybestie @strivingforelegance @ilovespideyyy @xpurpleglitter @bluelakeee @darkacademic2 @eclipsedplanet @paradisedixon @crazy-beautiful @coffee--writes @lilithknight1111 @buckybarnesishot310 @softladyhours @alwayssandy @those-sea-green-eyes @hero-ically @devilswaldorf @cc13723things @small-death-and-codeine @avengersgirllorianna @cataves @thatbitchsposts @talktomeaboutthestars @surrealpsycho @headheartbellarke @bubbly-moonwarrior @bluemoon-icecream @buckeyecreates @augustbucky @itsthemaree @undiadeestos

#bucky barnes #bucky fanfic #marvel #bucky fic #bucky reader insert #bucky headcanon #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #steve rogers #bucky drabble #bucky barnes headcanon #bucky barnes smut #bucky imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x fem!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes one shot #captain america fanfiction #bucky barnes delicate

[lovecinnatwist]

Hope u stay safe and healthy! Abo with omega dick and alpha Jay, fluff if possible? Thanks :)

Hi Anon! I am in fact safe and healthy! Have a nice little ficlet of Alpha!Jason and Omega!Dick being very glad that their little pup is also safe, healthy and coming home.

Where the heart is - JayDick Omegaverse

Tags: Kid Fic, Omegaverse, Alpha Jason, Omega Dick, surrogate parent/adoption, lactating/milking Helena Wayne is Helena Mary Grayson Todd

Sometimes Dick Grayson forgets that his mate is an alpha.

It’s easy to do when Jason’s so sweet in a way that’s distinctively omegan. Perhaps it’s the influence of the mother who left him or remnants from the tender affection B only had for his second pup. It’s something soft and tender and so uniquely him that makes Dick love him more and more everyday.

Jason curls around him effortlessly. Warm muscles squeeze tight enough to be pleasant, but not chafing.

Dick has always been a runner. Jason understands that and leaves a clear exit open at all times. A difficult obstacle for traditional courting rituals. Not that the alpha had any challenge clearing hurdle after hurdle. Jason is anything but traditional as well.

So is their current situation.

A large warm hand rests on his shoulder. The heat bleeding out is more than soothing to his already twitching instincts. There’s no reason to be nervous. After all this is a natural occurrence. The pup with latch, Dick knows it will but still his heart flutters with nervousness.

Jason’s rumble soothes the eagerness away. It quells the barrage of emotions ready to burst.

“ Mr and Ms Grayson - Todd? “

The agent from CPS is wonderfully nice, light brown eyes glittering with excitement. The delightful purr of her tone of voice betrays her enthusiasm. Just as Jason’s rise in happy-hopeful-ready betrays his. Dick’s been dreaming of this day for a long time. Long before the aspiration had been stolen from him by a knife. Then again by age and a barely functioning body strung out by high stress.

It’s Jason’s strength that helps him stand.

The sleepy scent of milk and pup adorn the air like perfume. Even before Dick spots his- no their- daughter, every part of his instincts sing. His breast began to ache immediately. The grueling weeks of hormone treatments and supplements are finally worth it.

Worth it as Doctor Leslie gives him tiny, little Helena.

Dick thinks he’s been in love with her since the moment he saw her behind glass. From the moment his breast began to ache when they gave him a few of her blankets to add to his nest. From the very moment Jason told him he could have her.

She’s heavy in a way Dick doesn’t expect. The weight is foreign yet so comfortable to bear. The alpha does not press to see her, or to touch her. Dick gets a few precious moments to marvel at the prettiest pup he’s ever seen.

Gorgeous green eyes open up in seemingly joyful curiosity. Though potentially, it might just be his hopeful outlook that makes it appear that way. Dick wants so badly for her to love him. To love them- to belong to their little broken family. To an omega who is half of what they should be and an alpha who is dysphoric instead of dominating.

The scent of milk is strong enough to draw the pup to root amongst the fabric covering his breast. It’s a gentle motion, one made precious by the very soft sounds of pup calling for pack. Dick’s throat is tight from emotion. Luckily his partner wastes no time in letting out a soothing rumble. The vibrations of the action shakes against his back.

Hot tears sting two different sets of blue eyes.

“She should be quite hungry. It’s time for her lunch time feeding. I’m sure she would greatly appreciate milk from her mommy. “

The word mommy devastates him. It washes his soul out to sea, and wraps him in a whirlpool of bliss. It’s too much and not enough at the same. This child- this pup is going to see him as her dame. She will spend the rest of her life in a warm safe nest never knowing anything but love and affection. Dick hopes that she will love him despite not being apart of her DNA. For not being able to give birth to her himself.

Jason’s touch breaks the track of that train of thought.

It’s a dance to bring a beading nipple to her hungry little mouth. Jason, who is leagues more natural, helps Dick undress and get both him and the pup comfortable. If Dick is lost to the tides, the alpha is a wreckage on the bluff. The chair is big enough for both soon to be parents.

Jason’s warmth is ever present and grounding.

The massive fingers that trail down Helena’s face makes her look so tiny. Like a delicate little thing that could be broken by too fast a movement. Not that Jason has the capacity to be anything but gentle. His heart bleeds for people. It bleeds out until the entirety of Gotham is red with his protection.

It takes both of them together to get Helena to Dick’s leaking breast. The pup whines as she struggles to get the nipple in her mouth. She’s more familiar with the bottle they had told him. That it would take time but eventually she would suckle. There’s no inhale or exhale as the pup attempts to nurse.

Then like magic she latches.

The tears refuse to be held back. Dick’s heart alarmingly full as Helena feeds forcefully but eagerly. The moment she gets a mouth full she’s quick to take more. Her hungry little mouth makes loud sounds and she feeds. Jason purrs in encouragement. His hand lightly tickles her wispy black curls.

She’s perfect. She’s perfect wonderful and Dick won’t know what to do if they can’t take her home today.

Luckily they don’t have to find out. Both breast get equal attention as the infant switches from one to another. It’s so natural and easy Dick doesn’t know why he had let himself worry to begin with. They pass with flying colors. After the feeding and burping both he and Jason get a neat stack of forms that require their signatures.

Then she’s free to leave with them.

Jason holds Helena as Dick takes his turn to sign. The alpha looks so at ease with their baby girl in his arms. His muscular frame dwarfing her’s. Dick hopes that the pup knows there is no place safer than in her father’s arms. Even if she seems grumpy as he harrasses her in her drowsy state.

Dick has to steal her back when the alpha kisses her nose, drawing a very upset puppy whine from her still developing vocal chords. Jason is absolutely heartbroken to let her go. At some point when Leslie goes to process the paperwork they get to be alone with their daughter.

Helena Mary Grayson-Todd.

Jason takes to sating his instincts by smothering Dick instead of their very sleepy pup.

“She’s so beautiful. “He murmurs, voice low enough not to set her off again. The thickness of the words would be impossible not to recognize. Though he’s doing a good job holding it together, Dick can tell the alpha is close to tears. The gravity of the situation finally sinks in.

“ You were perfect Dickie. “

The nickname melts down his spine, deep and warm like something butter. Typically that tone would make his eyes flutter shut. His body going loose and lax against his mate. Not now however. Now while his eyes are so busy trying to memorize everything about their pup.

The process had been grueling. They had to get Jason legal, find a reputable company, pick a donor, try on each of her ovulations, suffer when it didn’t take, then try again, then the paper work, the fees, the complications, the waiting- Oh God the waiting.

It had been the worst, most agonizing part. Right after the premature birth, and watching their little one breathe in a little shallow tank, kept warm by heat lamps.

How Dick wishes he could have just taken her home that very first day.

Not that it matters anymore. Not when she’s theirs now. Not when she get’s to come home today and be put in their nest where she belongs. Right in-between her two parents.

God Dick doesn’t know how he’ll manage to share her. The perfect pup in his arms is just so wonderful. It’s been such a long agonizing journey, he barely wants to hand her over to her sire.

He laughs, wetly, trying not to wake Helena from her nap.

“ If I can’t share you with Daddy how will I give you to your aunties and uncles huh? “

Jason’s laugh is close to his ear, sweet and silent to the point where it barely breathes. The soft sound makes his toes curl in his shoes. The searing comfort of love and happiness runs through his body as happy chills.

It’s something to get familiar with. The quiet laugh of a father trying not to wake their pup.

He looks at those watery blue-green eyes and Dick is falling in love all over again.

God who knew they could end up here? The two of them- finally starting a family together. That they could walk away from a life of pain and agony, to gift themselves something so beautiful.

For the first time in months, giving up the moniker doesn’t feel so suffocating.

When Jason laces their fingers together over their pup he knows his husband, his mate, the half of his heart agrees.

All while the new half lays in their arms, peaceful, healthy and forever loved.

#jaydick #omegaverse #alpha!jason #omega!dick #ficlet #request #kid fic #fluffy fluff #mommy Dick #Daddy Jason #ficlets

[chaoticpuff17]

When the Chips are Down

part 9

masterlist

The next day came much too slowly. Y/N hated bed rest, and the constantly squirming future futbol star in her belly didn’t make finding a comfortable position easy. Namjoon also didn’t make bed rest any easier. The man was an expert at hovering. When he said bed rest, he meant bed rest. He didn’t let her so much as get up to use the bathroom by herself. Supposedly if she was up for even a moment without him watching, she and the baby would go into distress again. Perhaps on someone else the hovering would have been sweet, but it was Namjoon, and all she wanted to do was throttle him. She restrained herself though, if only for the sake of their new deal and the fact she wasn’t sure she could beat him in a fight with her belly so big. 

“You should really eat something.” He sighed, fully dressed and ready for the day as he sat beside her watching her pick at the food on the tray that Miss In had brought up for breakfast. “It’s good for the baby.” 

“I’m aware.” she shot back dryly, as she continued to poke at the food in distaste instead of eating it. 

“Just a little.” he tried to conceal a smile, finding her little frown adorable, even if he couldn’t allow her petulant refusal to eat in the mornings. There was only a few weeks left until the baby arrived, and he wanted them both to be as strong and healthy as possible. 

She turned to him, looking both tired and completely unimpressed. “I’m not a child, Namjoon.” 

“I know that, jagi, but the baby…” 

She took a deep breath, counting to ten to keep her temper in check. Mornings had been rough for her for the majority of the pregnancy. Morning sickness that was meant to go away half way through the pregnancy lingered, and true to its name, it liked to hit her in the morning. 

“I am aware that there’s a baby. I’m the one whose organs it's using as a punching bag. I know what I’m doing.” 

“Just a little. Please.” he did his best to keep his own temper in check, knowing full well that their truce was still fragile, but he was only trying to look out for them. 

“Fine.” she growled, gritting her teeth.

“Thank you.” he leaned over, pressing a kiss to her temple with a smile. “The new doctor will be stopping by today to check on you and the baby. I’m sorry I can’t be there for it, but I need to get things in order before the baby comes.” 

She nodded, taking a reluctant bite of breakfast. “That’s fine.” 

“Your sister will be here though.” 

She perked up at that. “Iyla?” 

He smiled, relieved to see her something other than ornery. “I thought you would like to have her with you, and I did promise you could see her today.” He loved the bright smile that spread over her features. He only wished that she would smile like that for him once in a while. “Jin will be coming by as well, just to make sure that everything is in order with the new doctor.” 

“No shooting this one.” she grumbled, taking another small bite. 

“No shooting.” he promised. 

After breakfast, where he forced her to choke down a minimal amount of porridge despite her still tender stomach, Namjoon was off to work, and she was more than happy to see him go. It gave her freedom to attempt sneaking her way out of bed, a plan that was quickly squashed by Miss In who had a gaggle of maids constantly checking up on her if she wasn’t there herself. She wanted to be dressed in something other than pajamas, but that apparently wasn’t going to happen. 

“Y/N!” a wonderfully familiar voice called right before the ball of energy that was her sister came barrelling into her, smooshing them both back against the pillows. 

“Hey, Iya.” she whispered, squeezing her sister tight and ignoring Hoseok who lingered at the door. “We’re fine, Hoseok. I’m sure Namjoon needs you for something or another.” the man didn’t move. “There are guards everywhere, and Miss In checks in every twenty minutes it seems. Do you really want to be here for my check up?” 

“Probably not.” he shrugged, smiling slightly. “I’ll wait till the kid’s born to coo over pictures.” He turned a sharp eye to Iyla who was still curled tightly around her sister. “I’ll be back later to pick you up, okay?” she didn’t say anything, and Hoseok sighed tiredly before making his exit. “Good luck with the check up.”

Both women waited for Hoseok to leave before they said anything else. 

“You’re okay right?” her sister pulled back, scanning her over once they were both sure Hoseok was gone. “You were so upset when I left, and you had pain in your belly. Is the baby okay?” 

“Baby is fine, but are you okay?” she lifted her hands up, gently cupping her face. “Hoseok didn’t hurt you at all?” 

She shook her head, causing a few stray strands to fall out of the bun that sat messily on top of her head. “I’m fine. He’s not the most pleasant,” she grimaced. “But he didn’t hurt me.”

“Good. That's good.”  she flopped back onto the mattress in relief. “So what are we doing today?” 

“I’m on bed rest.” the news was met with a sympathetic ‘oof’ from her sister. “But the new doctor is coming today to do a check up, so you’ll probably get to see the ultrasound.” 

“New doctor?” Iyla propped herself up on her elbows. “What happened to the old doctor?” 

“Namjoon shot her.” 

“And I thought mine was bad.” she huffed, laying back down. “Are we better or worse off than with Marcus?” she turned looking at her sister with a serious expression that wasn’t typical of her. 

Y/N sighed, settling herself back against the pillows as well. That really was the question. Were they better off? She’d told Namjoon that he was worse than Marcus, but was it actually true or had she just said it to rile him? 

“Well, I’m not getting beat up every other day.” she offered weakly. 

“Y/N.” 

“I made a deal.” she admitted, resting a hand over her belly. 

“What kind of deal did you make?” 

“They can’t hurt us. They can’t do anything that Marcus did, and I arranged for him to let Mark, the guy who helped me escape, go unharmed. The catch is we can’t leave, or at least I can’t. I made no such promise for you. If you find a window, you take it.” 

“I’m not leaving you here alone!” she argued, sitting up and glaring at her sister. “If I’m leaving, I’m taking you and the peanut with me.” 

“I can’t.” she shook her head sadly. “I’ve gotten out of here twice, and neither was without help, and both times ended badly. I got Jackson killed, Iya.” 

“We run together. We go back to the states!”

“We don’t have phones. We don’t have passports.” 

“We get to the embassy!” 

Y/N shook her head. “We have no way of getting to Seoul. You’d have a much better chance of getting out of here without dragging a pregnant lady with you, and how exactly do you think we’re going to get out of here? There are guards everywhere, and I don’t think  Namjoon is going to be taking any chances with the baby due in a few weeks.” 

“We have to try!” 

“If I leave the deal is broken, and there is no protection for either of us. If you have a chance to go, you take it, and you don’t look back.” 

“I can’t leave you here!” she cried. “Are you insane!” 

“Your sister has a point.” a new voice called from the door pulling both of their attention to Sen who stood there with her little boy perched on her hip. “But even if you have a chance it won’t end well for you. Hoseok isn’t a man to cross. He can be sweet if he wants to, but there’s a whole lot of crazy behind that sunshiney exterior. You’re safer here where you have family to look out for you.” 

“And who are you?” Iyla growled, protectively scooting closer to her sister. 

“This is Sen.” Y/N placed a calm hand on Iyla’s shoulder. “She’s Yoongi’s wife, not by choice.”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Came to check in on you and the baby.” 

“You’re not needed.” 

“She’s a friend.” Y/N scolded, lightly smacking Iyla’s shoulder. “Don’t be rude.” 

“Well, then we take her too!” Iyal conceded, already getting fired up again.

“Right.” both older women scoffed. 

“How are you planning to sneak you, me, a baby, and a pregnant lady out of here?” Sen asked arching an elegant brow. “I’m not risking Yoonho. Taehyung might be busy with his girl, but he has eyes everywhere, and I’m betting Hoseok had Jin stick one of Taehyng’s trackers in you just like Yoongi did me. They’re a little paranoid if you hadn’t noticed. Two out of seven have had pregnant women slip away from them. Apparently, it’s a little traumatizing.” 

That shut Iyla right up, if only for a moment. “We can take the trackers out!” Her voice was more frantic now as she grasped at straws.

“Done that.” Y/N grimaced at the memory. “It wasn’t a pleasant experience.” 

“We can’t do nothing!” 

“You’re not doing nothing.” Sen assured her. “You’re keeping your head down and keeping safe.” 

“I can’t risk any more travel with the baby.” Y/N added softly. “I almost went into labor yesterday. But you’re safe so long as I keep up my end of the deal.” 

“What about you?” Iyla insisted, gaze heated as her eyes darted between the two older women. “You’re content to just sit here and play house?” 

“I’d rather you be safe.” Y/N took her little sister’s hand in hers. “I won’t have you go through what I went through with Marcus, and at least this way, you have some level of protection.” 

“It’s not fair!” 

“I know.” she agreed softly. “But it’s the best I can do for now.” 

“Namjoon’s not going to hurt her.” Sen promised. “He went crazy when she was gone. He might be a raging psychopath, but he has some sort of twisted love for your sister. So long as she and the baby are here with him, she’ll be okay.” 

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” 

“It’s the best we can do.” 

“What’s the best you can do?” Jin asked, popping into the room with a rather pale looking Hayan trailing behind him. “Good to see you again, Iyla. How’s the arm?” he asked, nodding towards the arm where he’d inserted the chip. 

“Great.” she hissed, glaring at him. “What’s the quack doing here?” 

“I’m offended! I offered to play Narts with you!” 

“Quack.” She grumbled, scooting even closer to her sister.

“He’s here for the appointment, Iya.” 

Jin perked up, turning his attention to the very pregnant woman. “And how is our gorgeous mom to be today?” 

“I’d be a whole lot better if I wasn’t on bed rest.” 

Jin laughed, and Hayan made her way over to the bed, perching on the edge and sending Y/N a small attempt at a smile. “Just for a few days. It’ll put all our minds at ease after the scare you gave us yesterday and all the stress Namjoon’s put you through.” 

“Hi, Hayan. You doing okay?” the other woman nodded slightly, but it was clear to everyone in the room she was still shaken. 

“I wanted her to stay home and rest, but she wanted to see how you were doing.” Jin sighed dramatically. “It’s my lot in life to be surrounded by gorgeous stubborn women.” 

“How’s the baby?” Hayan asked, voice soft. 

“Kicking.” 

“Kicking is good.” Jin nodded. “The new doctor should be here soon, and then we should be able to take a proper look at you and baby. Are all you ladies staying for the check up?” It was a question addressed to all of them, but they all knew that it was Y/N who was meant to answer. 

“As long as no one but the doctor is checking things down there, we’re fine.” 

“Okay.” Jin clapped his hands together. “I am going to ask that everyone who isn’t Iyla go sit over there, except you.” he reached out, lifting Yoonho right out of Sen’s arms. “You get to stay with Uncle Jinnie, spend some time away from stinky old Yoongi.” 

The little boy stared at him, completely unimpressed looking so much like his father before he started fussing for absolutely no reason, reaching up with one chubby little fist to roughly grab a lock of Jin’s hair and yanking. 

“Ow! Okay! Okay!” Jin handed the baby back. “Not today then. He gets more like his dad every day.” he huffed, pouting as yoonho settled back into his mother’s arms. 

“He cries for Yoongi too.” Sen offered as a consolation, bouncing the baby lightly. “He’s a momma’s boy.” 

“More like his dad every day.” Jin muttered again, shaking his head sadly. 

“Buin.” Miss In called from the door. “The doctor has arrived.” the woman stepped aside to reveal a different woman dressed professionally with her hair neatly pinned to the top of her head. 

“Buin.” the woman bowed respectfully. “I’m Dr. Yang. I’ll be taking over your prenatal and postnatal care.” 

“Dr. Yang.” she greeted eyeing the woman warily. 

Miss In had done a wonderful job of cleaning the master bedroom and at record speed as well, but the memory of what had happened just the other day was still fresh in everyone’s minds. 

She could tell just by looking at the woman, it was going to be a long day. 

part 10

#bts #bts fic #yandere bts #bts rm #bts namjoon #bts fanfic #mafia #mafia kpop #yandere kpop #kim namjoon #namjoon #namjoon x reader #mafia namjoon #yandere namjoon #RM #rm x reader #yandere #soft yandere #dark romance #a dangerous game #when the chips are down #adg universe

[traumacatholic]

“When she was restored to communion, what did Fabiola do? Having once suffered shipwreck, she was unwilling again to face the risks of the sea. Therefore, instead of re-embarking on her old life, she sold all that she could lay hands on of her property (it was large and suitable to her rank). And she converted it into money so she could give it to the poor. She was the first person to found a hospital, where she might gather sufferers from the streets and where she might nurse the unfortunate victims of sickness and want.

She often carried on her own shoulders persons infected with jaundice or covered with filth. She also often cleansed the revolting discharge of wounds which others, even men, could not bear to look at. She fed her patients with her own hand, and moistened the scarce breathing lips of the dying with sips of liquid.

I know of many wealthy and devout persons who, unable to overcome their natural repugnance to such sights, perform this work of mercy by the agency of others. They give money instead of personal aid. I do not blame them and am far from construing their weakness of resolution into a want of faith.

While, however, I pardon such squeamishness, I extol to the skies the enthusiastic zeal of one who is above it. A great faith makes little of such trifles. Fabiola so wonderfully alleviated the disease of the suffering poor that many healthy people began to envy the sick.”

Saint Jerome on Saint Fabiola

#Catholic #Catholicism #Christian #Christianity #Saint Fabiola

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 9

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

He meets her in the hallway just outside the autopsy bay. She’s changed from scrubs into jeans and a green t-shirt with cap sleeves and his heart leaps when she enters his line of sight. He stands up a bit straighter, buoyed by her presence. He wants to hug her, but he stuffs his hands in his pockets instead. Off limits, he keeps reminding himself. Unavailable.

“Hi,” she says with a nervous little smile.

“Hey,” he responds with a broad grin. “Shall we?” he says as he tilts his head toward the exit.

It’s a wonderfully mild day and they walk the four blocks to Cafe Adamo, the orange Tooms file tucked neatly under his arm. They are mostly quiet as they walk, enjoying the warm breeze and lack of traffic noise. Scully lifts her hand to hoist her purse strap up on her shoulder and his stomach lurches when the sun catches on a large diamond ring on her finger. The ring finger of her left hand. It shouldn’t matter, unavailable is unavailable, but knowing that she’s getting married takes his already dashed dreams and stomps them into dust.

They sit at the same corner table they had on their previous visit and this time she orders an iced coffee, much to his relief; he’s not sure he can sit still through more foam-licking. He orders a drip, and as soon as their waiter leaves the table he has to say something.

“Looks like congratulations are in order,” he says, gesturing towards her hand with his chin.

She looks down at the table and startles a little, as if she herself hadn’t known the ring was there.

“Oh, yeah, um, thank you,” she replies tersely, avoiding his eye.

“When did that happen?” he inquires, morbidly curious.

“Uh, in late June, the twenty-first.”

His eyebrows lift a little. He’s sure she wasn’t wearing a ring the other times he’s seen her.

“That’s, uh, that’s great. Do you have a date set?” Why the fuck is he asking her about this? Right, because that’s what a friend would do.

“Yes, as of recently, it’s October thirteenth, this year.”

He chuffs a laugh, his head dropping close to the table.

“What?” she asks, her eyebrows knit in confusion.

He lifts his head to look at her with an ironic smile. “That’s my birthday,” he says flatly, and pink immediately rises to her cheeks.

“Oh,” she says as though she’s committed an embarrassing faux pas.

“Here, check this out,” he says, changing the subject and sliding the orange file across the table to her. “Eugene Victor Tooms, a seemingly typical, if not a little strange, man who was in fact a liver-eating mutant. He would eat his victim’s liver to sustain his own life, and then build a nest from newspaper and bile where he would hibernate for thirty years before repeating the pattern.”

“Bile? As in stomach acid?” Scully says with a doubtful tone that matches her expression.

“Yes ma’am, I had the unfortunate experience of coming into close contact with it and I can attest to its authenticity.”

“Mulder, humans don’t hibernate, much less for thirty years.”

“Well, Eugene Victor Tooms was hardly human, Scully. At one-hundred-twenty-one years young, he was on a steady diet of three livers per hibernation break.”

Their coffees are dropped off, but the conversation continues despite the interruption.

“The oldest human who’s ever lived is one-hundred-nineteen years old. On top of that, even if someone were to live to be one-hundred-twenty-one they certainly wouldn’t be healthy or fit enough to murder people and eat their livers, then have enough energy left over to build a bile-nest.” She’s animated, her hands punctuating her statements as her face quirks into an ‘I can't even believe I’m even having this conversation’ expression, and he can’t help but smile.

“Okay, if you don’t agree with my conclusions, Scully, then tell me what you think happened,” he says gently.

She pulls in a deep breath and lets it out in a huff, her shoulders deflating. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’d need access to the biological materials, to analyze them in a lab. We’d need to do a full physical work up on Mr. Tooms, genetic testing.”

Mulder bobs his head. “Well, that will prove difficult seeing as Mr. Tooms met his end under the teeth of an escalator,” he replies, and her eyes go big for a moment.

She shakes her head, closing the folder and sliding it back across the table towards him. “Didn’t it bother you, to work all these cases and never have any real answers?” she asks.

Mulder shrugs. “Yes and no. For me, it isn’t as much about the answers themselves as it is the journey towards the one great truth. Doors are opened along the way, avenues cleared, and it all lends itself towards moving me further along on my quest.”

She’s looking at him with soft, affectionate eyes. She’s really listening and it feels so fucking good. It’s not very often that anyone really listens when he talks. Really hears him.

“What do you consider to be your quest?” she asks gently.

“If I were really to narrow it down, to find my sister. Or to understand what happened to her.” His hand is sitting on top of the closed file and he startles a little when she reaches out and rests her palm against his knuckles. She gives him a sympathetic smile and then pulls it back, sitting up a bit straighter in her seat and busying herself stirring her coffee with a straw.

“Priscilla misses you,” he says, changing the subject again, and her delighted smile makes his heart swell.

“How can you possibly know that?” she replies skeptically, even though it’s clear that she wants it to be true.

“You think I can’t communicate with my cat?” he asks in mock offense, “what kind of roommate would I be if I didn’t learn to speak her language?”

Scully shakes her head, the smile still playing on her lips. “So how’d you end up being the one to keep her, anyway?” she asks, “she’s such a sweet cat, I’m surprised your ex was willing to part with her.”

Mulder takes a sip of his coffee before continuing. “At the time that Valerie, that’s my ex, moved out, she was planning to spend some time bumming around Europe so she really couldn't take Priscilla. I think by the time she got back, she felt too guilty about taking her away so she just let me keep her. Prissy always preferred me anyway, so I think she was satisfied with the custody arrangement.”

“So, you’re still in touch with her, then? Your ex?” She’s not making eye contact, trying to act casual, but he can tell she’s curious to know if they’re still involved. He’s curious to know why she cares.

“Oh, yeah, we’re on good terms, always have been. We don’t spend a ton of time together, but I would still consider her a close friend,” he answers honestly.

Scully frowns a little. “Then why did you break up, if you get along so well?”

Mulder sits back in his chair, considering the question for a moment. “I guess there just wasn’t a spark, you know. We looked great on paper, very compatible technically speaking. She was my best friend, a great partner. There was just something missing, for both of us. I loved her, still love her, but not in that way that makes you go ‘shit, I could spend the rest of my life waking up next to this person.’ And we both wanted that, and thought maybe we could have it with someone else, so we broke up.” He leans forward again, elbows on the table top, and takes in her stoic expression.

After a moment of contemplation, she speaks. “How would you know, if you had ‘the spark’ as you call it? What does that even mean?” There’s a mild defensiveness to her tone and it confuses him.

“I think...I think you just know,” he says, meeting her eye. She swallows and then drops her gaze, picking up her cup and sucking noisily at the last drops of coffee that cling to the ice.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

Disclaimer: Dick was adopted when he was 12 in this fic. Just for math’s sake.

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

Damian stared at his father, face carefully blank. Bruce grimaced, shifting.

“I said, you have a half sister. Biological.”

Four sets of eyes bored into him, from all of his sons. They were gathered not in the Batcave for once, but just one of the sitting rooms in the Manor.

“... and what, Father, does that have to do with the French class visiting Gotham?” Damian asked again, posture steadily growing stiffer and more and more stone like. He was trying hard to suppress emotions, but not even he was quite sure what those emotions were yet. Anger? Fear? Resentment? Probably. He might have detected some excitement there too, deep, deep down. Bruce took a deep breath, trying to prepare himself for this.

“Well. I’ve kept up with her life, but last time I checked she had no idea that she was adopted. When her birth mother died, it was right around the time I adopted Dick. She was still an infant, and I knew I was not equipped to handle taking care of a baby—“

“Father,” Damian interrupted again. “You sent her off. Have her up for adoption,” he said slowly, as if realizing that that would have been his fate had his father known about his existence earlier, as well. It was almost ironic, considering how Bruce seemed to have a problem with adopting other children nowadays. Bruce nodded.

“She was adopted by a couple in France. Paris, to be exact. I’ve kept up to date, asking them to just send me a letter or email once or twice a year about the general stuff she’s been up to. Nothing too invasive. A few pictures. And last time I asked them, they said that she had no idea about being adopted or that I was her father,” Bruce sighed again, running a hand over his face. “But I think she does.”

“Why?” Jason asked, confused as everyone else to the change in subject. Except Tim and Damian, who seemed to be quickly connecting the dots.

“Oh boy,” Tim breathed. Bruce just nodded.

“Her name is Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She is the one who organized the trip for her class to come here, to Gotham. She is the one who entered and won our international internship competition, and turned that into an excuse to get her entire class to come here for two weeks. To get to know the place she will be living for her internship next year, after she graduates Lycee, France’s version of highschool essentially.”

Tim winced. He had been in charge of the internship competition, and Bruce had given him free reign. He had chosen the winner without even thinking to run it by his adoptive father.

“Bruce—“ Tim tried, but the man just held up a hand.

“I don’t blame you. I haven’t been paying too much attention to her life, and I didn’t expect her to do something like this. But we know now that, if she does know and this isn’t a giant coincidence,”

“Unlikely,” Dick agreed, wincing. “Possible, but unlikely.”

Bruce huffed in agreement. “Then, we know she is very resourceful, determined, and has skills that impressed Tim enough to choose her out of tens of thousands of contest participants worldwide.”

“The minimum requirement for a Wayne,” Damian finally managed to bite out, still coping with this proverbial slap in the face but doing his best to handle it. He was seventeen damn it, and had come a long way from who he used to be. He could handle this. He could. He would.

Bruce rolled his eyes, and then leaned forward with his hands braced on the table. “Okay. So now we need to make plans.”

“Plans?” Jason asked, frowning. “For how you’re gonna tell her without getting your faces plastered over every tabloid in the city right?”

“No,” the older man shook his head. “Plans to keep her alive, unharmed, and unaffiliated with us until she leaves. I will not be making any public appearances unless absolutely necessary, so trips to the Tower are out of the question—“

“Are you…” Jason’s eyes were wide. “Trying to keep her out of our Shitshow? Because yeah, kudos to you even if it took you way too long to learn, but if she went through all this trouble to come here then it's probably too late.”

Dick nodded. “If she’s anything like you and Damian, there’s no way she’ll back off easy. Avoiding her will only make it worse on you, and probably the rest of us too.”

Damian stared straight into his father's eyes, glare sharp and searching. “What is this about, Father? You have not worried this much about any of us—“

“Because none of you were as naive!” He barked, quickly catching himself and taking a breath. “You all had a way you could benefit from this life. A way I could help you. But Marinette has both of the parents she has known her whole life, they treat her wonderfully. They care. She’s never had to worry about constantly moving, or fighting, or going hungry. The only deaths she has ever experienced have been from afar and due to natural causes. She designs as a hobby and has no problem with socializing or handling emotions in a healthy way— introducing her to our life holds no benefit for her. The only thing it can give her is unnecessary danger and risk and secrets.”

“Yeah, well. I guess Batman doesn’t know everything, does he?” A new voice startled them all from the doorway, making everyone's head whip over to see who had managed the near-impossible and snuck up on all of them.

Standing there, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, was a short part-Asian woman in her late teens. Her midnight black hair was cascading down her back in one thick braid, tied off at the end with an indigo ribbon. Her eyes were a piercing cobalt blue, matching those of Bruce perfectly. Her jaw was clenched, and the infamous Bat-glare coming from her was directed right at the person who made the expression infamous in the first place.

“Marinette,” Bruce breathed, shoulders squaring. “Your plane isn’t supposed to arrive until tomorrow.”

“It won’t,” she agreed. “I took a portal here. You see, my extensive research into Batman’s known habits and tactics, which I started after I figured out about your alter ego last year, informed me that you tend to go to the extremes to protect people you deem incapable of protecting themselves, and are also prone to idiotic self-sacrificing behavior in the form of purposely making yourself look like an ass.”

Jason chuckled. “She’s got you down to a T, B,” he quipped with a grin despite the caution still in his eyes. “But let’s back up a bit, little Spitfire. What’s this about a portal?”

Marinette pushed off the doorframe, walking closer to the scattered group. Tim and Jason were spread across one sofa, Damian on the other with Dick, and Bruce was occupying an armchair. Marinette just walked until she stood where she could easily be seen by everyone, but also had nobody at her back.

“The portal is part of a bigger story. Like, the fact that father dearest wanted to protect me so badly that he placed the JLE in Paris, but didn’t realize that relations with that branch were so bad that the JLE never informed him or the JLA about getting kicked out of France and reassigning themselves to Italy. Bruce never kept a close enough eye on the city, because he wanted to keep emotional distance, and therefore was completely blind to when a supervillain showed up and terrorized Paris for almost five years,” she continued, her glare never leaving Bruce’s face.

“I found out about being adopted when I was eight. I found out who my biological father was when I was thirteen. Last year, I finally put in the work to connect Bruce Wayne to Batman. And yeah, I never told Maman and Papan, because they have never completely understood me. They wouldn’t have understood that I was fine with having no contact with you, back then. That my snooping had nothing to do with being unhappy with them as my parents. They would have immediately assumed they were inadequate when I am merely curious by nature. But then I ended up being chosen to be one of the child heroes that fought said domestic terrorist that showed up five years ago. And I sure as hell couldn't tell them that a magical artifact showed up on my desk one day and that the god inhabiting it told me to fight the monsters the villain made and just, just go with it. I couldn’t tell them when I went from being one of two Parisian heroes to being the leader of a team. I couldn’t tell them when my elderly mentor, unable to fight by our side but who had at least provided emotional support and knowledge, passed away and gave me his title and responsibilities. I’m sick and tired of being protected, Monsieur Wayne,” Marinette didn’t seem to notice the tears that had begun to fall.

“I’m sick of it. I know you were trying to keep me safe, but I fought a war I wasn’t prepared for. I died, thousands of times. But my own powers and the powers I have my partners brought me back to life. Over and over. I don’t need protection, damn it. I don’t need you to distance yourself, because you're the only fucking person I can call a parent who might understand,” she held out a hand, her scowl turning into a gentle smile. “I have so much I need to talk about. Before I drown under all these secrets. Please. I’ll go back through another portal before my parents notice I’m gone, but I’ll be back in town tomorrow when my plane lands. Just. Please, don’t push me away. That’s all I ask. I want to get to know you, all of you. I… I need family who understands.”

“Thousands.” Bruce repeated, all of them still recovering from Marinette’s very sudden, info-dumping speech. “You died… thousands of times?”

Marinette laughed, but it was a sad sound. No mirth there. “I gave my friend a magical artifact that reverses time, and the artifact that gives me my own powers can reverse any damage from a fight I use it in. Even death. Sending untrained teenagers to fight a villain three times their age makes some kind of failsafe like that kind of necessary.”

“Fuck,” Jason cursed under his breath. “Well. You’re welcome to join the living Zombie club,” he offered. The girl snorted, giving him a watery grin in thanks.

“I’m sure you know about my stance on powers and metas,” Bruce decided to say, wincing immediately after. That wasn’t what he meant to say. At all. He earned another brief glare for it.

“I’m not a meta, and I only have powers when I use the artifact to transform, thereby borrowing powers from the miniature god that the artifact houses. Think of it like doctor fate, but my gods are actually not parasites and my powers are much more… specialized. I had to learn combat on my own, and I was able to train in my sleep with the past users of this artifact. That includes people like Fa Mulan, Joan of Arc, and someone you actually know— Hippolyta. I’ve mastered more fighting styles by now than I care to remember, and I’ve done gymnastics since I was three. I don’t know if my parents told you that in their letters. I even won the gold in the nationwide France gymnastics competition two years ago. I assure you, I don’t rely on my powers nearly as much as you might think.”

Bruce swallowed. “I can… greet you when your class arrives.”

Marinette grinned. “Well, that’s a start.”

—*—*—*—*—*

Idk what happened, I don’t know if I like this at all but oh well. I’m posting it anyway. Maybe one of you will like it. I… couldn’t really find any other way to do this so oh well. Also, I think Mulan was a past Dragon..? But I put her as a Ladybug because I Can.

@momothefemur @ladybug-182 @starlightshield @trippingovermyfeet @greatcatblaze @sam-i-am-0222 @bluesimani @ruelukas22 @acoolspacegirl @iamablinkmarvelarmy @meme991001

#maribat #ml x dc #mlb x dc #b!dbwm2020 #bio dad bruce wayne #platonic daminette #platonic brucinette #day 5 #not my fave at all

[novelconcepts]

24 and 10, just because I'm curious how these two could possibly be combined

confusing a handshake for a fist bump and lifting someone up out of excitement

She hasn’t seen Jamie in two years. Hard to believe that. Hard to imagine. Jamie was such a fixture of her life at Bly, such a steady lantern in the dark for all those months--late-night conversations, endless hands of cards dealt, what felt like half the Wingrave wine cellar drained dry between them--that Dani genuinely forgot what it was to not have Jamie in her world. Jamie, who had been there for a single summer, feeling like the sanest measure of her entire life.

And then Dani had moved on. Hadn’t had a choice. The job was for the summer, and Wingrave had decided to try his hand at fatherhood, of a kind. There was no place for an au pair any longer. And there were other roads, Dani sensed, calling her name.

She’d said goodbye, and it had hurt. Hannah, holding her close. Owen, sniffling back tears without apology. The kids, clutching her around the legs. 

Jamie, extending a hand. 

Jamie, who had so quickly become her best friend in all the world, extending a hand. 

She’d bumped it stupidly, her fingers curled into a fist to keep from properly touching Jamie’s skin. It hadn’t been intentional, exactly, though some part of her--red-faced and replaying the moment on a loop in the cab--thinks it might have been safer to lean into the mistake. If she’d taken Jamie’s hand, given it a firm shake, she’s not sure what would have followed. Not sure she would have been able to keep her balance, with her thumb braced along the backs of Jamie’s knuckles, with Jamie’s palm smooth against her own. 

Better to look stupid, she decided, in the long run. Anyway, their time together had lasted all of three months. Seasons come, seasons go, and Jamie would forget her soon enough. Surely. 

It’s been two years. Two years, and Henry Wingrave--cleverer than he’d looked, sneaking booze into his teacup at an awkward interview--had somehow found her address. The letter was neatly printed, an invitation: Miles’ thirteenth birthday, back at the manor. He hadn’t asked for much. They all missed her.

They all. 

She tells herself not to think about it on the flight over. Tells herself not to pick it apart, calling a cab. Tells herself, remembering with a stutter of mortification how her loose fist had jabbed Jamie’s outstretched fingers, they means very little. A kindness, she suspects. A polite phrasing. We all miss you, Miss Clayton, very much. 

Do you? she wonders, wringing her hands, gazing out at the once-familiar landscape. Do you all miss me? All of you?

As if one doesn’t matter just a little more than the rest.

As if she hasn’t been dreaming of one member of that little family more than she’s comfortable with. 

She hasn’t seen Jamie in two years, and she’s almost terrified to find out what might have happened to their too-easy, too-warm friendship in her absence. Jamie had not been an easy wall to crack open in the first place. She’d been tough and wiry at the start, with wary eyes and a short temper. Kind, yes, and easier to talk to than she’d had any right--but difficult, all the same. It had taken weeks for Dani to coax her into genuine conversation. A month before she’d believed Jamie truly did brighten, to see her coming through the door. 

Two years. How tall could those walls have grown by now? How heavy might the door barring her from Jamie’s life be, with all those months of silence stretched between them?

Why didn’t you write? she imagines Jamie saying, her mouth curled in a grim smile. Didn’t even try, did you?

Not true, though Dani can’t fathom telling her so. Dani did try. Over and over, not just for those first few months, but for two years. Two years trying to put it all down on paper. Two years trying to explain how Jamie--her eyes gleaming in the firelight, her smile sweet, her hand brushing Dani’s without thought--had been the only person on her mind, no matter what she tried to do about it. 

Two years trying to find the words for a letter to explain what she knows, and what she can’t believe, and what she can’t get away from: that it had taken only a single season, to fall in love. That it had taken only a single season to find someone she honestly can’t imagine life without. 

Jamie wouldn’t understand. 

Two years. And now she’s here, pulling up the winding drive to that big old house she’d called home for almost no time at all. She’s here, stepping out of the cab, feeling no older than the au pair who had run from grief and wound up finding a short-lived, powerful purpose. 

They’re waiting for her, she realizes--lined up outside the house like Flora’s dolls. Hannah, as beautiful as she remembers, with a brand new ring on her third finger. Owen, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, his apron dusted with flour. Flora, almost willowy with newfound height, launching at her, and Miles, broader in the shoulders, brighter in the eyes, reaching to kiss her hand. 

Henry, too, looks pleased to see her. He looks healthy, his skin no longer the sallow of a man hidden away from the world. He smiles, and he presses her into a loose embrace, and she thinks it was worth going away, if this little family was able to bloom in her absence. 

They’re all here. They’re all wonderful.

Except.

She doesn’t ask where Jamie is. Tries her damnedest not to let them see the crestfallen expression she turns inward, the plummet of her heart. Jamie isn’t here. Jamie has, perhaps, moved on, too--found a new job, a new life, elsewhere. 

Jamie is gone, and no matter how wonderful the rest of them are--no matter how glad to see them she is--this will never feel quite right. 

“You’re just in time,” Hannah is saying. “Supper’s about ready, we’re just going to set the table. If you wouldn’t mind doing one thing?”

Pasting a smile onto her face, Dani nods. “Anything. Point the way.”

“You remember the greenhouse, I assume?”

A flutter, kicking up in her chest, hard enough to rattle her voice when she says, guardedly, “Of course.”

“Our last party is working late,” Hannah says, sounding slightly grumpy. “Again. Honestly, you’d think she’s growing the key to immortality out there, with the hours she’s been keeping.”

“She--” Dani swallows. Keep it simple. Keep it normal. It’s been two years. “She’s still...?”

“Grouchy?” Owen suggests. “Stealing my best biscuits?”

“Here,” Dani breathes. He looks perplexed, his head inclined in affirmation.

“Of course. Couldn’t pry her from those roses, the stubborn woman.”

They say it like it’s obvious, like the story was only ever going to play out this way--but even as she’s striding across the grounds at a brisk pace, Dani isn’t sure she believes it. Could it be a prank? An elaborate way to get back at her for leaving? Maybe she’ll reach the greenhouse, place her hand on the door, and find the place gaping open with nothing but ghosts for company--

Jamie’s back is to her, the gray of her coveralls stamped with dirt. Her hair is loose, her head bobbing, and Dani--her steps cautious as she confirms, yes, this is the same woman who has been turning up in her dreams for months--realizes she’s wearing a pair of headphones. Her hands are steady, though her boot taps out a rhythm, and when Dani gets close enough, she picks up the hum of Jamie singing under her breath.

Jamie, no different than she recalls. Jamie, exactly the same, bopping along to the Walkman poking out of her pocket. 

Jamie, who turns and leaps with surprise, jerking the headphones down around her neck. 

“Christ,” she breathes. “Scared the living shite out of me.”

“Sorry.” She isn’t, though. Somehow. Maybe because Jamie’s bewildered expression is already giving way to a huge smile. Maybe because Dani suddenly can’t breathe, overwhelmed by the memories of this very room--cards and conversation, wine and laughter. Jamie’s hand, brushing her own. Jamie’s eyes, searching her face. 

Jamie, never quite closing the gap. Never quite daring. 

“You weren’t meant to be here until six,” Jamie is saying now, brushing the hair from her eyes. Dani glances at her watch.

“It’s six-thirty-nine.”

“Fuck,” Jamie mutters. “Lost track of--was supposed to help in the--never mind.” 

She’s staring at Dani like she can’t quite believe her own eyes, her smile so enormous, Dani can’t imagine how she’d ever thought Jamie could be gone. Jamie, who is such a fixture. Jamie, who is so reliable, so wonderfully here. 

“Can I hug you?” she asks, and Jamie all but charges toward her. It’s a clumsy embrace, arms tangling around shoulders, Jamie’s hips bumping her own. Jamie, who hugs her so hard, leaning back, Dani’s feet actually leave the ground.

“Missed you,” she breathes into Dani’s ear. “Wanted to write. Wanted to--didn’t know what I’d fuckin’ say.”

Dani buries her face in Jamie’s neck, inhaling the long-missed combination of soil and sweat, that undercurrent of mint that follows every cigarette. It’s not a polished, pretty scent; it reminds her of summer afternoons, of hard work, of Jamie’s smile flashing over a glass of water. 

It reminds her of the heat in her fingertips, the urge to catch Jamie by the sleeve and pull her close, the reflexive lean of her body into Jamie’s on the couch as they both teetered toward dozing off. 

“We’re supposed to be at dinner,” she says, relishing the slide of Jamie’s skin against her own. “We’re late.”

“M’always late, these days,” Jamie replies. “Think it’s worth it this time.”

“Can we--” Dani swallows. “Not now, I know we’re supposed to--for Miles. But after? Tonight? Can we talk?”

I can’t walk away again, she thinks. I can’t go another two years without this. I can’t put it in a letter, but I can’t let it go, either. Not without knowing.

Jamie can’t read her mind, she’s sure--and yet, Jamie’s hand cupping her cheek, Jamie’s thumb pulling gently across her skin, seems to find everything in the silence. Jamie nods once, letting her hand fall away. 

“Think I’d like that very much, yeah.”

It takes every ounce of self-control, not to hold her hand all the way back to the house.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of bly manor #dani x jamie #damie #physical affection tag