#in this fic Jon is 100% going to notice too

[whatdoeseverybodywant]

You're The Only Girl for Me- Chapter 6

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Kayla Braxton stared at the latest update from an Instagram page called TheUsos_Source.  She honestly couldn’t believe what she was reading. Josh took Airielle on a date? Airielle had willingly gone out on a date with Josh after everything Kayla had told her? 

Kayla went to Airielle’s instagram and clicked on her story, immediately feeling sick once she saw the flowers Airielle had posted. So just fuck girl code right? Kayla gritted her teeth as she rolled her eyes and threw her phone down on the bed next to her.

December 11th 2020

AIRIELLE JONES

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Airielle was on cloud nine. It had been 18 days since her first kiss with Josh while they weren’t officially boyfriend and girlfriend yet, they sure did act like it. No matter where they went, he always made sure to bring her flowers, whether they were going to the gym together or to the grocery store, he always bought flowers. She hung out with him at Trin and Jon’s house when they weren’t in Orlando for Smackdown- much to Yasmine’s dismay. He had wanted to spend Thanksgiving together but she declined. She was not ready to meet his family. She had thought that he was upset but he told her he understood and that she definitely had to come to Christmas dinner. 

Airielle groaned as she hit another dead end in the arena. The WWE had moved from the Amway center to Tropicana Field and Airielle was having a hard time finding her way, she kept getting turned around. Josh had asked her to meet him in catering for lunch but she was lost. She pulled out her phone to text him. He told her to send him her location and he would come find her. She huffed as she jumped up on one of the nearby equipment boxes and pulled out her phone so she could scroll on instagram. 

“Hi.” She jumped startled by the voice. “I aint mean to scare you.” He said smiling before holding out his hand to her. “I’m Raymond. I don’t think we’ve met.” When she didn’t shake his hand he added “I work in production, that’s probably why you never seen me before. I’m normally out in the truck.” Airielle nodded before grasping his hand and shaking it. 

“Airielle Jones.” 

“I know who you are. Talk of the town.” She frowned and arched her eyebrow at him. 

“Excuse me? He looked down at their still connected hands and grinned as she snatched her hand out of his. 

“Yo Rih, you good?” Airielle smiled over at Josh and hopped off the equipment box and walked over to him. Raymond noticed Josh’s hostile tone and raised his hands up defensively. 

“Relax, homie. I was just introducing myself.” Josh bit the inside of his cheek as he glared over at Raymond. He 100 percent didn’t like this man and Raymond knew that. Airielle glazed between the two of them before grabbing Josh’s hand, breaking their staring contest. 

“You good?” He asked again, his eyes softening once his gaze fell on her. 

“She good Uce, relax.” Josh glared back over at Raymond and sucked his teeth. 

“The fuck you still doin’ here?”  Raymond chuckled before, turning and walking away from them. When Josh turned his attention back to Airielle she was looking at him with a disappointed expression. “Sorry” he said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. “I don’t like him, never did” 

Airielle rolled her eyes with a grin. “Come on,” She said, grabbing his hand again. She started to walk but then stopped and turned towards him. “I don’t know where I’m going.” He laughed before leading her towards catering. 

After eating lunch with Josh and Joe, Airielle decided to go to hair and make-up to get ready for Smackdown. She smiled at Kayla who was also getting her makeup done. The smile quickly vanished off of her face when Kayla glared back at her. Airielle knew that Kayla must’ve seen the instagram posts. But honestly, Airielle didn’t care, Josh and even Kayla herself had said that they weren’t dating, just fucking around, so technically Kayla had no reason to be upset with Airielle. 

The air was tense and Kayla’s muttering wasn’t making it any better. Airielle couldn’t hear her but with how Jenny- the hairstylist kept looking at her, Airielle knew Kayla was talking mad shit. Once Kayla had left the area, Jenny turned towards Airielle. 

“What the hell happened?” Airielle shook her head, not wanting to gossip. 

“I don’t know.” Jenny scoffed.

 “I mean, we all seen the instagram account. You do know Kayla and Jey were a thing before you got here?”  Airielle took a deep breath and closed her eyes, this Jenny chick was starting to get on her nerves. 

“They both said that it was just sex between them.” Airielle shrugged, she felt like she did nothing wrong by going out on a date with Josh. 

“And you don’t feel bad?” Jenny scoffed again and Airielle narrowed her eyes at her. 

“Leave the girl alone Jen, ” Laura, the make-up artist said and Airielle gave her a small smile��thinking that the older woman was on her side. “She’s young and he probably tricked her.” Airielle abruptly stood up from the chair and walked off, officially done with those ladies and that conversation. 

“Fuck her” Yasmine spat over the Facetime call. “That bitch lucky I aint there.” Yasmine continued. Airielle sighed but said nothing. That interaction had rubbed her the wrong way and she needed someone to talk to. She wanted to talk to Josh but she knew that he was busy getting ready for the show and she didn’t want to burden him with unnecessary drama. 

“You can’t fight my coworkers.” Airielle said laughing lightly. “I mean should I feel bad?” Yasmine immediately shook her head. 

“No, and I mean it, don’t go back in there trying to be her friend Airielle. She’s weird as hell.” Airielle signed and tol Yasmine that she would call her back as she was driving back to Pensacola after the show. 

Walking back into the arena, Airielle felt like everyone was staring at her, it was weird she walked past a group of girls and they immediately stopped talking, letting Airielle know they were talking about her. Rolling her eyes she went about her business, getting her script for her segment with Kevin Owens, as she was walking towards the viewing area to watch the beginning of the show, Airielle literally bumped right into Kayla,  the latter of the two rolling her eyes and grunting in annoyance.  Airielle quickly apologized before trying to walk around her but Kayla moved in the same direction she did. 

“I trusted you.” Kayla said and Airielle furrowed her eyebrows together. 

“What?”  Kayla rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. 

“You used me to get close to Jey, I told you how i felt about him and you just said fuck me.” Airielle scoffed.

“No, I did not use you to get close to Josh. I would never do anything like that Kayla. You said y’all weren’t together. Yes, I do feel bad but, things happen, we hung out and I really like him Kayla, I’m sorry.” Kayla huffed and narrowed her eyes at Airielle before shaking her head and walking away. 

Reblogs, comments, likes, and feedback ALWAYS appreciated ❤ 

#jey uso #wwe #jey uso imagine #jey uso x black reader #main event jey uso #whatdoeseverybodywant writes #jey uso smut #the usos #jey uso x reader #jey uso fluff #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso x fem reader #jey uso one shot #jey uso x oc #wwe x fem reader #wwe x black reader #wwe x oc #wwe fanfiction #wwe x reader #your the only girl for me

[supermanshield]

superbat fic where theyre trying to wrangle everyones busy schedule? jl meetings, galas, someones birthday dinner, someones recital, theres a lot to account for lol

Oh anon, you know this is my favourite trope for superbat! <3 Thank you for the ask and sorry it took a while, but here it is. And I really let myself go, didn't count the words but it's way more than 100.

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

"Tonight?"

"I can't, Damian's teacher wants to speak to me. Again." Bruce sighed and flicked through the calendar on his phone. Almost every day was completely filled with appointments, meetings, league meetings, monitor duty, patrol time. Hmm... "How about Saturday morning?"

"I go running with Lois, you know that. And you probably won't be awake, anyway."

"You could just... start without me."

"Bruce!" The people at the table next to them looked up. Clark shut his mouth and sat back, embarrassed. Bruce went back to his phone. Clark still carried around a paper agenda, for some reason, and flicked through that.

"Saturday evening is Cass' ballet recital...."

"We definitely can't miss that," Clark confirmed. Bruce shook his head in agreement.

"Sunday you've got the annual Zenith Awards and Gala. Hmm."

Clark groaned. "I wouldn’t mind missing that one. Or sneak out during. I don't need to hear Luthor talk all evening."

"As one of the nominees? Clark, no. I'll be there to cheer you on, and protect you from the big bad Lex by talking over him."

Clark chuckled. "You're the best." His face lit up. "Oh. So after, we could sneak out together..."

"Won't do. It'll be too late by then.” He lowered his voice. “and I'll have to go straight to patrol."

"And Monday I've got a late monitor shift. Tuesday Dick's coming over for dinner, Wednesday..."

"Board meeting, you know that."

Clark nodded. "Right. Thursday I promised to help Jon... up north," he said, indicating the direction of the fortress with his eyebrows. He sat back, defeated, staring at his agenda. "So that's it, no time at all this week? Not even a little gap somewhere? I can be quick."

"And that's not always a good thing, Kent." Clark almost choked on his coffee. If he could. "And this is not even counting any..." Bruce looked over at the other table, lowered his volume so only Clark could hear. "Any of the unexpected things we deal with." Clark nodded solemnly, and leaned over the table closer to Bruce. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. Supervillains could visit, or break out, or natural disasters could occur. They were used to dropping everything at a moment's notice when they were needed. It was the rest of their lives that were so busy. 

"This was to be expected with four full-time jobs and 9 children between us," Bruce concluded, leaning over the table as well, meeting Clark halfway to put his glasses back on his face.

"I can't believe it's come to this already. We have to plan our sex time."

"If you call it sex time again, we might not have to plan it at all anymore, Clark."

Clark couldn't hold back a laugh at that. He brushed some hair out of Bruce's face. His mouth was curved in a genuine smile, a smirk he usually only saw in the bedroom. He still couldn't believe they had finally gotten together, and he was so happy with Bruce in his life, but it was hard sometimes, to keep meeting halfway and around their schedules, between battles and fights and missions, and daily life.

Bruce perked up suddenly, eyes opening wide. "Clark," he said. "What are we doing?"

Clark frowned. "A date? Just two regular guys on a date?"

"And what could we be doing."

A lightbulb came on in Clark's head, but he wasn't convinced yet. "Hey, a date is important too. I don't want our relationship to only consist of quickies in the broom closet."

"I agree," Bruce said hastily, and it warmed Clark's heart. "But we just established that you won't get any of me for at least a week, so I choose sex. Right now. We still have an hour." He stared intently into Clark’s eyes.

"Okay." Clark took a sip of the coffee that they were about to abandon, and held up one finger. "But only if you stay in bed with me after."

“Fine,” Bruce grumbled, but the skip in his heartbeat was unmistakable. 

Bruce paid for their coffees quickly, while Clark waited with his jacket by the door. As they left the little café, he could hear the couple that had sat next to them talking over their food.

“Ahh, young love,” the woman mused.

“Dear, those guys were at least in their forties.”

“You have no sense of romance, Derrick.” 

Clark smiled, jogging after Bruce into the alleyway to take him home.

#sorry if there are any mistakes i wrote this in an hour just now #superbat #write write #asks #anon #prompts

[fishfingersandjellybabies]

I just went and reread a lot of jon Comics and oh. My. GOD. This boy is OBSESSED with damian.

Like almost every comic at least has a mention of damian like what the heck. Boy you are pinning and you are pinning HARD yet you chose JAY?? (don't get me wrong it was fine that they got together but jay is so boring my God)

Like i genuinely believe that damian was jon's first crush AND bi awakening. Like there is just no way

Now i'm just imagining jon kinda regretting not confessing to damian and seeing damian with someone else be it Kon, nika, or conner (fully believe he is in a QPR tho)

I literally have a fic idea - kinda - about this haha. It would be about like, the various moments through Jon's life where the people around him notice he is head over HEELS for Damian and asking him about it and him being like "huh? no im not he's just my ultimate bestie!" all the way to like their fucking wedding day when hes asked and hes like "the moment I met him at ten years old to be entirely honest." and even Damian's like "...what? that's way too fucking early."

but also yes 100% Damian was Jon's awakening and even Damian had no idea.

I'm a bad queer and I don't know what qpr is but I too would enjoy Damian and Conner going on like, A date or something and Jon just losing his fucking mind haha.

#damian wayne #jonathan kent #jondami #also shippy headcanons #asks #anon

[greenhikingboots]

Ship Game. Answer with a GIF. No repeats. 1. First Ship I thought long and hard about it, and I think my first ship must have been Mulan and Li from Disney’s Mulan. The movie came out when I was just old enough to start thinking critically about movies, noticing what I liked and didn’t like. And I realized I really, really liked Mulan and Li as individual characters, but I didn’t like that we didn’t get to see them fall in love — just the spark of something starting at the end of the movie. I think it was the first time I daydreamed about different scenarios that could have played out between them, which is basically the foundation of fanfiction, right? So…. count it!

2. First OTP This has to be Draco and Hermione (Dramione) from Harry Potter. This is the ship that got me into reading fanfiction and actually engaging in fandom spaces. Unfinished fics still haunt my Google Docs, and I hope one day I’m going to come back to this ship and finish them. Basically, I love thinking about Draco’s possible redemption arc and I love that a relationship with Hermione helps explore and enhance it. Oh, and the angst!

3. Current Favorite Sydney and Carmen from The Bear. It took until the end of the most recent season for the appeal to sink in, and I’d like to see more positive moments between them before romantic feelings solidify. But I think they’ve got a great foundation. Plenty of conflict, sure, but relationship experts say the frequency of conflicts and the subject matter of conflicts aren’t what indicate success in relationships. It’s all about how conflicts are repaired. And I LOVE the way they do repairs together. So vulnerable. So willing to accept responsibility and try to change. Looking forward to their development in future seasons.

4. Shipped From the First Minute Josh and Donna from The West Wing. I watched this show way after it ended and found myself just wanting more and more of them. Like, they could have been the main characters instead of having an ensemble cast and I would have been perfectly content. Playful banter right off the bat. She keeps him in line. He’d be lost without her. They’re both smitten but dammit they work at the White House and that means they have to keep things professional. The pining! Do yourself a favor and go watch YouTube videos of just them. You won’t regret it.

5. Wish They’d Been Endgame I’m putting Jon and Sansa (Jonsa) here so that I have a sensible spot left for other ships. I do believe they’ll be endgame in the books, if we ever get them, so this answer is for Game of Thrones specifically. We’ve all read, reblogged, and probably written a few of our own posts about how many different ways the show went sideways. I have nothing new to say here and to recap previous thoughts would take way too many paragraphs. Jon, Sansa, and the Stark legacy all deserved so much better. That’s the short of it.

6. Wish They’d Been Canon As some other answers hint at, I typically empathize with writers’ choices even if they don’t fit my personal preference. So it was hard to think of a couple that wasn’t canon but I truly thought should have been from a cohesive narrative perspective. Maybe Caleb and Maeve from Westworld? This show went more and more off the rails with each season, so a lot more than ship dynamics would have to change to redeem it in my opinion. And I definitely wouldn’t want Caleb to have been unfaithful to his wife. But they showed us such a stronger bond between him and his daughter and between him and Maeve compared to him and his wife that, like…. maybe his wife shouldn’t have even been a character? Write her out completely, as early as possible? And then that strong partnership between Caleb and Maeve could have been something even more? Yep, that would have been better.

7. You Like But Most of Fandom Hates Do people *hate* Jacob and Bella (Jella) from Twilight? I don’t know, but I like it 100 times more than Bella and Edward, and I think that’s probably pretty uncommon. Actually, in my college public speaking class, we had an assignment where we had to have a partner and write persuasive speeches from opposing views. And I was like, “Who wants to be my partner and have fun with this by debating Twilight ships?” I compared Jella against serious research about successful relationships and ACED IT. My instructor liked my speech so much she asked me to give it a second time to another class she taught while she recorded it. I would pay money to be able to track down a copy of that. A+ work.

8. Don’t Even Watch But Ship Them Anyway Eddie and Chrissy (HellCheer) from Stranger Things. Opposites attract? Grumpy sunshine appearing but maybe not really? Outcast boy and popular girl? A ship name that isn’t about their names? DOOMED BY THE NARRATIVE? What’s not to love, you know? Plus, this ship’s fans make amazing art! And if I remember correctly, it loosely inspired a Jonsa AU fic I really enjoyed, lounge act.

9. Wish They’d Had a Different Storyline Stefan and Caroline (Steroline) from the Vampire Diaries. I’ve only dabbled in this fandom, but it seems like Klaus and Caroline (Klaroline) is a much more popular ship. They had great chemistry, so I get the appeal. But the surface-level unrequited crush to reluctant mentor/mentee to genuine friends to platonic soulmates to lovers slow burn of Steroline is just chef's kiss. But then — spoiler alert — right after they get married, Stefan sacrifices himself so his brother and ex-girlfriend can be together? From a writer’s perspective, I get that ending. Full circle, brotherly love, blah blah blah. But I liked Stefan and Caroline so much more than Damon and Elena and would have rather seen the former couple get the happy ending.

10. Favorite that was Endgame Coach Eric Taylor and his wife Tami Taylor from Friday Night Lights. Do they count? They were together the entire series and had few serious marital conflicts. So there was never any threat of being something other than endgame. But I’m picking them anyway. I love their classic bickering like an old married couple and the way they still lust for each other after so many years. And I love, love, love that the series finale ended with them making a move that was more for her career than his. Relationship goals.

#ship game #dramione #jonsa #jella #carmen x sydney #josh x donna #coach x tami #maeve x caleb #steroline #mulan #hellcheer

[bellysoupset]

I'm steadily falling in love with Jonah's character! I loved that Leo carsick fic where he was nervous about Jonah because he knew he'd get called out once Jonah noticed. That being said, I have a prompt for you! What if the team goes out for breakfast the day they have a long bus ride ahead of them, and as they start the journey, whatever Jonah ordered starts to give him awful indigestion. He feels horribly bloated, which eventually makes it impossible to properly muffle the painful burps that keep sneaking up on him. He of course gets called out by teammates for his double standards, and is pissed about it until one deep belch brings up his entire breakfast.

"Alright everyone," coach Eric all but yawned, pointing the bus, "get in."

It was late evening and they had just done a quick stop for a light dinner, after much much complaining from Vince and Ryan. Now most of them were too tired for all the ruckus and chatting that had been in the morning and they obeyed without a word, falling on their respective seats.

Jonah settled on the back, because nowadays Leo took his seat on the front in order to not get obnoxiously nauseous - not that it helped 100%, but it was better than nothing.

The problem with sitting on the back was Lucas and Vince's non stop bickering. Tonight, however, they were stuffed to the gills and quiet, or as quiet as they managed to be.

They were going to be driving into the night, so Jonah took his neck pillow out of his backpack and settled against the window.

"I don't think that's right," he heard Lucas mumbling to Vince, "they're not gonna kill off Tom, he's the main character."

So much for quiet.

Jonah frowned, but said nothing for a moment, hoping they'd take the hint and shut up. To add salt to the injury, not only he was sleepy and cranky, but his stomach felt stretched tight, making it difficult to breathe.

His annoyance grew as he overheard Vince go on a spiel about the main couple of their tv show. Couldn't they do this in the morning?

"Shut the fuck up," Jonah snapped at them, "some people want to sleep."

"We're being quiet!" Lucas cried out and Jonah glared at him.

"Not quiet enough!"

Both men grumbled and complained, but eventually shut up as Mikey too joined in Jonah's chorus of "just shut up dude"

Happy he had some peace and quiet, Jonah closed his eyes and settled back down. Now, however, he had no distraction from the pulsing in his stomach.

Literal pulsing, it felt like his belly was stuffed full and pulsing under his hand. He shifted on his seat, pressed the heel of his hand to his side and rubbed it in circles. In the half lit bus, no one could tell, or no one cared.

He winced as a sharp cramp hit him, then grimaced even more as a hot burp rolled out of his mouth. It burned its way up and made Jonah regret having the spicy chicken. Bad idea and he blamed Leo for that.

Jonah opened his eyes to glare at the front, at the general direction of his friend. Leo was curled up against the window, knocked out by meds and blissfully unaware he was being cursed at.

Jonah groaned as he felt his stomach start to churn. it was already bloated and pressing against his jeans, but he'd be damned before opening his pants in the crowded bus. The pants hurt, though, pressing against his belly and squeezing him right in the middle. He burped, loudly now and felt his cheeks burn.

"Gross" Lucas scoffed, while Vince joined in with:

"Some people are trying to sleep".

"Fuck off," Jonah scoffed, turning on his seat again and cradling his stomach. It was starting to feel really disgusting inside of it and the thought of his dinner came back, now powered by repulse.

He belched wetly, clamping a hand over his mouth and Vince kicked his seat.

"Shut. Up. Jon."

"Kick my seat again and I'm going to-" he cut his threat short with another large burp and now Mikey, who genuinely had been trying to sleep unlike Lucas and Vince - who were just assholes - joined in.

"Goddamit, Jonah, shut up. Your burps are disgusting."

"I'm not tryin-"

"I want to sleep," Lucas said cheekly and Jonah glared at him, then winced as a cramp made him want to curl up. He didn't curl up.

He tried to swallow down the burps or at least to let them out slowly under his breath, but it wasn't bringing him any relief. In fact, every little airy burp he shakily let out, tasted just like dinner and Jonah dizzily planted a sweaty hand to the bus window, trying to unlock it. it was jammed shut like all windows, because of the constant a/c they had.

His stomach gurgled omniously, loud and clear, and a hiccup wrecked through him. It made the contents in his gut slosh up and morphed into a burp at the end.

"Jonah, dude!" Mikey whined and Jon wanted to tell him to fuck off, but another hiccup sent him into a burping fit.

One, two - the third one got stuck in his chest and he heard Vince scoff, "finally"

Jonah had a hand firmly clamped over his mouth, but his jaw and head felt heavy... He gagged, then the stuck burp came up, loud, wet and carrying with it his dinner.

It sprayed between his lips, on the seat to his right and Jonah didn't have a second to breathe. He retched again, loudly, and more orange vomit joined the mess, covered his lap-

"Ah shit" he heard someone say, then the lights overhead were turned on, by either Lucas or Vince, while the other ran ahead to get the bus driver to stop.

His stomach was far from done and Jonah moaned, giving up on trying to hold it back, since he was already drenched in it. He seized with another gag and burped up more vomit, coughing as the chunks clung to his throat.

Finally the violent heaves tampered off, though the nausea didn't.

"Fuck, Jon" it was Leo's voice and he could've cried, because Leo was twenty times a better comfort than Vince or Lucas or any of the others.

"I don't feel well..." he groaned, pathetically, eyes still squeezed shut and breathing through his mouth. If he saw the mess, he knew he was going to hurl again.

"Yeah, no shit, man" Vince sounded guilty as he said it, planting a heavy hand on his shoulder, "we're stopping in a second, ok?"

Jonah's only answer was another deep belch and with it more watery puke, that covered the arm he had wrapped around his complaining stomach. It was still churning fiercely, nowhere near done.

"You're okay" Leo sighed, voice gentle like he was talking with a wounded pet, "try to breathe, Jon."

"Can't-" he choked up, gagging, "...sick."

Jonah felt, before he heard, the bus stop. The lack of movement helped, minimally. Helped the vertigo at least, if not the nausea.

Then, "oh hell no-"

"Get out of the way then"

And then a hand was grabbing his arm and throwing it over someone's neck, another arm coming to sneak around his waist as he was pulled up.

Jonah didn't dare open his eyes, he clamped his mouth shut and buried his face on the person's shoulder, as he was guided past the seats and down the steps, to the cool night air.

He sucked in the clean air greedily and opened his eyes, looking anywhere but his soiled shirt and pants. It was Lucas holding him up. Fuck, Jonah thought vaguely, but what he said was "gonna hurl on your shoes."

"I'll live" Lucas all but shrugged, the insufferable prick, "I'm sorry for being a dick earlier-"

"Ugh definitely gonna vomit now," Jonah scoffed. The last thing he wanted was a pity apology.

He heard as the other guys also left the bus, just in time to witness as he burped up another weak stream of vomit, covering the humid grass on the side of the road and splashing on the toes of Lucas' sneakers.

"He's gonna be dehydrated at this pace," Leo worried and Jonah blinked, blearily, at him.

"He is right here" he scoffed, throat hoarse, "I'll be fine. I'm fine."

Lucas snorted, "yeah, you're fine" he snickered, still holding him up, "where's the coach?"

"Talking with the driver" Vince answered, still sounding extremely guilty and holding a water bottle for Jon, as well as his bag in the other hand, "you need to change out of this mess."

He belched as he opened his mouth to agree, something wet and disgusting that had Vince and Leo jumping back, Lucas holding him a little tighter.

"Jonah?" Vince called, practically whined, causing him to groan.

"I'm fine-" his stomach gurgled angrily in response, but he ignored it, tugging at the collar of his shirt. Leo jumped to action, helping him strip it down, carefully avoiding getting the puke in his hands or Jonah's hair. Vince had fished out a shirt out of his bag, along with sweatpants.

Leo glared at Jonah's jeans, the zipper, the hem and the button were all covered in vomit. Just glancing at the mess made Jonah gag, which caused Lucas to scoff.

"I'll do it" he said, passing Jon's weight to Vince, the only other one who could hold him up with such ease, and then crouching down, going for the jeans.

Jonah's stomach of course chose this exact moment to gurgle, causing Lucas to pause as he opened the jeans, "are you gonna hurl? Because not on my hair, Jon, c'mon."

"Not-" he gulped the urge to gag, "jusst rush"

Lucas sighed as he finished pushing the ruined jeans down, rolling them up and using the dry parts to wipe the vomit from Jon's lower belly and the top of his boxers. The rough texture and the pressure, even if Luke was being extra delicate, pushed out a burp and dislodged a cramp.

"Fuck" Jonah whimpered, giving up on all dignity and cradling his puffy stomach, "hurts."

"Shit" he heard Vince whisper, sounding panicked, clearly triggered by Jonah curling up with the pain.

"I wanna lay down" he all but whined, so sick and tired of this night, "I'm done."

It seemed like it took forever. Cleaning the bus (hardly helped and he spent the next twenty minutes coughing up bile in a plastic bag), then stopping at a side of the road motel and finally being able to lie down.

Jonah was beyond lightheaded when he managed, still burping wetly, but quietly. He took a minute to realize it was Lucas sharing with him and not Leo.

"Whaa?" He tried to question, squeezing his eyes shut against the nausea. Lucas shrugged, handing him an already opened water bottle.

"I'm the best option" he explained and Jonah knew it was because he had taken care of his mom during the final stages of cancer and witnessed way worse than some indigestion nausea, but it didn't make it any less humiliating.

"Leave me alone"

"If you're well enough to be a dick, you're well enough to drink your water" Lucas scoffed and Jonah groaned. He was in for a long night

#mywriting #jonah banks #sickfic #emeto #Indigestion

[pandorem]

For today’s Tma hyperfixation fic idea, I was thinking about a time travel fic where Tim goes back alone. Now, time travel fics in the TMA fandom are aplenty, but I’ve never seen one where Tim goes back and goes into overprotective big brother mode for both Sasha AND Jon pretty much immediately.

I think it’s pretty in character for him to go back and have trouble getting over his anger at Jon right away, but I also think it would be interesting to explore the idea that I’ve seen in some fics already, where part of the reason Tim is SO cold to Jon is that it feels like he’s already lost him. His brother was killed and there was something that wasn’t Danny but pretending to be. Sasha was killed and replaced by the Not!Them. Jon is turning into a monster. Sure it might be a slower process, but it’s already too late to save him. Who knows how long he’s been a monster for? Who knows how much of his actions can be blamed on turning into something that isn’t Jon anymore?

I find that idea really fascinating, and I was thinking of Tim going back either to the very beginning of season one or back when they were all researchers, taking one look at younger Jon and going “this is still %100 Jon. Still human. I can still save him.” (Eps bc I am firm on the headcanon that Tim thought of Jon as a friend pre-series).

Tim’s character arc where Jon is involved would deffo be in realizing and coming to terms with the fact that the Jon from the future was still Jon, that he didn’t change nearly as much as Tim thought, that younger Jon is still capable of many of the things future Jon did, in both positive and negative ways. And ALSO coming to terms with his own flaws, how he had legitimate reasons to be angry with Jon but also was deeply unfair and used Jon as a scapegoat, and blamed him for things that bordered on victim blaming. (This Tim would definitely be made to notice how early Elias set his sights on Jon and tried to manipulate him).

Idk, I just have a lot of thinky thoughts about Tim Stoker, aided by some great fic I’ve read, and would love to see some time travel fics where he starts as overprotective of past Jon rather than angry and distant.

#tim stoker #tma tim #tma jon #jon sims #the magnus pod #the magnus archives #fic ideas that I’ll probably never write

[cellsshapedlikestars]

I’m sure you’ve answered this before, but I scrolled through your Tumblr for an embarrassingly long time and wasn’t able to find a post on it so I thought I’d ask you (possibly, again) but please don’t feel any obligation to answer (which goes without saying), but: what is your secret? You’ve written 60 works in your fandom in 3 years — that’s insane! And they are such good quality writing! The prose, the plot, the dialogue, the characterization, everything. How do you do it? How do you find the time, because I assume you’re an adult with a job, etc. (this conclusion, dear reader, being the result of my aforementioned sleuthing) and how do you find the motivation? Sometimes I come back from work, and if I even manage to make it in before 8 pm, I’m still a zombie staring at the wall. Do you plot? Do you outline? If you outline, do you have a specific way of outlining? How long do you spend on a first draft? I’m sorry, I want to know EVERYTHING, because I’m so impressed, not just by your stories or your writing or your storytelling, but your CONSISTENCY — I’ve been writing 30 years and it takes me so so long to produce any type of writing (100 words can take me a whole week) . Having said that, obviously no pressure at all to answer this, in which case, just know that I find your writing magic 🥰

I feel like I've answered all of these in bits and pieces over the years.

answer below the cut cause it's kinda long

yes, I'm adult lmao, but an adult with a job where I'm high up enough that I often have a ton of excess time during the work day, which I'll use to write. Notice how my fics are usually updated on a Tuesday or Thursday? It's because I work from home those days. Now, does my job also have periods of intense stress where I end up not writing for a full week because my brain is too numb? Yes, absolutely.

on the topic of writing quckly, I've explained it like this before: when I'm doing something mundane like driving or showering or work or whatever, I think about my stories constantly, and therefore by the time I sit down to write, I've watched the movie version play out in my head dozens of times and so all I need to do is type it out. Writing is my creative outlet, stress relief, and therapy all in one.

Do I plot? In my head, absolutely. I always know the end of a story when I start it. How I get there may shift and change, but usually not the main plot points, and I've very rarely deviated from my original ending. The only one I can genuinely think of is help me out. The main killer changed about halfway through, as did what Jon chooses to do with his life at the end.

Do I outline? I try. My current outline for saddest summer is just "chapter 5 - festival". Like plotting, I tend to do it all in my head. If I type out an outline, it's a stream of conscious set of words and thoughts and possibly phrasing I want to use. there's no bullet points or anything like that

I'll be honest and say I don't really know what people ever mean by drafts. I just start writing the chapter and I'll usually reread what I've written before continuing to write, so the first part of a chapter is always the most edited. One shots I tend to write in one go, read it over once, then post it.

I've seen other people on here talk about writing like it's some elegant craft, whereas I feel like I throw a bunch of nonsense at the wall and call it art. I feel like my writing is as chaotic and random and last minute as my home renovations are, but somehow both always turn out alright. I'm really just here to have fun and hopefully other people can have fun reading what I write!

Also, you say 60 fics, but remember that 30 of them are one shots I did for events/prompts, and about 10 more are 2/3 chapters only. Also my stories in general tend to average about 10 chapters, which is also how I get so many written. I don't enjoy writing super long fics (though I have no problem reading longer fics?) When I was first starting out, I posted waaaayyyy more frequently, especially with the events here on Tumblr that aren't really a thing anymore. Now I average a chapter a week

#cellsshapedlikeasks

[roboromantic]

oh a couple more things *writes a post 10 times longer than the previous one*

ngl I was kinda hoping for something a little more interesting for Prime's voice but oh well. At least there's juuuuust enough of a twist to it that it's only like, 97% a Peter Cullen impression and not literally a guy known for his Cullen impression (nothing against Jon Bailey but like. c'mon.)

I still think Mo's eyes are way too big compared to everyone else's but the style's definitely grown on me, like I like the bots eyes

wait hold up I just found this frame where you can see Wheeljack's face because apparently he has one under the mask. I didn't even notice that he put it on, I just thought he was gonna have the faceplate on all the time like the G1 cartoon (and personally I prefer when they aren't removeable, that's just their face) but for everyone else here ya go

I also think it’s neat that you can kinda see how stuff is attached like it (probably) is on the toys, like I can see the stuff on Bee’s back being used to move stuff around for the transformation and OP’s straight-up got a visible ball joint

I really love the music playing when Twitch and Thrash are being made, it's neat

I'm not super into the ~electromagnetic field~ and/or spark-bonding emotional mind-reading thing that some people put in fics, but that said. having some canon way for humans to participate in that is neat, though I'm guessing this isn't exactly a "choose your partner" kinda thing. Also apparently both kids are connected to both bots and vice versa, which is interesting. Gimme more deets

what else     oh Bee says that transforming is "Literally our name!" which I mean is technically true but like, I'm pretty sure that normally that's just what humans call them and they call themselves Cybertronians/Camians/etc.  So "Terrans" for the baby bots.         I could get into language stuff but that’d be a whole ‘nother novel so MOVING ON

I don't think the Terrans have an Autobot insignia anywhere, so I wonder if they'll get one eventually or if they'll get an Earth faction kinda thing which is presumably part of what Prime and Elita have? You can see on Prime’s shoulder above that they've got an Autobot symbol inside of the other symbol that shows up on the Earth military (?) vehicles

And speaking of THAT, it looks like Megatron has the same "faction symbol" as Prime and Elita-1 👀 Also he’s a helicopter again which is dope

Like it’s too blurry to be 100% sure, there might be a Decepticon emblem instead of an Autobot one (or maybe no other emblem?) but in any case, unless those vehicle that got blown up on the bridge were actually Cybertronians, it seems to be being used by humans, Autobots, AND Decepticons.

I also noticed that while Swindle has a standard Decepticon symbol, Bombshell looks to have something different?

Is the guy that’s not Swindle a new character? not that they'll necessarily exist for long given that Mandroid seems to have taken their arm but. I think they're also the only bot we see with a visor besides the pic of Soundwave on that comic

Also I noticed that the explosive Swindle throws at OP looks like a coin and makes that like. that schwing! sound effect that plays in stuff when  a gold coin is hit. do you know what I mean sjgkhfjk

I know we joke about the scale being g-d-awful at times but The Fuck is this. Like Thrash seems to be roughly the same height as Bee, but I’m pretty sure either I’m completely misunderstanding how the perspective in that last pic is supposed to work or he got shrunk or something

Also damn, they’re tiny. Twitch is barely even taller than Alex

Why is Skywarp blue?????

#Chal's TF ramblings #Transformers spoilers #Earthspark spoilers

[mikecrewsteacup]

Hi! Your “who howls my name” fic is literally my favorite fic on a03 right now. Im really fucking enjoying it and am so excited for everything you’ve got planned. Absolutely loved the “from gerard to gerry” in the last chapter.

I’ve got two questions. One, is there any particular fan art you have that shows how you imagine jon and Gerry in the fic? I know a lot of people imagine them different ways, and even though I usually go for majority fanon jon (dark hair, darker skin, short) I’ve noticed you describe him a little differently so I was just curious.

Second question, are we ever gonna get Georgie and Melanie? This one’s just out of personal curiosity bc they are my favorites and I would love to see them meet Gerry! (Not even entertaining a possibility where they AREN’T girlfriends) (Jkjk)

Thanks for all your work and time going into this fic! You are very talented and I can’t wait to read the rest 🥰😍

!!! This is so sweet to hear, thank you anon for letting me know you like it so much :) I am also loving working on it - it's one of my faves - but my self-confidence that others will like my output is a fickle thing, so this is so kind of you to reach out and let me know you're enjoying it. Gerard-to-Gerry reveals are some of my favorite things to read haha so I was super excited to do my own take on it, I'm thrilled you enjoyed. So it's funny, you're the second person to ask about my headcanons for this fic for their appearances! Which isn't bad at all, but my choice to make Jon blond was a genuinely random one and based on wanting him to feel sort of washed-out and homely with his white-plagued hair LMAO but I'd say I typically imagine him in my head differently! But here is someone who draws blond Jon who I ADORE the art of, and they just came to tumblr from twt too. I don't quite imagine him with an undercut, though... (Also I'll say that I actually usually imagine Jon like how this person draws him, I just had to pick a hair color in chapter 3 or 4 of the fic and blond won, lol.) As for Gerry, I imagine him looking on the more masc and plain end of goth - with piercings but little to no makeup, heavy boots & leather jacket, etc. Here are some great fanarts that are mostly how I imagine Gerry (and the first art of blond Jon has a Gerry design I enjoy as well, for hair/facial structure). (There is another artist who's nearly 100% it but I cannot find them, they're only on twt and someone recently reposted their art here tho...hm.) I don't personally imagine Gerry has lip rings or gauges or even wears eyeliner (he seems both too practical and too tired for shit that can get caught on things, or that would cause extra pain, or that would require constant re-application) but I do tend to think of him as having multiple ear piercings & probably a bridge as his facial piercing. There is actually an entire future conversation in my doc for this fic where he and Jon discuss his piercings! :D And ooh, Georgie & Melanie! Georgie will likely remain as mentions only, but Melanie actually has an entire pre-written scene (which I may need to rewrite to keep the flow), so she will almost definitely appear :) And yes they are always girlfriends LOL. In order to keep a tighter grip on the length & plot we will probably only meet Archives cast, and not all of those, either. Thanks so much for messaging me! It's very sweet of you to say so ksdjfksdf and nice to hear <3 I hope you keep reading and enjoying :D

#ghoul speaks #this made my night to see in my inbox yesterday anon thank you #i spent a while gathering fanart links and its hardly all of them but its a good portion of what i envision them to look like #someone else draws gerry very masc and broad and i basically imagine their art but skinnier #if i find it i'll link it as well later

[ollieofthebeholder]

oh 29 for the fic wip please please please

Send me an ask about one of my WIPs to learn more!

So remember in the notes of Chapter 45 of leaves when I said I'd struggled with the chapter because I'd suddenly got the idea for a plot twist that would 100% break the pacing of the plot?

This was that plot twist. (Putting the rest under a Read More because it spoils the ending of leaves.)

Basically, when Melanie stabbed Jonah after JonMartin Prime went back in time, the plan was for the Keeper to throw her a door and get her out of the Institute safely. Unfortunately, she timed it exactly right - or exactly wrong, depending on how you look at it - and got caught in the tangle of the tethers as they snapped around Jonah and were dragged through the crack beneath Hill Top Road. Ironically, she managed the one thing Jon and Martin hadn't - to get the timing down so that she was still alive when the Fears went through - which means that, unlike with the Primes, there wasn't an extra copy of Melanie King wandering about. She went back into her life, her body, exactly as she was the day she went to the Institute for the second time in S2.

So yeah, in this AU (I can't believe I have an AU of my own fic, but here we are), the Melanie who turns up in Chapter 31 is the one from the future.

As a bonus, have her first interaction with Past Jon from her POV:

There’s nobody else in there. Two of the desks have laptops on them, both closed, and stacks of paperwork beside them. The trapdoor is exposed but not open. It’s all perfectly mundane and normal and Melanie hates all of it.

She strides over to the Archivist’s office. The door is firmly shut; politeness dictates that she ought to knock, but Jon hates people knocking on his door for reasons she’s never cared enough to learn, so instead, she just pulls open the door.

“Excuse me, do you have a moment?” she asks.

Jon jumps backwards, obviously startled. He’s seated at his desk, recorder clutched in one hand. Evidently he was in the middle of recording a statement…or something…and she’s caught him off guard. He’s wearing the sweater she remembers him wearing more or less from the moment he came back from his coma to, well, the moment she quit, and she remembers, too, that it’s one of Martin’s that he accidentally left in the office when he took the job with Peter Lukas.

That’s a good sign. Maybe.

“Miss King—uh—how did you get in here?” Jon is trying to sound professional, but he actually sounds like he’s trying to get his heart rate under control.

“Sasha let me in.” Melanie steps all the way into the office and closes the door, just in case Elias is about, and studies Jon. She wants to ask if he’s from the future, if he remembers, but instead she asks, “Are you all right?”

“Hmm? Sorry?” Jon oh-so-casually closes the folder in front of him and slides it under the stack next to him. Like she’s not going to notice. She may not be tied to the Eye…yet…but whatever that statement is, it’s something he doesn’t want her to see.

There may be hope yet.

“You look like hell,” Melanie says. It’s how this conversation went the first time, but also, it’s true. Jon looks stressed, worry in his eyes he’s only barely concealing, and there’s a tension about him like a spring ready to snap. He’s gripping the tape recorder so hard his hand is trembling faintly. About the only good thing that can be said for him is that he looks like he’s got a few good meals in him, and he doesn’t have the extensive scarring she remembers from the last time she sat across of him in this office.

Something about that nags at the back of her mind, but it’s quickly drowned in the wave of emotion that hits her as she remembers the genuine compassion and devastation in Jon’s eyes when she asked him to call an ambulance for me in about five minutes, the way he’d actually hugged her tightly and almost made her reconsider her actions. How annoyed she’d been when he was the one to scream in agony when she did it, the way he’d cradled her and whispered I’m sorry over and over until she passed out from her own pain. Memories she’d apparently repressed, because goddammit, she still doesn’t like him.

“It’s been a rough few months,” Jon says, recalling her to the present, and she looks up at him, desperately searching for some sign that that’s a hint, that he’s signaling to her that he’s spent the last few months slogging through a post-apocalyptic hellscape. His eyes flick over her for a moment. “And if I look like hell, you must be in a far lower circle than I am. Are you all right?”

That’s not something she ever expected to hear from Jon, and she blinks at him, even as hope flares up again. It’s him, it’s him, he made it, they made it…“Fine. I—um—” She considers for a minute, then decides, best to be cautious. Maybe she can convince him to duck down to the tunnels. “I actually need your help.”

Jon’s eyes narrow, just slightly, and his voice goes flat and cynical. “Interesting.”

She still can’t read him. Time to try an experiment. Melanie snaps, and she isn’t entirely faking being annoyed. “All right, can you not be an arsehole about it? I just need access to your library.”

Her Jon, the Jon from her timeline, will refuse. If he thinks she’s the Melanie King from the past, then he’s aware of where this path will take her, aware of what will happen if he lets her look at those books, if he lets her go to India. He’ll tell her no, he’ll look like it hurts him, but he’ll do it, because even if it means Past Melanie will hate him, it’ll at least keep her safe, and then—

“So talk to Diana,” Jon says, sounding a bit clipped. “She runs the place.”

And just like that, the little flicker of hope in her chest dies. He doesn’t remember her, only knows her as the irritating, argumentative woman who came in with a story and shouted at him the whole time. It’s not her Jon. Something’s gone terribly, terribly wrong and they didn’t make it back. Or at least he didn’t make it back. Maybe there’s still hope for Martin. Maybe.

Melanie should storm out at this point, but…she can’t. If there’s any hope of changing things, she’ll have to do it herself. Jon may be an arse, but that doesn’t mean he deserves what happens—happened—to him. Nobody does.

“Yeah, I don’t exactly have the academic credentials you guys demand, so apparently I need someone to vouch for me,” she says. Jon sighs heavily, sounding annoyed, but she plunges on regardless. “And you’re basically the closest thing I have to a friend here.”

It hurts, saying it like that. Because they weren’t friends, they weren’t, she absolutely hates his guts and he never really liked her either (he tried to find another way out for you, he knew you wanted to quit, he promised you he would find something, he let you quit even though he knew it would likely hurt him…). But the man standing before her is the closest thing she has to the man she knew, and that’s…supremely unfair.

Jon gives a short, disbelieving laugh. “We’ve spoken once, and we ended up screaming at each other—”

“Yes! And that’s more than I have with anyone else here.” Melanie feels as though she’s following the lines of a well-worn script, words put down on paper and given her to memorize. She does it anyway, though, invoking Georgie’s name, startling Jon into admitting that he and Georgie hadn’t parted on the best of terms, avoiding mentioning the details of why nobody in the business will talk to her anymore, describing people in the industry as skeptics pretending to be believers pretending to be skeptics.

And that’s where the first twist comes in, because instead of sneering I think the word you’re looking for is “charlatans”, Jon looks at her for a moment and then says, “And none of them are helpful.”

She starts to bristle automatically, then looks at him again. He’s not…dismissing her. She doesn’t know how to take that, so she just tries to go back on script, telling him the group split up, responding to his small noise of distress (not a go on this time, which is odd) by describing the bare bones of what led to her arrest. “After that…”

“Your reputation went with it,” Jon says.

He doesn’t say all-important. He’s taking her seriously. Melanie looks away, clenching her jaw tightly, trying her hardest to stay angry. It’s important that she be angry here, it’s important that nobody suspect…and damn it all, she does. Not. Like. Jonathan. Sims. He’s everything about herself she hates, which is…basically everything, if she’s being honest, and they’ve never done anything but rub one another the wrong way.

I’m so sorry, Melanie, I should never have put you in harm’s way like this, this is all my fault…

“Yes,” she grits out, forcing back the memories (and oh, God, why are they coming out now, why couldn’t they have just stayed decently buried). “Look, I have leads that I really need to follow up on, and as far as my colleagues are concerned these days, I’m the ghost.”

She’s aware of the dark irony in her voice at that. She’s practically the fucking Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come. And nobody but her will ever know that. She just needs Jon to talk with Diana, get her that pass, and then—

“All right,” Jon says. “Come on, then.”

Melanie’s head jerks up. That’s not in the script. “What?” she asks, a bit stupidly.

“Come on,” Jon repeats, and he actually gets to his feet as he does so. “I’ll take you up to the library and vouch for you. If all else fails, I can claim we’re borrowing you as an adjunct for a few weeks or something.” He must see something in her face, because he suddenly falters. “U-unless you’d rather wait?”

“Oh.” Melanie isn’t sure whether to hug him or hit him. This…isn’t right. This isn’t what she expected. Maybe he is…no, no, he wouldn’t let her go up there if he was.

But Sasha’s alive, and Jon’s being helpful, and something has clearly changed. Maybe Martin’s making a difference.

“No, the sooner the better,” she says. “I—just expected a bit more of a fight, to be honest.” She also expected him to say something about losing the respect of his peers, but…

“Yes, well, I know what it’s like to be itching to follow up on a lead and have your every effort frustrated,” Jon says dryly. “And I believe I owe you for being…dismissive of you before.” While Melanie is still trying to cope with that, he seems to suddenly notice the recorder in his hand and adds, “Uh, end supplemental.”

She should be pissed about being recorded, but…she’s not. Maybe she can steal that tape later and listen back to it to prove to herself she didn’t imagine this. Acceding to Jon’s gesture, she heads back out into the Archives proper.

#ollie writes fanfic #asks for ts #jaz--hands

[linksthoughtbrambles]

I KNOW I SAID THE BEAR PRESERVE PROMPT, AND YOU TAKE THAT IF YOU WANT BUT I ACTUALLY WENT TO A LIST FOR THIS ON LOL

SO, your call on which (if either) you want, but I'm going to give you two because you said farscape and now I'm not okay.

Zelink- "so then they make a fool proof plan they think will work just to hold their love interests hand"

Jon/Aeryn (DO THEY EVEN HAVE A SHIP NAME??)- "character a blatantly flirting and character b answering everything bluntly and 100% seriously"

ANYWHO! CONGRATS ❤️❤️❤️

[Okay, Deilia, you're going to get two fics, but here's the Zelink one first! This... turned out way darker than I intended it to. Your ask seemed more lighthearted than this--but I've had this moment in my head for a long time for post-game ALTTP Link and Zelda, and it wouldn't let me not write it. I hope you enjoy it anyway!]

The Choice Is Hers

“The celebrated captain of the Princess’ personal guard should have no difficulty retrieving that flag, should he?” sneered Lord Jravdis’ teenage son with all the simpering insincerity of gross entitlement (Link kept his revulsion secreted in his core self, perhaps leaking through in the pits of his pupils, but nowhere else)—with an aggressive stomp, widening his still-unintimidating stance, the boy added, “If he can’t, it’s not a fair test, now, is it?”; it stirred Link’s already-tumultuous grief at the unfairness, at the suitors’ presence here at all, at Zelda’s father’s adherence to oppressive law forcing her to choose between them, at the Silence he must keep, at her ignorance of its significance, and grief it was—for what choice did he have?—he could whisk her away, and he’d no doubt she’d go with him willingly (joyously), that she’d welcome the heat of his mouth on hers and the far deeper love he’d gift her, but that would make it his choice, not hers, and he would not take it from her.

Ensnared in a stalemate nine-tenths-wrought of his own sense of morality, he watched Zelda (his other half, his partner, the woman who’d felled Ganon with him in the Pyramid of Power, who’d helped him craft what they’d thought the perfect wish: the restoration of lives lost to Aghanim’s coup) lope toward the greased challenge-flagpole and leap upward with mountain-doe-grace, with a seemingly impossible grasshopper-like spring, snatching the flag from the arms of the sky itself and landing with a roll, the fingers of one hand splayed against the ground to steady her, the whole event so elegantly quiet the boy took no notice; yet he noticed Link’s eyes, turning in time to see Zelda in all the airy, sideways elegance she’d come to adopt in the dark wilds wielding the golden bow, presenting the flag to him—Link’s smile emerged undefeatable, raising the muscles on his face, raising himself from a pit of impassible constriction, a grin following soon after at the one on her face as she said, “It seems fair to me—here you are,” offering the dusty prize to the lord’s son.

Link knew at once from the measured path of her night-blue eyes on the boy’s face, Zelda had never expected this peacock to accept anything suggesting her worth outstripped his, and when he demurred (with an infuriating utterance that someone must have retrieved it for her), Zelda closed the space between herself and Link, lifted his hand, and placed the flag within it—with one of her hands supporting Link’s and the other pressing the flag to him, every seam on the undersides of her fingers knowing every wrinkle on his palm as she slid at a rate of millimeters per eon against it; “Then I’ll present this to you, Link—for I know you could have retrieved it, were you not too honorable to flaunt your prowess,” she said, her wind-chime voice at once the most glorious and torturesome song he’d ever heard—“and let it be known, any suitor who dares contend with my guard captain will certainly lose, and his arrogance made clear beyond any doubt—Link is not some animal in a menagerie, beholden to your whims,” she rang with finality, and Link prayed in that moment, prayed she knew more of wedding nights than she should, that she’d seek him beneath the blanket of darkness to make the choice he desperately wanted: and if not, that he could bear a despair complete as if the three jagged prongs of Ganon’s trident had thrust through his spinal column and burst out his front, in searing pain and impotence.

____

[Note: The lengths of these 'sentences' are reaaaaaaally pushing it, hehe.]

#thanks for the ask! #3 sentence fic #supposedly #boy is there a lot of punctuation here #a link to the past #the-wish-backfires AU #zelink #alttp link #alttp zelda #in this au zelda went with him #and didn't stay in the sanctuary #i've had that story in my head so long #but haven't written it down

[detectivedamian]

It occurs to me, in a good-mom Talia fic, where Jon has broken Damian’s heart.... nobody else would understand his pain more. I keep alluding to the fact, when I write about this sort of thing, that Damian is falling into the same trap as his mom and falling in love with somebody who could never love him back... but that interaction would be so fun to write.

Talia would never wish that sort of pain on Damian, because she knows it well. In her efforts to help, she’d probably drive him to do some unhealthy things-- throw himself into work with his father, remove himself from Jon in the way she never could from Bruce, follow his father and only his father the way she’s only followed hers-- but she knows Bruce is a better man to follow.

Not to mention... Bruce would 100% notice Damian acting much more like his mother, and I don’t think he’d like it.

#jondami #damijon #Damian Wayne #Talia al Ghul #bruce wayne #jonathan samuel kent #Damian al Ghul #don't get me wrong #in this fic Jon is 100% going to notice too #and he's not gonna stand for that shit #but Bruce is absolutely going to notice that something has hurt Damian enough #to pull back into himself and act more like his mom #because who else does he have an example to follow when it comes to a broken heart?

[the-witches-you-couldnt-burn]

Like I did with you

So I’ve been procrastinating hard during my study break for my exams, but here have a song fic!

Ghost of you by 5SOS

Genius comments: The song tells the tale of a heartbroken lover who has lost his significant other – due to a breakup or even suicide/death – and is refusing to accept the fact that she is never coming back.

I didn’t feel like writing angst and whenever I hear this song I feel like ballroom dancing (and I have).

Also thank you to the lovely people on the Maribat discord server!

Ao3

The sequel ‘It started with a whisper’ is up!

————————

Gotham Academy implemented a new ‘Study Abroad’ program due to recent funding from a local humanitarian. This program gave the students of Gotham Academy a chance to study abroad in Europe and vice versa. Countries like Sweden, Greece, Germany, Ireland and more participated in the program; offering a multitude of high schools with many different courses.

And because of that very wealthy benefactor, his son got first pick on where he would like to study. This was 100% not a forced decision at all to subtly keep track of the happenings of Paris. With that the Ice Prince of Gotham took the City of Love by storm.

He had been at Collège Françoise Dupont for the past few months, and it’s been hell. The class he had been placed into was ripping apart at the seams. There were two students that the class gravitated towards; he observed some of the others meeting in secret, without the knowledge of their respective ‘leaders’.

The first student that held the majority of the class’ focus was Lila Rossi. She was a black hole with beady green eyes, who dragged who ever was in her reach to an agonising fate. Damian saw through her deceptions and rejected her flirtations. The students that followed her, ate up whatever lie she spat out. Rossi soon learned that lies about the Wayne family and Gotham wouldn’t fly with him.

“Really? You worked with Monsieur Wayne?” The pink clad girl, Rose, squeaked.

Damian had just walked into class on his second day at the hell hole and already regretted it. He shot a glare towards the large group, “Who ever told you that is severely misinformed. My father has never worked with a minor from Europe, due to potential rumours and allegations it could cause. It is not a threat but a promise if a lie of similar caliber is spread there will be a lawsuit.” And with that he walked towards his seat in the back, the Ice Prince had cast his decree, the class’ atmosphere had frozen over.

The second student was Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Those that surrounded her were Alix Kubdel, Chloé Bourgeois, Max Kanté, Lê Chiến Kim and the occasional secret appearance from Juleka Couffaine. They didn’t view Dupain-Cheng through rose coloured lenses, they were always grounded and opinions were respected. Damian, who was a loner without Jon at his side, was satisfied by himself; Marinette respected that and didn’t force him to socialise like Lila tried to.

So that leads us to this. He stood against a sidewall of the giant banquet hall, staring out at the crowd before him. Jon was walking to wards him with a can of sprite in hand. Jon had moved to Paris with him but had been placed into a different class. The boy who was the epitome of sunshine stuck around the Ice Prince, their friendship is an enigma to the Françoise Dupont students.

Jon’s face was flushed. He had just gotten a drink after dancing for the past hour. Tonight was the night of the Collège’s formal dance for their graduating class. Skirts of all colours and fabrics swirled, as their partners (majority of whom had matching suits) twirled them to the music.

Jon, gesturing to the crowd, asked him whether he was going to stand there all night or dance. Taking a sip of his drink a smirk appears on his face, “unless the great Damian Wayne is to much of a coward to dance.”

Here I am waking up

Still can't sleep on your side

Damian’s head snapped towards the taller boy, “Are you seriously using my ego to get me to dance?”

Jon raising an eyebrow, “Well?”

If I can dream long enough

The temperamental teen stormed off, grumbling about “Jon being as bad as Todd”. Scanning the room he search for a suitable partner, there was no way he would embarrass himself by dancing alone.

You'd tell me I'd be just fine

I'll be just fine

He spotted Dupain-Cheng stood off to the side, alone. She was draped in a layered white dress with black hemming. As he neared, he realised that the asymmetrical skirt was actually a light blush with her signature apple blossom flowers embroidered. She looked up at him and he straightened his stance, slowing his pace. Her sapphire eyes locked on to his, her bangs curled off to the side along with the rest of her hair in beach waves.

So I drown it out like I always do

She gifted him a small smile, a usual occurrence within her interactions with him. He offered his left hand, bowing his head slightly. “Dupain-Che—“ he cleared his throat, “Marinette. Would you do me the honour of joining me in this dance?”

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

Her eyes widened, not expecting the Arabian God of a teen before her to ask her such a question. She saw his temper during class during his spats with Lila and how he kept to himself without the presence of Jon. But here he was in a fitted Armani suit that made his green eyes glow, and hair messily slicked to the side. Marinette looked at his hand, glad that her makeup mostly hid her blush.

And I chase it down

“I am...” She paused to find the right word, “I am a bad dancer. It is better for everyone that I don’t participate.”

“I can think of nothing less appealing than an evening of watching other people dance.” A small gasp escaped from her mouth before she could stop it. She watched as his mouth twitch’s downwards before his facade returned with full strength. “If you do not wish, to I won’t force you. But if you’ll allow me I’ll guide you through the dance to make sure it isn’t an utter disaster.”

With a shot of truth

Marinette’s lips quirked, giggling as she took his hand, “Your funeral Damian.”

What had he gotten himself into?

The two entered the dance floor, taking up the dance support hold. Their dance had the basic steps of the waltz, with a promenade and many spins; some as a couple and some were just Mari. Damian soon found he enjoy watching the sparkles in her dress light up as she spun. It became even more enjoyable when he discovered that the dress was her own creation.

Dancing through our house

The two made quiet conversations during their dance. Damian pulled her closer by the waist as they repeated the basic steps, their bodies perfectly in tune with each other. “You are a fine dancer despite your protests”

With the ghost of you

Marinette tilted her head up at him, blinding him with a dazzling smile. Damian’s heart fluttered, the two always had a mutual respect but it seems to have grown into a fond appreciation.

From the tables scattered around the dance floor there was a blond, with his fist clenched. Lila had dragged him off of the floor as soon as Damian and Marinette made their debuts; together. The brunette was now off angrily gossiping to Alya and any other who’d listen. It was a hot topic between Lila and Alya that Marinette loved him, although now, as he watched her dance with Damian, he was unsure as to whether that was ever true. He sat there, glued to his seat, watching the spectacle before him.

Cleaning up today

Found that old Zepplin shirt

The two dancers didn’t notice that everyone had cleared off the floor to watch them. They danced in sync, no movement was made without the other following it. Adrien had realised awhile ago that even though he didn’t have romantic feelings for Marinette, he cherished her friendship. That relationship was now tarnished due to the path he took when he first revealed his knowledge of the deceptions. His father had forced him to keep Lila happy, even if it made him miserable.

You wore when you ran away

And no one could feel your hurt

He had lost her, and he was unsure as to whether he could gain any semblance of their relationship back.

We're too young, too dumb

To know things like love

Damian lifted his partner’s right hand and twirled her three times, they both were content within their own world. The two swayed before turning together and walking around the now open space.

But I know better now (Better now)

Marinette flushed as she realised what was happening around her, leaning towards her partner she whispered, “I think we’ve become an impromptu entertainment.”

Too young, too dumb

To know things like love

Too young, too dumb

Damian subtly gazed behind her seeing their peers in a circle surrounding them. He was on the inside looking out, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. He whispered reassurances in her ear, he wished to finish the song before he released her from his embrace. The two drowned out their audience, focusing on each other and the beat of the song.

So I drown it out like I always do

Dancing through our house

With the ghost of you

And I chase it down

With a shot of truth

That my feet don't dance

Like they did with you

The melody slowly faded off as the last lines were sung. The two finished on a basic waltz step before swaying in each other’s arms. The music ends and there is silence, blood rushed to their ears and their breaths mingled.

The two stayed in the other’s embrace, face-to-face, staring. They broke out of their trance by clapping. Looking around Marinette saw many of her peers and most of the supervising teachers applauding their performance.

Their friends broke through the crowd, Jon patted Damian’s shoulder (retracting before he got bit) while Chloe and Alix pulled Marinette back to their table to discuss what Disney magic had befallen the couple. The bluenette glanced back at her partner, mouthing a silent goodbye.

The crowd dispersed but were still buzzing from their display. Marinette was bombarded with questions, not only from her friends, but from other students about her dancing with the demon. Her stuttered replies did little to quench the crowd’s thirst. Her face must be comparable to that of a tomato.

Damian, having noticed the building crowd and Marinette’s uncomfortable stance, broke away from Jon. The crowd parted like the red sea, unwilling to be the one to anger the Ice Prince.

He offered her his arm (to which she took) and escorted her out to the patio outside. She stayed entwined with him, as she looked out at the stray Parisian night; leaning her head onto his should. Here the two could breathe. Here the two of them could be their present selves, no ghostly facades needed. It seems they could drown out anything in the presence of each other.

Unbeknownst to them, Jon had recorded their dance, along with their previous and present interactions of that night. He thought for a second to use it as blackmail material but decided to just send it off anyways. Oh the chaos it caused.

#maribat #marinette x damian #mlb x dc #daminette #adrien salt #Jon Kent has blackmail #ghost of you by 5sos #song fic #good! Chloé Bourgeois #slight Lila salt

[phis-corner]

Can you write a fic we’re Bruce adopts Marinette after her parents disowns her because they believed Lila lies and she is friends with Damian

I am so sorry this took so long, but I hope you enjoy!

The catalyst is Lila, as it usually is.

Her lies bring dirt to their bakery’s pristine reputation, one that her parents had worked so hard to build up. 

They lose customers, and slowly, their daily profit drops. And drops. And drops.

But the liar wasn’t done, no.

She told Marinette’s parents that she was bullying her, that Marinette was skipping class to see her ‘secret boyfriend’ who was a delinquent.

It didn’t help that the rest of the class backed up Lila’s claims, and that Marinette couldn’t exactly explain that she occasionally missed class during potential world-ending events that required Ladybug to show. She also couldn’t explain that she and Damian were actually just friends (wow does she sound like Adrien) and that Damian was in a happy relationship with Jon Kent. Nope, because then she’d also have to explain how on Earth she’d managed to befriend the youngest child of the world’s richest man, who happens to live across the Atlantic Ocean in America.

And Marinette highly doubted ‘he’s an illegal vigilante from Gotham City whom I met while masquerading as the polka-dotted hero who’s been saving this city for years because he was following a lead in Paris and I thought he was a new villain of some sort’ would go over with her parents.

So she accepts it, when her parents start to use her as an outlet to vent their frustrations, because in a way, it is her fault.

If she hadn’t antagonized Lila, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

Of course, the first one to notice the bruises doesn’t even normally live in France.

Damian is a Bat, after all, and the Bats can spot bruises covered by makeup from miles away, no matter how good one thinks their coverage is. It’s what they’re trained to do.

He sees the black eye she thought she hid quite well when she accepts his request to video chat, and masks his frown after a moment, but Marinette catches it.

It’s what she’s trained to do.

The next day, Damian is waiting for her when school ends, and he walks her back to the bakery before buying everything in the display cases and leaving a thousand dollars in the tip jar.

Her parents don’t lay a finger on her for two weeks.

The next time he spots a bruise, he has Jon fly him over almost immediately. A familiar knocking pattern sounds on her skylight, and she quickly lets them in before anyone sees. 

Damian demands to know the full extent of her injuries. Judging by Jon’s poorly hidden facial expressions, he’d already scanned her.

Marinette sighs and takes off her shirt, knowing that there was nothing that Damian hadn’t already seen because of various emergencies.

Besides, both Damian and Jon were gayer than a pair of rainbows. It was fine.

The next day, she is removed from Tom and Sabine’s care, the process obviously sped up with Bruce Wayne’s seemingly infinite wealth.

Marinette ends up living in the Manor with the Waynes, also a side effect of Bruce Wayne’s immense wealth.

Though she was already familiar with the Bats, she is now fully incorporated into their dynamics, and after the third week, starts joining them on patrol with the Black Cat, her dark suit seemingly made of the shadows themselves. (Maybe they are. Magic is weird, and she chooses not to question it.)

Two months after she is temporarily placed in Bruce Wayne’s care, she is asked if she would like to be adopted.

Marinette thinks of the bakery, of a lonely child who would do anything for affection, and then of Bruce, of Alfred, of Dick and Jason and Tim and Cass and Steph and Damian and Duke, all crammed into one wing of a Manor that could easily house over 100 people, of loud laughter and the feeling of leaping over rooftops with people at her back, of movie nights with warm bodies pressed against hers and of the one time she fell asleep in Cass’ lap, and the other girl just sat there for six hours without moving a muscle, letting her sleep.

Marinette thinks of Paris, with her biological parents, then of Gotham, with people that feel more like family than Tom and Sabine have in a long time, and thinks that the answer is obvious.

She looks up into Bruce Wayne’s blue eyes, hopefulness concealed by a neutral mask that would fool anyone else, but he has trained her to spot these things.

“Yes.” Marinette says, and smiles when her siblings in everything but legal documents (and soon, those too) leap out of their half-hearted hiding places and cheer, piling onto them in one massive group hug, Bruce making an oof as Jason lands on top of him.

Damian ends up right next to her, and Marinette twists, blue eyes meeting green. She beams at him, and he smiles back, satisfied with the outcome.

Thank you, Damian. She mouths to him over Dick and Stephanie’s excited squeals. Thank you.

permanent tags

@wannajointhecrabcult @miraculous-simmer7 @certainmuffinbagelcalzone @fantasyislive @chocolateherringtacofan @junarvion @susiej1118 @aestheticnpoetic @toodaloo-kangaroo @ladybug-182 @itsmeevie01 @g-arya @souleateralicestein @nightstarblue @i-is-mysterious @moonystars14 @vixen-uchiha @the-flapdoodle-noodle @labschaos @nathleigh

unspecified @momothefemur @indecisive-mess-named-me @laurcad123 @ilovefluffbutsmutisalsogreat @sassakitty @fusser90

#maribat #platonic daminette

[karliahs]

It’s been months since he was this close to anyone. It might have even been Jon the last time, too; helping him walk down in the tunnels. How did they get from there to here? How-

“Tim?” Jon asks softly, pulling back to look him in the face, and it’s the loss of that warmth and pressure that makes Tim realise he’s started breathing in great, shuddering gasps. He screws his eyes shut and Jon reverses their positions, pulling Tim into his chest with unpracticed but fervent hands. His T-shirt is soft against Tim’s face; he hadn’t thought Jon would own anything so soft.

Tim’s throat is burning, but as long as he keeps his eyes screwed shut then he isn’t crying. He isn’t crying on Jonathan Sims the night before they both-

“It’s alright, Tim,” Jon says, searching for words of comfort he only half believes himself. “It’s - whatever happens tomorrow, it can’t - we’re safe here.”

Tim laughs bitterly. “Nothing’s fucking safe.”

Jon seems unable to decide between rubbing soothingly at his back and just holding on as tight as he can. Tim shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be giving into this. But there's a reason he lost so much time when he should have been searching for the thing that killed his brother. The Institute was full of potential answers, but it was also full of bright, lovely distractions. He's buried in the arms of one of them.

Tim didn't used to think of that as weakness - but he didn't used to think there were worms that burrowed through your flesh, or creatures that took every true memory of your friend without you ever noticing, or monsters that played with skin, played with the fabric of who you were, because it was fun.

Tim doesn't know fucking anything, and maybe he never did, and now all that's left is to-

"What can I do, Tim?" Jon asks, and he sounds so honestly lost.

"Turn back time," Tim murmurs into his shirt. "Don't let go," he adds a moment later.

“I won’t, I won’t.” Jon clutches him impossibly closer. Tim’s world narrows down into warmth and pressure. “Tim, we don’t - we don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

The gentle vibration of his words is almost enough to distract Tim from the words themselves. He turns his head so he can speak un-muffled, and immediately misses the comfort of being closed in. “I do, Jon. I can’t…” Tim fumbles for the right words, wondering faintly if this is how Jon feels all the time, struggling to give voice to the unspeakable. “The worst thing in all of this, the worst thing would be if they hurt someone again while I’m just standing there."

Still not crying, not as long as his eyes are tight shut. He feels Jon hesitate, then push forward anyway. "Even if...Tim, even if you had moved, what could you have done?"

Tim squeezes hard at Jon's side and isn't sure if he means it as a warning or a plea.

"I'd never have met you," Jon says, so soft Tim isn't sure if he was meant to hear it.

"Was just thinking before,” Tim replies, because he’s fucked up enough that he might as well keep going, “I wish I'd met you somewhere normal."

Jon’s hands still, and for a moment the rise and fall of his chest does too. It’s the closest thing to absolution Tim’s ever offered. He’s glad he can’t see Jon’s face, can’t see whatever shock or gratitude is playing out there. At some point, he made himself into someone who no one expects to be kind. He wonders, vaguely, whether it counts as forgiveness, to want someone to spend what might be their last night on earth forgiven.

from: enemy of my enemy, aka jon and tim sit in various rooms and talk: the fic

thank you for asking!!! here we go:

It’s been months since he was this close to anyone. It might have even been Jon the last time, too; helping him walk down in the tunnels. How did they get from there to here? How-

do you ever just think about how fast things went wrong for the s1 crew...they were friends just a few months ago!! a few weeks in between no current supernatural experiences -> trying to survive supernatural experiences together by physically holding each other up -> complete alienation. some experiences just defy comprehension, emotionally speaking, even when you can see every step that led from there to here

i also like to make myself sad by thinking about the practical day to day aspects of everyone in the archives being alienated from everyone else. like...when were either of them last touched (non-violently)

so much has changed but they've circled back around to each other

“Tim?” Jon asks softly, pulling back to look him in the face, and it’s the loss of that warmth and pressure that makes Tim realise he’s started breathing in great, shuddering gasps. He screws his eyes shut and Jon reverses their positions, pulling Tim into his chest with unpracticed but fervent hands. His T-shirt is soft against Tim’s face; he hadn’t thought Jon would own anything so soft.

'person starts crying without noticing until someone points it out' is a trope i generally try to stay away from partly because i just can't imagine that ever happening to me and therefore it doesn't ping my realism senses, but i get one (1) because it is undeniably juicy

this fic is very zeroed in on tim's perspective in terms of small sensory experiences, for a few reasons - drive home emotions, portray dissociation, and because i like writing about how it actually feels to be in a romantic gesture, to make it more real than just like...an image of people holding each other

small detail that jives with bigger points - jon's shirt unexpectedly soft, jon's surprising ability to still provide him with gentleness and comfort

i think jon here has no idea what to do but has been given permission to touch so is living his best tactile life with this inexpert hugging and is hoping that does something

Tim’s throat is burning, but as long as he keeps his eyes screwed shut then he isn’t crying. He isn’t crying on Jonathan Sims the night before they both-

“It’s alright, Tim,” Jon says, searching for words of comfort he only half believes himself. “It’s - whatever happens tomorrow, it can’t - we’re safe here.”

Tim laughs bitterly. “Nothing’s fucking safe.”

tim spends a lot of this fic having his inner-monologue cut off to try and show as well as tell that he's struggling to stay present

that 'both-' hurts me, honestly. hurts more than it actually being spelled out, i think. write to upset yourself, maybe you will upset others in the process

half is a word i absolutely overuse in writing but cannot stop. no one ever does something all the way, they are half- believing, wondering, worrying, etc.

i'm never 100% sure if i'm accurately capturing the way that jon speaks in canon but i did always like and want to emulate the fact that he speaks kind of hesitantly, trips over his own words, etc

Jon seems unable to decide between rubbing soothingly at his back and just holding on as tight as he can. Tim shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be giving into this. But there's a reason he lost so much time when he should have been searching for the thing that killed his brother. The Institute was full of potential answers, but it was also full of bright, lovely distractions. He's buried in the arms of one of them.

Tim didn't used to think of that as weakness - but he didn't used to think there were worms that burrowed through your flesh, or creatures that took every true memory of your friend without you ever noticing, or monsters that played with skin, played with the fabric of who you were, because it was fun.

again, jon does not know what to do so he is just trying. just trying to do any kind of soothing hand thing

i thought quite a lot about reconciling the seemingly happy-go-lucky tim that gets presented to us early on vs learning why he came to the institute in the first place. tim here is framing that as a failing because he's miserable and traumatised and guilt-ridden, but i think at least part of it was actual healing. he was taking time and enjoying the people around him and trying to make the best of things, until it all went wrong

related, the self-recrimination of tim hating himself for not having seen any of this coming, even though they were not predictable events...very human nature after you have been through something terrible. how dare i have not anticipated every trouble that ever befell me

'played with skin, played with the fabric of who you were' - a lot of this story was me just enjoying the themes of stranger-horror. i love the terror of knowing there are creatures who can change aspects of you that should be unchangeable, physically in skin and otherwise in terms of identity and memory. love applying that to jon and tim, who have been fundamentally changed against their will by trauma and their roles in a story neither of them wanted. skin as metaphor for identity, and learning that people can take away your skin is then utterly terrifying to someone who already feels like his identity is being forcibly eroded. and then that shared terror brings them back together, just a little

Tim doesn't know fucking anything, and maybe he never did, and now all that's left is to-

"What can I do, Tim?" Jon asks, and he sounds so honestly lost.

"Turn back time," Tim murmurs into his shirt. "Don't let go," he adds a moment later.

this fic...is so sad. why did i write this. why am i being attacked by my past self and their awful words on this day

explicit admission that tim wants/needs jon here...even a chapter ago he was like yeah i'm going to america with jon bc i am regrettably relying on him as my reality-anchor, nothing emotional here

“I won’t, I won’t.” Jon clutches him impossibly closer. Tim’s world narrows down into warmth and pressure. “Tim, we don’t - we don’t have to do this. You don’t have to do this.”

The gentle vibration of his words is almost enough to distract Tim from the words themselves. He turns his head so he can speak un-muffled, and immediately misses the comfort of being closed in. “I do, Jon. I can’t…” Tim fumbles for the right words, wondering faintly if this is how Jon feels all the time, struggling to give voice to the unspeakable. “The worst thing in all of this, the worst thing would be if they hurt someone again while I’m just standing there."  

Still not crying, not as long as his eyes are tight shut. He feels Jon hesitate, then push forward anyway. "Even if...Tim, even if you had moved, what could you have done?"

Tim squeezes hard at Jon's side and isn't sure if he means it as a warning or a plea.

warmth, pressure, vibration...continuing to be fascinated by the little tactile details of what it feels like to be close to someone

emotional logic is so powerful. tim moving most likely would have either made no difference to the outcome or worsened it (because both him and danny would have died) but of course for tim standing still while someone he loves was destroyed counts for everything about who he is. sometimes blame feels better than helplessness, which mirrors what happens with his friendship with jon - is it scarier if they are all helpless, or if this one guy is The Enemy

‘give voice to the unspeakable’ sometimes i like poetic descriptions of jon’s role as archivist

"I'd never have met you," Jon says, so soft Tim isn't sure if he was meant to hear it.

"Was just thinking before,” Tim replies, because he’s fucked up enough that he might as well keep going, “I wish I'd met you somewhere normal."

Jon’s hands still, and for a moment the rise and fall of his chest does too. It’s the closest thing to absolution Tim’s ever offered. He’s glad he can’t see Jon’s face, can’t see whatever shock or gratitude is playing out there. At some point, he made himself into someone who no one expects to be kind. He wonders, vaguely, whether it counts as forgiveness, to want someone to spend what might be their last night on earth forgiven.

:(

tim views talking with and connecting to people as fucking up. how much of that is even slightly shrouded in logic and how much is just - tim is depressed and deep in self-loathing, somewhere still at the core of him tim loves people and making connections, so of course doing the thing he wants to do is wrong

‘At some point, he made himself into someone who no one expects to be kind.’ tim has this thought once and then worries at it like a sore tooth because his default state is hopeless fury with himself, with everyone. i also think this demonstrates how new information/realisations often can’t help you out of a bad mental state on its own, because it’s all too easy to slot it into your existing thought patterns. pushing everyone away was making tim worse - he starts to feel like that was a mistake, but it just becomes more self-recrimination

forgiveness is one of those words that seems to encompass so many different concepts that i find it hard to know exactly what it’s meant by saying you forgive someone. specifying what’s meant by this little shard of maybe-forgiveness makes it mean more, at least to me

may i reiterate: :(

#jontim #asks #give-me-a-minute-to-think #talking #tma / #long post #ps to the other person who sent me an ask for this meme: thank you!!! it'll be friday probs before i can answer

[bangtanlalaland]

around the way girl | knj (m.)

synopsis ↳namjoon kim was the man you’d fallen in love with in college, while existing in a society where ambw relationships are rare.

→part of the bring it back collection!

— 1990’s!au; strangers to lovers!au

→pairing: underground rapper!kim namjoon x beauty supply store worker!black female reader

→genre: fluff, smut

→word count: 4.7k+

→contents ⨯ warnings: that beautiful, interracial love (AMBW) [if you’re racist, fuck off my page!] some major fluff action here, joon is so soft, (I stg he’s a dom but also a hopeless romantic. the DUALITY. agsgsjlldlejd), rapper joon makes an appearance, sweet love making, name calling (cute shit, I promise), also the use of DADDY, lots of kissing and caressing, body worshiping, oral (f receiving), protected sex (no glove, no love baby), fingering, over-stimulation, namjoon is so inspired by hip hop culture, y’all I tried really hard to sprinkle some 90′s vibes in there so bare with me ok,

a/n: heyyyy loves! I wanted to do something different, considering that I hardly come across any fics (specifically BTS) with a woc or simply a black reader. so here’s one to all of my beautiful, black queens out there! much love to you all & I want you to know I am here & stand with you.  

song rec: “around the way girl” by ll cool j

☞ disclaimer: If any of the warnings listed above offends you in any way, please do not read. It is not my intention to start any sort of debate/argument in regards to racism, culture appropriation, etc. Therefore if any characters, settings, and/or facts/statements are incorrect, please disregard. However, this body of text is for entertainment purposes only. All characters, settings, scenarios, and dialogue are fictitious. Any similarity to events or persons, whether living or dead, is coincidental.

It was like a movie, from start to finish. Growing up, times were hard and challenges never ceased to fade. But, you pushed through — the good, the bad, and the ugly. Lost ones along the way, realized you couldn’t trust everyone, but you grew. As an independent, young, black woman living in America. And then something happened, that changed everything.

The year of 1998, when fall semester classes at your college just ended, which called for finding a seasonal job for the time being. And that’s how you ended up working at Queen Beauty Supply about two blocks from your place. You grew up knowing Mr. Park (who is the owner and now your boss) all your life. As you were a child, your mother supported his business, always stocking up on flexi rods, Just for Me relaxers, Goody brushes, and all. Even the endless amounts of barrette balls of every color you could think of, she made sure you had. And seeing that you blossomed, Mr. Park was more than honored to hire you for a seasonal gig. You loved him as if he was your family, just as well as he loved you.

It all started that one evening when you worked the register, fancy-ing some Poetic Justice-style braids, showcasing your figure with a halter top and mom jeans. A small stereo behind you blared the latest hits on the radio, Jon B currently on play. You flipped through the latest issue of Word Up! Magazine, admiring the new spread that featured Mya, Monica, and Brandy — your two in. acrylic, nails dragging across the pages. The sound of the bell jingles over the door, indicating the arrival of a customer. Your gaze turns up to greet said customer, and your eyes meet with the fellow that entered.

And damn were you blown away for a hot sec. He was cute, really cute. You hadn’t even realized he asked you something, while standing in front of you on the opposite side of the counter. He’s Asian, obviously. His eyes having told it all. They were different, not shaped like yours, but beautiful. Which was intriguing. But him simple being here in a beauty supply store was interesting, Yes, it’s ironic. The owner himself being Asian, but the intended audience is your fellow black folks. You could tell he’s obviously inspired by your culture since he sported a bucket hat and a loose, white tee that may have been just two sizes too big for him — which is rare nowadays to find on an Asian man. But, you don’t question it. Of course, you’re well aware people of all races are influenced by hip hop culture so in a way, it doesn’t surprise you as much. Okay, maybe a little. But still.

“Can I help you?” His eyes did a weird thing, but it was cute. He was cute.

“Do you have du-rags here?” Your eyebrows raise and head cocks to the side, having abandoned the magazine you were just reading.

“What do you want with a du-rag?” You question, knowing well the texture of his hair can’t form into waves, so you suppose it’s for a fashion statement. He starts blushing, his eyes shut and beautiful pearly whites on display. Damn, did he have you hooked on the spot and you didn’t even know his name yet. You had to hurry up and get him out of here for your own sake, so you took the lead. A few beats passed before he realized you were leading the way to what he needed. He stumbled a little.

“It’s uh- For my performance,” He slips, trailing behind you while passing by the rows of hair-care products, leading towards the back of the store.

“Performance? You dance?” You question, while strutting down the row of where the brushes, combs, barrettes and the jewelry wall was displayed — purposely swaying your hips back and forth just a tad too much for dramatic effect. He definitely noticed, his eyes glued to your form and wondering how your jeans could mold those curves so perfectly.

He blushes at the thought but replies, “I’m a rapper,” And that’s when you stop in your tracks, flipping your braids behind your back and placing your hand on your hip, giving him the same expression that you gave at the counter.

“A rapper?” You ask, while taking him in from head to toe. You notice his white Air Force Ones.

Damn, he is so fine.

He has style, you’ll admit that. But an Asian rapper? That’s unheard of, at least in your neighborhood.

“Do you, boo.” You shrug, while gesturing toward the wall on your left, that displayed various colors of du-rags. You step away to return to the register and then he speaks again.

“What about Blue Magic?” As if he hadn’t surprised you enough, you cross your arms, facing him.

“Well…. it depends on what you want.” You pause, and roll on your heels to walk again, he follows behind you.

“We have coconut oil, but the hair food is out of stock right now. The hair and scalp treatment is limited quantity, but we do have Castor Oil and Super Sure Gro.” You arrive at the row of hair care products, with numerous brands of oils, treatments, and more that cover the shelves. After leaving him there, you admired the way his eyes were shot wide, and you knew damn well he was not 100% sure of what he was looking at — as he searched for the product that piqued his interest.

And so it became a regular occurrence. He’d come in at least once every two weeks, buying the same thing. A du-rag and Super Sure Gro. Some days you’d even be a little extra to “up” your appearance, in hopes he’d notice or in some fantasy world, he’d compliment you. Maybe even ask about you or your day. Or if you’d like to go watch a movie with him or even hit up a spot for some good food. You ponder if he’d be into trying soul food someday. Your mom always did say that a way into a man’s heart is through his stomach. Well, more-so implying that you should know how to get down and dirty in the kitchen.

—

The bell jingles again, while you’re out on the floor stocking up the shelves with bottles of Luster’s Pink Oil Formula. Reaching below into the box to grab a few more bottles, you hadn’t noticed he was towering above you. You jumped slightly when you meet eyes with him, nearly dropping the contents you held onto.

“Don’t you know not to run up on a black woman like that? I may be little, but I can kick your ass!” You both break out into a contagious laugh. He stuffs his hands into his baggy jeans of his, that gorgeous smile spreads across his face. He clears his throat,

“I- Uh- I’m- I’m sorry, I-”

You shake it off, “You’re fine, boo.” Your hand finds its way into his shoulder, a light rub as you brush past him to head for the register. He hesitates, trailing behind you as he fights for the right words to say.

“I-I just, I-” You reach the front of the counter and turn to make eye contact with him. Your eyebrows raise slightly, taking in how he’s struggling to piece his words together. You place your hand on his shoulder again and note how he gazes at you with those same wide eyes you’d grown familiar with over the past few weeks. His lips parted slightly as if he was going to say something but didn’t.

“It’s okay-” You trail off, in hopes he’d catch on.

“Oh, right. N-namjoon. My name is Namjoon.”

You smile in response, lightly rubbing his arm with your palm.

��Is there…. Something you want to say? I promise, I don’t bite,” You state with a soft smile. You notice his shoulders easing themselves down. Part of you wonders what he was so tense for.

“You should come to my performance-” He says rapidly then pauses, looking down and then back up to you, “I would like it- I mean I think that you- You would like my performance.” He internally hates himself for being shy around you, his cheeks so tight and raised from smiling hard, and you could have literally melt in that moment. You thought it was cute to see him that way. To know you made him feel all flustered.

There was a grand amount of effort he’d built to approach you. The very, first day he arrived at the store, he wanted to say something then. He went home that night rehearsing how he’d spark up a conversation with you. He even recalls one time he’d seen you at a bus stop sucking on a lollipop, and how tempted he was to say something then. But he couldn’t. He was afraid of rejection, and he wasn’t sure how to approach you. So when he’d visit the beaut store and see your face, he’d grow warm on the inside. And when you would make eye contact with him, his heart would stop. When you would speak to him with that sweet voice of yours, he’d freeze.

So when you said yes you would be there, he cried afterwards. Not in front of you of course, but on the bus back to his place. He couldn’t believe that you didn’t reject him. Throughout the weeks, he’d contemplated because he didn’t know how you felt about people of his race. He didn’t know how your race felt about people like him in general. Although, it never mattered to him. Because he believed that love is love. As long as you’re happy with that person, that is all what truly matters. He believed everyone deserves to have that kind of love. Little did he know, you felt the same way.

And then things advanced between the two of you.

It was the night he invited you to an underground party, and it was live. Music thumped with never-ending bass, people danced and smoked, and the space felt warm and cluttered, courtesy of body heat. You gradually ease your way through the space, attempting to find some kind of “safe haven” amongst the grinding, moving bodies within the cramped atmosphere. The music settles down, which causes you to look ahead, realizing you’re in front of the stage where the DJ is posted up on the left.

“Alright, y’all! You already know what time it is.” The DJ blatantly announces through his microphone. The crowd somewhat reacts, but not to his liking you assume.

“I said… Y’all already know what time it is!” Everyone goes wild, screaming, chanting and whistling.

“Tonight, I wanna welcome y’all my boy. From the East side, he’s an up and coming rapper- Y’all check this,” He pauses for a moment, “He is a Korean rapper! Y’all feel me? What y’all know about a Korean rapper, aight?” He shakes his head throwing his hands up.

“Imma let y’all have this one, but I’m tellin’ y’all! You don’t know nothing bout this!” You smile uncontrollably, aware of who he’s talking about. Also somewhat anxious to see what the hype is about, your nerves making your stomach churn just a little too much while you’re out in public.

“Give it up for my boy, RM!” The DJ, swivels the record on his turntable back and forth. And there Namjoon was, appearing from the side of the stage, with his du-rag and bucket hat, loose tee, baggy jeans, and those familiar Air Force Ones you’d grown to recognize. You also peep the Cuban chain that adorns his neck.

And then the beat kicks in. Which was also familiar, you note that it’s the beat for “I Need Love.” Everyone starts bobbing their heads, including him. Including you.

He throws his hand up, shoving gestures to go along with the rhythm of the music, while using his other hand to firmly hold onto his mic.

“I’d like to introduce myself, The name is RM, Let’s rewind and take you back to when it first started, Very first time that I walked in the shop, I was startled and I swear I had felt my heart drop, You made me wanna get down on my knees, Begging, please, Coulda told you I was sprung the moment I seen ya,”

He makes eye contact with you and points directly in your direction. He’s talking about you, right? He’s got to be. There’s no way he isn’t. You continue bobbing your head to the beat, and you can’t fight the smile in return.

“Dang baby, how’d you fit in those jeans? Hips got a brother feeling like he’s in a dream, Couldn’t even keep my head straight, Yeah I’m Asian but damn, Somethin’ must have went left and messed up my fam, Sittin’, thinkin’, contemplatin’, and wonderin’, How could I get this fine lil shawty to blushin’? Hopin’ that you’ll say yes and lemme steal you from the scene, Treat you like a queen and show you what a real man can be,”

He stares at you for a moment too long, yet you’ve already grown too hot for the jean jacket you’re wearing over your tube top.

“I need love,” he adds before dropping the mic; everyone suddenly is hype, continuously cheering him on and giving him props for his performance.

“I told y’all! Give it up for my boy, RM!” The DJ adds, patting him on the back while smiling from ear to ear. But, his eyes are focused on you, and only you — who just can’t seem to shake off the bright smile plastered on your face, you attentively graze your bottom lip with your teeth to attempt stopping yourself from smiling so much. But, you fail. And he takes note of that, returning a smile to you. You could tell he’s blushing, his dimples appearing before he dips his head low.

So shy, yet so damn fine. How is that even possible?

—

That same week, he surprised you at work, stumbling in to rap a few verses about how beautiful you are to him, and he pulled a bouquet of roses he hid from behind his back. You remembered that day so clearly. You remembered kissing him, hugging him, holding his hand, smelling the flowers. You also remembered Mr. Park interrupting your little PDA session to scold you about: “No kissing and no sex on the clock!”

But, Namjoon loved you more than you could think. And he didn’t care who in the world thought it was wrong for you two to fall in love. Because the night you two had arrived at his apartment, lips intertwined with one another, and hands roaming each others bodies, was when everything became so clear.

You both stumble inside, too wrapped up in locking lips with one another. Namjoon guides you toward his bedroom; and being the klutz he is, he stubs his shoe on the baseboard leading to his bedroom. You both break the kiss, and you can’t help but chuckle at his clumsy ways.

“Why you laughing at me, huh?” He lifts you up and you can’t help the half gasp/half giggle that escapes your lips, immediately wrapping your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bed. He gently lies you down on your back and hovers above you. You unexpectedly snatch his bucket hat off, tossing it somewhere on the floor — his faded, white-blonde and dark brown strands on display.

“Did you have to do my Kangol like that?” He whines with furrowed brows. You tap his bottom lip, dragging your finger across the plump flesh.

“Shut up and kiss me.” His gold Cuban link chain hangs from his neck, prompting your fingers to tug it down, and you do so, his lips smashing with yours yet again. Your fingers lace themselves within his hair, admiring the feel of his oiled scalp. His lips massage yours in a way that’s beyond comforting, and you make sure to inform him how nostalgic kissing feels. Drawn-out moans spew from you, and you can’t help but wonder how in the hell could you be in this time and moment with him. Piece by piece all of your garments end up lost on the ground, along with his clothing. He had you caged in to his bed and kept himself hovered over you, planting kisses along your neck trailing down to your collarbone.

“Mmm, Joon.” You follow his lead, kissing his blush-colored lips, snaking through his silky strands. His hands travel behind your back to remove your lace bra, revealing your breasts that illuminate from the moonlight peeking through the blinds of his window, your chocolate nipples hardened and desperate for attention. His eyes are blown wide, cherishing every dip and curve of your body.

“Wow,” He admits, his erection growing behind his undergarment. He holds a few moments to etch this view of you within his memory, appreciating every trait of your being in this form. His hands find placement on your hips, pulling you to his body completely — the soft, plushness of your breasts pushed against his chest. He rubs the outline of your face, slowly dragging his index finger along your jawline.

“You are the most beautiful woman in the world. You know that?” You let out a small giggle, feeling vulnerable in this state. He kisses you, being sure to suck your bottom lip, pulling and tugging softly with his teeth. His hands roam down your back and land on your ass cheeks, gripping with force. Your breath hitches, and you find yourself wrapping your arms around his neck, in hopes to ease him in just a little more. Even though physically it isn’t possible. He teases your bottom lip with a swipe of his tongue, asking for entrance.

And you let him in, sucking and licking him back in response, both of yours saliva mixing with each others, and not a care in the world — too consumed in each other. He gropes your ass, causing a moan to slip from you. His large palms kneading the cushion-y flesh, and damn is he grateful for this moment in time with you. He pulls from your lips with an audible smack, and you relish in the sight of his thick lips all swollen and damp.

“I love you, ____” He admits with those delightful irises.

“I love you too, Namjoon.” He guides you to lie down on your back, hovering above you as he places kisses along your jawline, leading down your neck, taking his time to cherish every part of you. His hands roam along your sides, caressing the curves of your body. He kisses the area between your breasts and stops suddenly, eyeing you for approval. As if understanding, you nod. His tongue peeks out and circles your right nipple, he wraps his lips around the bud and sucks with tenderness, making sure to release with a pop each time while his other hand massages your left breast.

Your core aches as a result, needing to feel him so the void inside your walls can be filled. He repeats this with your other tit, sucking your nipple while massaging the other, pinching and rolling the bud between his fingers. Your core throbs with an intense pleasure, soaking your now soiled panties. He eases down further, planting kisses down your tummy and moving along the inner thighs of your mocha skin, praising the smooth, supple, flesh. His fingers tug the band of your lace panties, and he eyes you again for approval.

“Please,” You plead, and it was all he needed to hear to remove the garment and reveal yourself to him, treasuring the sight of your lips dripping from arousal. He wastes no time, as you feel his warm, wet muscle gliding along your folds, his nose nuzzling your clit in the process. Your fingers snake into his hair and hips buck upwards to move along the rhythmic motions of his tongue, while he devours you whole as if he’d become a man starved.

“Joon!” You praise, panting for air, Your gaze follows between your legs, cherishing the man that continues to eat you out. He watches your expressions, glaring deeply into your eyes as he does so. His fingers ease toward your folds, rubbing his digits along your drenched pussy, coating them with your wet. He watches you still, not wanting to leave your gaze as he enters a finger inside you. You moan his name in response. His finger delves deep within you, your walls sucking him in perfectly.

“So good for me,” He lashes his tongue out to lick your clit in a circular motion. The sight of him between your thighs makes your heart quiver. He deliberately adds a second finger, his lengthy digits curling themselves upwards and dragging along the walls of your womanhood. His nails dig along the flesh of your thighs, keeping you settled and under his grip, his lips suck on your clit til no end. His obscene noises send a shockwave of pleasure through you, and your toes curl at the sensation. He pulls his fingers from out of you and tastes your arousal that clings to him.

“Tastes so good,” He moans, and you can’t help your thighs from rubbing together to ease the tension that has built. Then, he blushes at the view of you, all horny and ready for him. Only him. How can he be so cute and so fine at the same time? You ask yourself this everyday. Your legs move on their own accord, struggling to draw him back in. He chuckles at your actions.

“You want more, baby?” He questions in that deep, sexy voice of his.

You nod in reply, “Yes, Joon. Please, daddy?” His famous dimples reappear, and those mesmerizing, pearly whites appear. He dives back down, trailing kisses along your tummy, leading to your mound. He worships your body as he had wanted to do since the day he met you, gripping and rubbing along your skin. He moans against you, admiring the feel of you under his fingertips. His lips encase around your clit again, and your body jerks from the sudden feeling. His tongue slides along your folds, sucking and slurping, making the most lewd noises.

His fingernails drag along your thighs, adding an odd tingle within you. You follow his motions and graze your nails on top of his hand, when an unexpected bliss washes over you — causing you to writhe underneath him. He continues sucking your clitoris until you can’t take anymore, your legs gliding up an down along his back, back arching off the mattress, eyebrows furrowing and you simply drowning in euphoria with trembling thighs as your nails drag along his scalp and your cries echo within his eardrums.

“Joon, daddy!” Your nails dig further into his hand, and fingers tug harshly onto his strands. Your core now sensitive to the touch, something you’d never experienced before. He moves his head back and forth, delving deeper and not wanting to let go. You scratch his back, now in hopes he’d give up. You’re nearly convinced he’s going to kill you with that tongue of his, and then out of nowhere, he pushes two fingers inside you. Your toes curl for what feels like the millionth time, and you whimper his name repeatedly.

He thrusts his digits into you, a loud squelching noise filling up the space. And you feel those plush lips wrap around your clit again. He ruts against the bed, wanting to feed the tension within his groin. Your feet now having fought the sheets you lay upon, twisting and turning due to the over-sensitivity. But in some strange sentiment, there’s another wave. And here you are having your second orgasm of the night.

“Fuck, Ungh- I’m cumming again!” Your body shakes violently, not having control over the orgasm that’s overtaken you. An uncontrollable scream slips out and you shove Namjoon away from you with a strained push, his chin now glistening with you. He wipes the residue from his face with the back of his hand, grinning at you fucked out and waiting on his bed. He pulls a condom from somewhere in his drawer and wraps himself up.

He was so thick, thicker than you thought. You lay flat on your tummy and Namjoon sets himself on top of you, caging you in again. He notes the glow upon your ebony skin as he coats his protected member with your drenched self, adding a line of his own saliva and finally diving into you with every inch he has, at a slow, steady pace. But the places he reaches leave you wondering what you’d done to deserve this kind of dick.

Magnificent.

“Beautiful, black queen,” he slips in between breaths, rocking his hips against yours. The position granting him a much deeper access. You gasp at his remark, clenching your walls tighter around him, he hisses in response. His warm breath fans the right side of your face, and he presses a kiss along your earlobe while adding,

“All mine. You’re my black queen, understand? Can’t nobody take that away from me.”

“Yes Namjoon,” You reply. “I’m all yours.”

His cock twitches at the sound of his name slipping from your lips within this state — having you underneath him like this, needy, desperate, and only craving him. He inches to meet your lips with his. His kisses are filled with want and desire, full of love. That sweet, sweet love.

“Give it to me daddy,” You say under your breath but audible enough for him to hear, and he takes heed to continue thrusting himself into you, his delicate, golden skin glimmering with perspiration. The sound of your bodies clapping against each other resonate throughout his apartment, as soft whimpers and moans fall from you, and he utilizes every millisecond of this moment to drown himself in your presence.

“So tight, so wet. So beautiful.” His hips buck in a gentle, yet stern manner, causing your body to jerk upward and eyes to shut close in response — his balls slapping your ass with each thrust of his hips, he continuously hits that sweet spot over and over again, your eyes rolling back due to the nostalgia. He eases his fingers in between your legs to rub circles into your clit simultaneously, and it doesn’t take long for your walls to contract for the third time that night.

“Fuck baby,” He coos with followed moans and groans, spilling himself while still buried in you. You shudder underneath him with nails dragging along the sheets, and muffled moans from burying your face, as you call out his name like it was the only function your brain could process.

He eases himself out of you, and you can’t help the low gasp that emits from you — having been so full of him and sensitive at the same time. A few moments later, and the slight shift of the bed indicates he vanished to discard the condom. You simply lay there, slowly processing that he’d given you the best sex you’ve ever had, being that his main focus was pleasuring you.

But it was in those final moments when Namjoon cuddled you afterwards, bodies attached together by sweat, gasping for air and basking himself in the warm, vanilla, sugar aroma of your essence — that he knew he was in love with you. And there was nothing anyone could ever say to change his feelings.

You break the silence having thought of Namjoon’s words you recall from his performance.

“Think you’ve found it?” He watches your form with raised eyebrows.

“Found what?” You trace circles along his chest, gazing upon his abdomen.

“Love,” You state, and a silence falls that makes your body warm up in a flash.

He shakes his head in a “no” gesture, “I don’t think I have.” The sudden pause of his sentence makes your heart drop.

“I know I have.” He kisses your forehead and draws you closer to him, holding onto you for dear life — like he’s afraid he’d lose you. You beam at his gesture, curling up into his figure. His heart thumps from the immense affection between the two of you. Your now closed eyes like an irreplaceable gift to him.

“My around the way girl,” He whispers to himself, while petting your hair and drifting off into slumber.

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