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futureman · 10 months

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his favorite girl, part i

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: joel agrees to teach you how to play guitar for a college course, but you can't keep your eyes off him long enough to learn. he really likes that.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, language, guitar teacher!joel, no outbreak, big age gap (reader’s 22, joel’s 56), slow-burn, sexual tension, finger kink, slight dubcon, touching, smut for later chapters, some fluff, mostly angst

word count: 3.3k

a/n: my first chaptered fic! dedicated to joel's fingers! i've been playing guitar a lot more lately so...yeah 🥲 thinking this'll probably be 3 or 4 chapters? as always, thoughts and feedback are always appreciated! hope y'all enjoyy

Don’t stare at his fingers. Don’t stare at his fingers. He’s doing you a huge favor by teaching you to play guitar in the first place. The least you can do is pay attention and stop staring at his fingers.

But it’s a lost cause, and you know it, because you’d have no hope of learning without staring at his fingers.

Even so, you’re convinced he’ll somehow know that’s not the real reason you’re watching them so intently. The way they hop gracefully from fret to fret, strings biting into his well-earned calluses, producing the most beautiful chords that ring out perfectly with every strum.

It’s a wonder any of that is even possible for him. You don’t mean to knock his talent—he obviously honed his craft through decades of fine-tuning and dedicated practice—but his fingers are just so thick.

With your clumsy, beginner’s touch, you’re constantly fumbling with the strings, unable to press down hard enough or keep your other fingers out of the way for them to vibrate the way they need to. They just sort of…fizzle.

But there’s a finesse to how he plays. It also helps that his guitar is a lot bigger than yours. It's a totally innocuous thought, but it still warms your cheeks a little. A big guitar for a big man. Broad and tall, with those thick, thick fingers—

“Hey, you still with me?”

You’re not sure when he stopped playing, but you really hope it was right before he said something. Otherwise, he definitely knows exactly what you were thinking about, and that would be humiliating.

Not a great start to your first guitar lesson, but how were you supposed to know your teacher was going to look like that? When your music theory professor recommended him, he conveniently left that part out, which, whatever, makes sense. But it still would’ve been helpful to know ahead of time.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Has a ton of experience and takes on very few students, so you should consider yourself lucky. That’s all of the information you were given before you stepped into his house this afternoon, and were greeted by possibly the hottest man you’ve ever seen. He was supposed to be your ticket to an A on your senior thesis. But you’re totally flubbing it.

“Y-yeah, sorry, just got a little distracted,” you laugh awkwardly, wishing you had said anything else but that. You couldn't be any more obvious if you tried. “Won’t happen again, promise.”

He’s kind enough to pretend you’re not a filthy liar and taps the neck of his guitar to redirect your focus. “S’alright. We’ll just take it from the top. You remember the fingerin' for the first chord?”

You gape at him dumbly for a second. He’s kidding, right? You might as well leave now if he’s going to keep saying fingering with that devastating Southern drawl of his.

“Um, yeah, I think so,” you sputter, lying for the second time in a row. You're struggling to recall anything from your lesson but, god, you can only remember his fingers, not their placement. With no confidence whatsoever, you press your fingertips down firmly on the three strings you think he showed you. “Here, right?”

He quirks a brow. “You askin’ me or tellin’ me?”

Ah, so he’s that kind of teacher. The 'learn the hard way', 'fail on your own until you succeed' type. Well, he’s about to learn that you’re not that kind of student.

“…Telling?” Your voice lilts with even less confidence. He chuckles, nodding at your finger placement.

“Let’s hear it, then,” he says expectantly, the slightest hint of a smile on his face. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but you’re about to find out. You strum slowly, and the sound reverberates around the room.

Wrong.

His smile widens just a fraction as you grimace, quickly wrapping your hand around the neck of the guitar to stop the horrible noises still playing from it. You look over at him, wincing, but he doesn’t seem frustrated. If anything, he seems patient.

“Not quite,” he shakes his head, moving his instrument out of his lap so he can shift closer to where you’re sitting further down the couch. The cushion dips with his weight, and you tip into him slightly, but he remains completely unfazed. “Lemme show you again—and pay attention this time, alright?”

You start to nod apologetically, but then he throws an arm behind you on the back of the couch, and all hope of retaining whatever he’s about to teach you goes out the window. Instead of showing you on his own guitar, he gestures for you to hold yours up, gently arranging your fingers on the frets.

His fingertips whisper against yours like he’s hesitant to touch you, softly tugging them into place before pressing down, showing you the right amount of pressure to apply.

They feel just as warm and rough as you’d imagined, dwarfing yours by a long shot, and the realization makes your fingers accidentally twitch out of place. Your eyes dart up to gauge his reaction and lock with his, deep and brown, and very amused.

“Doin’ alright there?” he teases, and now you know he’s on to you. You try to play it off, blaming it on your inexperience.

“Just haven't gotten used to using those muscles yet," you mumble, moving your hand away from his to flex your fingers. "Not sure I've ever had to stretch them like that before."

"'m sure ya have. Probably just didn't realize it at the time. That kinda muscle soreness comes from prolonged repetition—repeatin' an action over 'n over," he explains in that syrupy-sweet accent, completely unaware of how his words are affecting you. "Bet ya use those fingers for a lot'a different things every day, just nothin' long or strenuous enough to leave you achin'."

You bite your lip to keep from reacting. He has to know what he's doing right now. How he sounds. This conversation is starting to veer into dangerous territory, but the weird thing about it is that he genuinely doesn't seem to realize that everything he's saying has a double meaning. To you, at least. You knew all this fingering talk was going to get you into trouble.

"Uhh, yeah," you agree, side-stepping that line of thought to bring yourself back to the lesson, but it's getting harder to stay focused. "I guess I just thought playing would mostly be memorization, but there's a lot of physicality to it, too, huh?"

"Yeah, s'pose that's true," he muses, looking down at the calluses on his own hand. This time you refuse to take the bait, your breathing already too shallow, heart nearly pounding out of your chest with how close he's sitting. But he’s still completely calm and collected. "Your hand hurtin' a lot right now?"

You shrug, inspecting your reddening fingertips. "Kinda, yeah."

"It's like that in the beginnin’," he says kindly. "But the more ya play, the tougher the skin gets, and ya won't feel it as much."

He surprises you by taking your hand again, massaging the tender skin between his thumb and index fingers. God, that feels so much better already. The heat of his fingertips seeps into yours, soothing the painful indents left by the unforgiving strings, and you let out a breathy sigh of relief.

You feel his entire body tense palpably next to you. It might be your imagination or just wishful thinking, but you swear you can feel his warmth radiating into your side, somehow even closer than before. Your brain’s starting to fizzle more than the sound of your shitty guitar playing, and the room feels a little hotter. Hazier, like a daydream.

"That feel good?" he murmurs, lips practically brushing the shell of your ear.

Definitely closer.

“Y-yeah, feels nice…really nice,” you stutter, voice lowering almost to a whisper as if you were sharing a secret. “The, um—the rest of my hand is a little sore, too. Is that normal?”

You can feel him grinning at your obvious attempt to get him to keep touching you, and he gives in easily. Surprisingly so, and it's becoming clearer that he's as into whatever's happening right now as you are. You’re not sure what happened to the unfazed man from before, but you’ll happily welcome this change in demeanor.

“Yeah, s’normal,” he trails down to your palm, engulfing your hand with his own. “Don’t worry, I'll take care of ya.”

Your eyes flutter closed as his thigh presses into yours, and the arm behind you lowers around your shoulders, his hand skimming the side of your neck. Shit, what is going on? You’re pretty sure guitar lessons don’t usually go like this, but you can’t bring yourself to dwell on it. Not when he feels this good.

Everywhere his skin touches yours feels electric, sending jolts up your spine, and making you forget where you are and what you were doing in the first place. He ducks down to press his lips to your bare shoulder, and your mind goes completely blank.

All that's left is...sensation. Something dragging roughly across your skin, then soft—a little chapped—and wet. Sharp. You're abruptly aware of him sucking a hard bruise at the crook of your neck, soothing the sting with his tongue, and you're unable to stop the whimper that escapes your lips. It's soft and inappropriate. A single, hushed syllable.

"Joel."

He lets out a pained groan that rumbles from deep within his chest, and the hand around yours tenses. That boundless patience he had earlier feels like it's about to run out, and the thought makes your blood run hot.

God, how is he real? How is this real? You just met this man—this much, much older man—less than an hour ago, and, yet, this is probably the hottest thing that’s ever happened to you. He continues to mouth up your neck, nipping at the underside of your jaw.

"What else hurts? Tell me, 'n I'll make it better," he mutters humidly, urgently against your skin.

You want to tell him where it hurts the most. That unbearable ache between your legs, the burning in your belly that you didn't even realize he was stoking. But you're so wound up, all you can manage is a frustrated sob.

"Use your words, beautiful. C'mon, lemme hear 'em," he says as if you're his instrument, meant to produce dulcet tones and resonate at his hand.

"It—fuck...it—here," you drag the hand clutching yours down, next to where the body of your guitar rests on your thigh. Where you've already soaked through the thin fabric of your pants. "Joel...need you to make it better."

The gentle vibrato of your voice, the way it shakes tumultuously around his name, and even more so when he cups your heat. His lips return to your throat to feel it, to taste it as you moan for him. And those fingers. You knew they’d feel good, and they’re so close to where you need them. Just a little bit more—but there’s still too many layers between you and his rough touch.

“M-more…need more, just—,” you whine, and he mirrors the sound back at you raggedly.

“‘Course, beautiful. Told you I’d take care of ya, didn’t I?

You're too far gone to even notice yourself desperately grinding into the palm of his hand, or the fingers at your cheek turning your face toward his.

Or your guitar quickly slipping out of your lap, more and more with each swivel of your hips. It hits the carpet with a hollow clang and, suddenly, the spell is broken. Then, it all comes crashing back.

He’s saying your name, but he sounds...different. Less breathy, less needy, and more like your patient, collected guitar teacher. Joel Miller. 56 years old, remember? Way too old for you, for your body to be reacting to him like this, and the man whose help you still desperately need to help complete your thesis.

Your eyes snap open and you realize with abject horror that you’ve been daydreaming this entire time. You can’t even imagine how long he’s been trying to get your attention while you’ve just been sitting here, fantasizing about his hands on you.

Not even ten minutes ago, you promised you wouldn’t get distracted, but you did. Again. And so much worse this time.

By his furrowed brow and the way he won’t even look at you, you must have accidentally said something out loud, too. Something totally inappropriate that you really shouldn’t have. But then, his hand twitches and your blood turns to ice.

That—fuck, that's not where it was before you zoned out. It was still on yours, arranging your fingers on the frets for the chord he was teaching you. He…he was asking about your hand, if it hurt, and then—

As if you’ve been burned, you quickly release his hand from where you’re clutching it between your legs—not just in your daydream, but in horrifying actuality. You’re screwed.

Not only is he probably going to kick you out of his house and refuse to be your teacher anymore, but he’ll likely tell your professor. And he’d have every right to. There’s no way you’ll be able to get anyone else to teach you after this.

The reason you’re here, everything you’ve worked so hard for, flashes before your eyes, catching fire and turning to ash. Your love for music, your degree—in the span of a single guitar lesson, you destroyed all of it.

And what would he think? Your father, your inspiration for choosing this path. He’d be so disappointed in you, though maybe not as much as you are right now.

All of this for what? The attractive, middle-aged guitar teacher you’ve known for less than an hour? He doesn’t even want you and, even if he did, that’s not what you came here for. Stupid, stupid.

You can feel his eyes on you, but you can’t bear to look at him, to say anything at all. Instead, you lean down to retrieve your guitar from where it still lies face down on the floor, and slowly stand up.

“I, uh…,” you croak out, fighting the urge to cry and look like even more of an idiot. You shake your head, unable to finish your sentence, and start to walk away, but then something miraculous happens.

Joel’s hand shoots out, his fingers wrapping around your wrist to keep you from leaving. You turn back to him, eyebrows raised in shock, dropping your gaze to where his skin is touching yours. He doesn't let go.

“Look—,” he starts, and you wince. It’s never a good sign when someone starts a sentence like that. If all he’s trying to do is let you down easy, he shouldn’t have stopped you. He’s just shaming you even further. “—‘m not too sure what just happened here, but if you just—if ya sit back down, we can talk about it or…just keep goin’ with the lesson…”

You didn’t see that one coming.

“You want me to stay?” you ask dubiously. “Why?”

You search his eyes for the answers to all of the things you’re not understanding, but come up with nothing. He’s sitting on the couch watching you, still holding your hand like nothing’s wrong. Acting like none of this is a big deal, as if you didn’t basically just shove his hand down your pants without his consent.

“Still got a lot to teach ya. We didn’t even get through the first line of music,” he chuckles, his voice filled with such kindness. So much more than you deserve.

“Yeah, and that’s my fault. I—,” you pause, still trying to gather your thoughts, “—I crossed a line…made you uncomfortable. You really don’t have to do this.”

He sighs, rubbing his thumb soothingly into your wrist, and the gesture makes you shiver. Somehow it’s calming, even as the gears continue to turn in your head. You still can’t seem to grasp any of this or shake the feeling that there’s something wrong with this picture.

“Well, isn’t this supposed to be a favor for some big, important grade? Don’t ya need this to pass your class?”

He’s not wrong. Without his help, you’re basically fucked for the rest of the semester.

“Yeah, I...actually really do,” you answer hesitantly.

Hope blooms in your chest. Maybe your thesis isn’t totally lost. If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll even be able to focus on your lessons.

“I think we can keep this professional. Don’t you?” he implores, brows raised.

He’s right again. That’s the only way this is going to work, but it’s still a reminder that he’s not interested in you in the slightest. You’re not sure why that feels so bad.

“Totally,” you breathe out, but your expression must betray your words because he rushes to reassure you.

“It’s not that I—look, I mean…you’re a beautiful girl ‘n all, but…,” he trails off, and…what?

Beautiful. He can’t have just said that out of the blue. Beautiful, of all the words he could’ve used to describe you right then. This man is driving you crazy—and he won’t stop.

“Can’t help feelin’ like maybe I gave ya the wrong impression. I took advantage of ya,” he looks away, pained, like this was all his fault. You have no idea how he came to that conclusion, but he’s got it all wrong.

“What—no. No, if anything, I took advantage of you. You were just trying to be a good teacher,” you shake your head furiously. “Look, I did this. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t pull away, now, did I?”

His eyes meet yours again, darker than before, and you know for a fact you’re not making it up this time. The setting sun is casting shadows around his living room, across his 80s-style leather couch and carpet, illuminating every one of his handsome features.

And, yet, his eyes are black, endless voids that threaten to consume you. Whatever power he has over you feels dangerous. You knew you couldn’t have imagined it all.

But it's gone as quickly as it came. He clears his throat, dropping your wrist as if he finally came to his senses. Your patient, unaffected guitar teacher is back.

“I, uh, think maybe that about wraps it up for today,” he says with finality, standing up. “It's already eight, anyhow. You should head on home.”

Gently plucking the guitar from your hands, he zips it up in its case and gives it back to you. You nod, feeling grateful, but cautious...and also extremely curious. His hand finds the small of your back, leading you to the front door, and you try your best not to react as his fingers urge you forward.

You know you’ll be thinking about them later tonight, even though you really shouldn’t. About them finishing what you started earlier, taking care of you like you still want him to. Part of you hopes he’ll be thinking about yours, too.

His hand drops and he turns to you with a small smile, leaning on his arm against the doorframe.

"But, uh, same time tomorrow? And maybe put in a little practice time before then—stretch out those fingers so you're ready to play."

“Sure,” you reply breathily. “Same time tomorrow.”

thanks for reading! part ii coming soon 🥰

(p.s. how are we feeling about finger sucking...okay bye)

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #tlou fanfiction #the last of us fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #joel miller

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jeonitopia · 10 months

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BABY TIME

🪐 bts x f! pregnant! reader (separate)

🪐 headcanons // fluff+angst

☆ warnings: none except maybe no beta read !

a/n: potential part 2 for when the baby is born? depends on if people like this.. also just short hcs bcuz well.. i overdid myself and did all 7 in one post... sigh (i made tis longer than it was supposed to be wtf)

☆KIM SEOKJIN

"Aishh! you already had chocolate earlier!"

constantly watching your diet, making sure all your vitamin and certain intakes are proper

"Jin I'm craving ramyeon with milk mixed in.." "WHAT"

catching him ask his mom what she needed and what she wouldve done if she got pregnant again (he has no shame)

he's an absolute prince in your child's eyes

when he has to leave, he calls you at least every 2 hours and if he can't, he messages you!! (asking for pics of you and the baby)

in love with role-playing with the child, wether it be king and princess, or knights and bandits (you're the damsel in distress)

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆MIN YOONGI

honestly, he was terrified of being a father because of his experience with his own father

once he realized the whole weight of the situation, he understood that he WILL be a good (and supportive) father because you are with him

learning that your child also has a thing for music

absolutely bringing your baby to the studio and letting him have his own crib next to his producing set-up

has noise cancelling headphones for the baby if he has to record something or when he's going to fully focus on producing

(of course has the volume on his headphones a medium volume so he can hear if the baby wakes up)

made a joke about how in daechwita, you'd be his empress and the baby is the heir

cue him posting a photo of the three of you in traditional hanbok (yoongi in daechwita outfit, without the long hair because baby will be upset)

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆JUNG HOSEOK

always taking photos of your progress

"look here!"

he always tries to keep you active

massages all day everydayyy

you got him to chill with the dance practices so that he both doesnt overwork himself AND you get to spend more time with him

absolutely doing the silliest things to entertain the baby

it's obvious who the favorite is 😐

showing dance moves to the baby and doing silly faces

has a picture of the three of you in hope world, he loves staring at it and just being grateful for his family

he's j-hope, you're bae-hope, baby is mini/baby-hope

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆KIM NAMJOON

songs containing references and metaphors that relate to you and the baby (not that he DIDNT do this before)

maybe even a whole mini-album dedicated to your journey into parenthood, each song created throughout your progress till your due date

he did his thorough research on pregnancy and things related to it and constantly gives you advice

when the baby is old enough for long distance rides, family trips are a common thing

loves cradling the baby and blabbering about an art piece they're standing in front of

you're so in love? help???

he has 3 lil plants, the 3rd plant being a new sprout that he likes to say is the baby (it sprouted the day the baby was born?? omg???)

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆PARK JIMIN

you became an absolute princess the moment he found out you were pregnant

wonders if the baby would grow up to have the same fingers as his papa mochi

already planning to convince the baby to try a martial art or a type of dancing so he and his papa can have multiple ways of bonding

dropping hints about the baby mochi on some of his lives

one time he asked if he can try your breastmilk

😐😑😐

teasing him about how when the baby holds his fingers, they look the same

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆KIM TAEHYUNG

honestly you'd have around 2-3 kids

but this is your first one, taehyung is honestly nervous

absolutely SURE he wants to be a father but more worried on if he'd be a good one

at this point, he'd also be another baby

"Ack, my feet hurt quite a bit.." "AREYOUALRIGHT?DOYOUNEEDTOGOTOTHEHOSPITAL??ILLCALLDOCTORPARK"

you personally think he might be the one more stressed even when he isnt the one carrying the baby

2nd questioner of wifey's breast milk taste

yeontan and the baby being bestfriends

yeontan has super instincts and starts going wild when he feels the baby is about to start crying

☆ | 🪐 | ☆

☆JEON JUNGKOOK

he watched the movie Up with taehyung and they googled why the old couple had a miscarriage, he learned it was from lead exposure

so now he keeps you away from drying walls and dusty areas and even has a small baggy filled with masks and cleansing tissue

he calls it "baby protection protocal"

surprisingly very calm and responsible! (hes trying to win your trust so that he can spoil your child rotten)

absolutely DROPS the fact that he is having a child and dragged you into the view of the live

3rd questioner of wifey's breast milk taste

baby plays with daddy's lip ring because he finds it really cool

baby also thinks daddy's sleeve tattoo is cool and always wants to slobber his saliva on it

baby wants to ride on bam's back??? 😭😭😭😭

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writing-fanics · 8 months

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Pregnancy Scare

Jaime Reyes x F!Reader

.summary: ‘either it’s the dinner we had last night at the restaurant or im actually…’ y/n wakes up vomiting throughout the entire day and ontop of her period being late she and her boyfriend start to panic

cw: throwing up/ mentions of sex/ mentions of pregnancy/

a/n: havent seen the movie yet but will probs Saturday but this takes sometime before the movie also my first time writing a pregnancy scare story

Y/n is groaning in her sleep, with her arms wrapped around her stomach. Suddenly, she feels nauseated and experiences sharp pains. She smells the food cooking downstairs and feels her stomach grumbling. She quickly rushes to the bathroom and vomits into the toilet. She hunched over letting out the contents in her stomach, before groaning and flushing the toilet.

After vomiting, laughter was heard from the hallway. Jaime entered his girlfriend's room with coffee, thanking her mother for making breakfast. Once noticing she isn't in the bed he peeked, into the bathroom and saw her on the ground.

"Hey, are you alright?" He asked, worriedly and she looked at him for a moment her face pale. Before the urge to vomit arose again and she threw up in the toilet once again. "I guess not." He said, to himself. Placing the two mugs of coffee on the counter before kneeling down beside her and rubbing her back. As she threw up into the toilet.

She groaned as she reached towards the handle flushing the toilet. Then she leaned back against her boyfriend's chest, and he wrapped one arm around her, "That's one way to start the morning." She joked, and he looked down at her placing his hand on her forehead.

He planted a kiss on her forehead. "Maybe breakfast isn't the best thing right now," she mumbled, leaning into him. "Want me to bring you chicken broth and crackers?" he asked. She nodded.

"Yes, please."

"Okay, coming right up." He said, before picking her up bridal style and carrying her to her side of the bed. Placing her on the bed and tucking her in underneath the covers.

"I'd kiss you but I don't want to end up throwing up in your mouth." She said, and he looked at her with disgust. "Awe, you can kiss me later when your not all pukey." He said, and she chuckled. She watched, as he took the two mugs of coffee and left her room.

As she lay there in bed her mind started to wonder, about the possible reasons why she was sick. Stomach flu? Maybe but she doesn't have a fever nor does she feel warm. Food poisoning? Probably a few days ago they did go out to some sketchy restaurant. She could've sworn she saw a rat in the restaurant. Pregnant?

She laughed at the thought there was absolutely no way that she was pregnant. She and Jaime, haven't had sex in about a week so there's no possibility for her to be pregnant. Right? Well, her period is kinda late but that could be because of stress.

She wasn't ready to be a mother at all, and if she was to have kids it be while she was at least thirty. Not twenty-one, she bit her lip nervously and just then Jaime entered the room with a mug filled with chicken broth and a sleeve of saltine crackers. "You're supposed to be laying down, your mother's orders." He said, and she stared down at the ground.

"You alright?" He asked, closing the bedroom door behind her and walking towards her placing the food on her nightstand. He knelt down in front of her and took her hand, "Jaime, what if I'm pregnant?" she said, and he looked at her and she bit her lip.

"I'm not ready to be a mother." She said, nervously and started fidgeting with her fingers. Something Jaime noticed she always did whenever she was nervous. "Hey, it's going to be okay it's probably just a stomach bug or food poisoning," he said, and she looked at him.

He planted a kiss on the top of her forehead, "Um, any chance you can go buy some tests for me?" She asked, and he looked at her, "I just want to make sure." She said, and he looked at her for a bit before letting out a sigh. "Alright, I'll be right back," he said, and she smiled looking at him.

"I'll pay you back." She said, and he shook his head, "No need, I love you." He said, and she smiled planting a kiss on his cheek. "I love you too." She said and watched as he left the room.

She sat on her bedside and reached over to her nightstand grabbed the mug of chicken broth, and began to drink it slowly. "Please don't be pregnant." She mumbled, to herself nervously.

About half an hour later, Jaime returned with two pregnancy tests just to make sure. Along with some [favorite flowers] and candies. "Ah, baby." She said, wrapping her arms around him while kissing him on the cheek.

"Hey, no matter what we'll get through this," He said, and she smiled at him and looked down at the pregnancy test waiting for an answer.

the waiting game was grueling and it felt like hours, and after five minutes the results came back negative. The couple let out a sigh of relief as they stared at the pregnancy test. Jaime kissed her on the lips and she kissed him back, "If I ever end up actually getting your pregnant." he said, and she looked at him, "I'll be here for you." He said, and she smiled looking at him.

"I love you Jaime,"

"I love you too."

"I blame that sketchy resturant we ate at." She said, and he nodded his head in agreement, "That restaurant was sketchy." He said, kissing her on the lips again as she threw the test into the trash.

later that day

[Y/n] giggled, as Jaime and she sat on the couch and snuggled up to each other while watching a movie. "Well, today was an eventful day." She said, and he chuckled wrapping his arm around her, "Sure was." He said turning towards her before, kissing her on the lips.

"Y/n, why was there a pregnancy test in the trash can?" [M/n] asked, and the couple on the couch froze eyes widened as they stared at each other. [Y/n] slowly turned around and locked eyes with her mother, who held the pregnancy test in her hand and pointed at it.

"Ah, at least it's negative right Mrs. L/N?" Jaime said nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he two turned around. She craned her neck towards him and he pursed his lips and looked away.

[Y/n] chuckled nervously, "Ah, um well-I.." She started, and looked away, "I got nothing to say," She finished, and the mother pursed her lips before revealing another thing she found.

Jaime's and [Y/n]'s eyes widened in shock and horror, their mouths dropping. "I also found this care to explain?" [M/n] said, holding up a pair of fuzzy handcuffs and [Y/n] bit down on her lower lip.

#jaime reyes x reader #jaime reyes x you #jaime reyes x y/n #blue beetle reader insert #jaime reyes reader insert #reader insert #blue beetle x reader #blue beetle x you #blue beetle x y/n #x reader #fanfic #angst #headcanons #fluff #pregnancy scare #decu #xolo maridueña #blue beetle

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how-do-i-delete-this-acc · 2 years

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suna rintaro here. my girlfriend, y/n, is being distant today and i don't know why. let me tell you about what happened.

we were supposed to have our separate zooms with her on my lap, but she left to a different room near the very beginning. she tried to play it off with "i have a pop quiz and i need to focus. can't have my grade drop just because i can't focus on your lap with your zoom in the background," but we all know that that is absolute bs. she could've focused on my lap just fine, and we all know that failing a 10-point pop quiz from chiahara-sensei happens to the best of us. and if you're wondering, i am the best of the best.

then, after we both finished our annoyingly long 1.5 hour lectures, (well she claimed hers was in fact a 40-point pop quiz/test but it def wasn't) she refused to cook together. she said something like, "rin, you burned yourself last time, remember? go sit down," but that, too, is bs. yes, i spilled hot water on my sweats last time i tried to make pasta, but it was on my knee, so it wasn't like it was a big deal anyways. i don't know why she kept making excuses.

then, after we finished eating the meal she cooked without me, she had the audacity to get on a zoom call when i didn't have one. and after that terrible offense, she refused to sit on my lap for it AGAIN. she said that inuzuka-sensei was always more strict about what we wore in zooms, and i wouldn't get away with no shirt on like soma-sensei let me. when i told her that her body would block mine, she said that my chest and shoulders would still be perfectly visible. then, she guilted me by saying that she didn't want other girls to see my "perfectly toned abs," as she called them. AND THEN she had the impudence to TEASE ME and LIE TO ME by telling me my cheeks and ears were getting red! couldn't believe her.

then, after all our classes were over, she refused to cuddle with me because APPARENTLY her friend's sister a block down rolled and sprained her ankle, and that it was getting pretty bruised and swollen. she also added that her friend didn't have any advil or experience in injuries, and apparently she was asked to bring some advil, a compression bandage, and a couple ice packs. when i told her that her friend could just buy some and that she could get her own ice pack, she tried to get out of it by telling me that her friend's sister was only 5, was bawling her eyes out, refused to be left alone but also screamed louder when she was picked up, and that we also had a lot to spare because we have a ton of supplies in the closet because of my constant volleyball injuries. again, absolute bs. her friend could just go grab everything herself. what did it matter that the kid was crying? fuck kids! do you know how funny those youtube videos of kids getting hurt and crying are? people enjoy them for a reason. it's because kids are annoying as hell and it's fun to watch them get injured. im subscribed to like 10 of those kinds of channels. her friend is literally getting free entertainment and y/n obviously just wants to watch the free entertainment WITHOUT ME because she'd rather be with her stupid friend than me.

all in all, please help. i don't know why she's so distant today. is she mad? please give me tips!

@.su.rin post made at 4:16pm

comments: @.y/n.l/n: HELP WHAT IS THIS @.y/n.l/n: for the record i got an a+ on that so it was worth it @.y/n.l/n: love u always rin <333 @.su.rin: reply to @.y/n./l/n- ik that u hate me its ok

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barbarianprncess · 3 months

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annabeth chase and her many losing dogs: an (incomplete) anthology

read on ao3

chapter one: a (brief) introduction to the game and it's players

She gives Cerberus her red rubber ball.

Because he’s a monster, but she doesn’t think he means to be.

Because he’s a lonely dog and she is lonely the same way. The kind that doesn’t know how lonely it is until a person shows up and reminds them. The kind that wishes to just be left in loneliness long enough for companionship to be forgotten altogether.

The ball will make him happy. He will destroy it within minutes, it will disappear after he does nothing but be himself.

(She does that sometimes too.)

First Round: Frederick Chase

Bet Type: Blind Faith; awarded via mass tradition.

Made with no experience.

Trust given without the knowledge that trust must be earned.

Annabeth is four years old and hungry.

She hasn’t eaten since dinner last night.

Dad is playing with his planes again. The fancy small piece ones that Annabeth is not allowed to touch, ‘not now, not ever.’ She’s not supposed to bother Dad when he plays with his planes.

Plane time is Dad’s very special ‘by himself’ time. He’d explained a while ago that he has lots of very hard work to do, and then he has to take care of her which is even more lots of hard work, and sometimes he needs his special ‘by himself’ time, because Annabeth is a big girl now who can read her books and not touch the sockets.

(She wonders why he doesn’t do his special ‘by himself’ time when she’s taking her naps. That way they could have their together time when she’s awake.)

This would be fine, but she just ate the last of her super secret dad-is-in-his-study snack stash that she hides under her bed last week.

She wants to go in and ask, but the last time she’d interrupted him, even though he smiled at her, his eyebrows got all scrunched up together. He was not happy to see her.

(Sometimes, she wonders if he ever is.)

Annabeth is really very hungry.

There are bananas on top of the fridge.

Annabeth creates a plan.

The plan goes south almost immediately and she ends up dangling from the top of the white mountain with glass and bananas all over the ground.

“Christ! Annabeth!” She is being yanked from her very small cliff and carried into the living room and Dad’s voice is very loud and his face is more than scrunched eyebrows and Annabeth is ashamed.

“What were you doing?”

“I was climbing on top of the fridge. I knocked over a vase.”

That was the wrong answer because somehow his face gets even angrier. “Yes, I can see that. What were you thinking?”

“I wanted a banana. They were on top of the fridge.”

He pinches his nose. That wasn’t the right answer either. “You just had breakfast.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You had the fruit circles.”

“That was yesterday.”

He hesitates. “Okay, well you did wake up late, you couldn’t have waited until it was time to eat lunch?”

The clock on the microwave says 4:13 pm. “It is lunch.”

He looks at the clock. Closes his eyes. When he opens them, he still looks angry but not at her. His voice is much quieter. “Why didn’t you come get me?”

“Last time you got sad. You were in a groove, you said unless it was an emergency not to come in. I thought I could reach it.”

She watches his face change. His eyebrows are still scrunched up but his eyes get gentler and sadder all at once. He sits down on the couch and lifts her up into his lap. It’s been so long, she sits on his knees like he’s a chair. He turns her around in his arms.

“You’re such a quiet kid, Annabeth. Sometimes I forget you're here.”

She doesn’t think he said it to make her sad, but it does anyway. Which is irritating because she didn’t do anything wrong and she feels bad anyway.

“I was a quiet kid too.”

She doesn’t want to be quiet. She wants to scream. She wants to cry. She wants to hit him. She wants—

“I’m gonna clean up the glass and then we’ll have mac and cheese.”

She nods and lets herself be sat back on the couch.

Second Round: Ms. Helen (from Dad’s work)

Bet Type: Good Faith; awarded via proxy.

Made with no experience.

Trust given without the knowledge that trust must be earned.

The first time her father forgets to pick her up from daycare, she is too young to remember. She was also too young to remember the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th times.

She remembers the sixth.

Ms. Helen, dad’s work friend that has come to dinner every wednesday for four weeks, shows up at school wearing black yoga pants and a messy-on-purpose bun.

(The kind that always looks strange in the bathroom mirror when she tries it on her curls in the morning before they leave.)

She smiles at her teacher, tight and pinchy. She does that laugh/talk/sigh thing adults do when the words they're saying don’t really matter. And before Annabeth knows it, she's staring at the backseat of a minivan.

“What’s that?”

Ms. Helen raises an eyebrow. “The car seat?”

Annabeth nods but looks down. She said it like it was obvious. Annabeth knows obvious things.

“Don’t you sit in one of these to come to daycare?”

“No.”

“You just sit in the seat?”

“Yes.”

“You're too little. It’s not safe to sit by yourself.”

Annabeth doesn’t know what she's supposed to say. This happens a lot. Adults do this thing where they ask you a question that they want a specific answer to. Annabeth has developed a skill in which she can always tell when the truth is not what an adult wants to hear. It has, so far, been a pretty useless skill because she has yet to master the skill of knowing what it is that they actually want to hear.

(Sometimes, she figures it out and tells the truth anyway. Those times she doesn’t really mind getting in trouble after.)

“Your father must’ve put you in one of these.”

Annabeth shrugs. Her talent has deduced that Helen does not want Annabeth to say that she has never been in one of those, and figures nonverbal is the safest option because she would like to go home.

Helen crouches down and gets way up close to Annabeth's face. Her grown-up face-paint is smudged around the corner of her left eye. She smells like dish soap.

“I borrowed this from my friend when your father called, so we have to get you your own. From now on, you don’t get in a car without one of these. Understand?”

Annabeth nods.

Helen is looking at her with something strange and sad in her smudged up eye. She takes a deep breath.

Annabeth crawls into the backseat and waits to be tied in.

Fourth Round: Thalia Grace, Grover Underwood & Luke Castellan

Bet Type: Calculated Risk; awarded to an individual after carefully evaluated outcomes

Made after a great loss, in which perceived benefits outweigh potential detriment.

Trust earned after a win.

Thalia is frowning at her.

Annabeth hasn’t been with her and Luke for that long, but she knows that this is not cause for too much concern because she’s usually frowning.

Luke is the one with the smiles, and the cuddles, and the soft spot for the helpless strays—dogs and girls alike.

Thalia is the one with the frowns.

(Annabeth can tell she has a soft spot for Luke though.)

Before she can muster up the courage to ask, Luke beats her to it. “What’s up with you?”

“Her hair.” Thalia has a talent where she can frown and speak at the same time. Annabeth wants to learn how to do that.

Luke smiles at her before fixing his eyes on her puff. She gets that feeling in her stomach she used to get when her teachers asked her questions about her house, like she should be hiding behind her fathers legs.

(The last time she tried, Helen had snatched her arm and told her she was being rude.)

“Her hair.” He repeats in a way that tells both Annabeth and Thalia he has no idea what the problem is.

Thalia ignores him, and scribbles something down on his arm. “I saw a beauty supply store down the road. I need you to figure out a way to get this stuff.”

Luke frowns over her shoulder. (Uh-oh.) “That’s gonna be a bit of a stretch.”

“So stretch.”

“Thals—,”

She looks up at him and her eyes are all intense like when she’s fighting a monster. “They weren’t combing her hair. I took the hair tie off and it’s staying put. She’s only been on the run for 3 days.” Thalia looks back down at her. “Right? That’s how long you were by yourself?”

“Yes.” Annabeth nods. One of her favorite parts about being with Luke and Thalia, is that the truth is always enough.

Thalia looks back at Luke with something in her eyes that’s even softer than when Luke sleeps. “They weren’t combing her hair.”

Luke nods, a new kind of frown. The one he had when they found her. “On it.”

He winks at Annabeth and tweaks her nose which makes her laugh. Then he’s gone and it’s just the two of them.

Annabeth and Thalia have never been alone for that long before, except for bathroom trips and when Luke gets them snacks.

Annabeth knows it wasn’t Thalia’s idea for her to join the two of them. Annabeth doesn’t think she wanted to leave her there, but she knows Thalia liked it when it was just her and Luke.

She’s looking up at the sky muttering something angry in another language. “What’s Luke going to get?”

Thalia considers her for a moment and then sits down leaning against the brick alleyway. “Some hair stuff. Basics.”

“I thought we only took risks for food.”

Thalia smiles a little and it makes Annabeth's chest feel fuzzy.

“You’re a smart kid.” She pats the ground next to her and Annabeth goes to sit next to her.

“My mother…had a bad time. Things that aren’t supposed to be hard for mortals were very hard for her. And sometimes that made her not very nice to me.” She pauses and Annabeth waits patiently, doesn’t dare speak a word.

“She couldn’t really take care of herself. So, she couldn’t really take care of me either. My hair is curly like yours. And hair like ours needs special attention. When you don’t give it the care it needs, it gets stuck like this.” She takes Annabeth's hand and brings it up to her head, lets her tug on one strand gently.

“I like your hair a lot!”

“Thank you. I do too. But, it wasn’t my choice. My mother let my hair loc up so she didn’t have to comb it every day. You should get to decide whether you want your hair like this. Did you ask to have your hair up in a bun for that long?”

Annabeth could tell her how her Dad used to braid her hair on Sunday nights. How they would sit and listen to music and he would spray and comb and braid until she fell asleep on his leg. How when he and Helen got married, he suddenly had no time to do anything that Helen could do instead. How her slick, shiny, and smooth haired stepmother would wrinkle down at her curls, yank a brush through her head and tell her she was ‘impossible’.

But, she doesn’t. She looks down at her shoes and doesn’t say anything at all.

Thalia, even smaller than before, says, “Your parents weren’t very nice to you either. Were they?”

She doesn’t answer.

She doesn’t have to.

‘You’re such a quiet kid, Annabeth.’

(When Luke gets back, he and Thalia spend three hours spraying and combing and braiding until Annabeths hair isn’t stuck anymore.)

(In a few months, a satyr named Grover will take them to camp.

Thalia will not make it across the border.)

(Annabeth will refuse to let anyone touch her hair for a year.)

Final Round: Perseus Jackson

Bet Type: Wild Card; awarded to an individual that fails to qualify through conventional procedure.

Made with gut feelings, no logic, and excruciating human defiance.

Trust is given without measure.

Annabeth's first thought when she sees him for the first time is, “He must be the one.”

She’s sure of it. She says it out loud. Chiron tells her to hush, and she doesn’t even care.

He's the one.

She's not sure how she knows. She's waited for so long, seen so many campers. Many were far more promising than he is.

That's her second thought. He's skinnier than she thought ‘the one’ would be. Skinny and pale and more gangly limb than person.

He’s blinking up towards them but his eyes are unfocused and hazy. That's her third thought. He's fading. They’ll have to carry him.

‘Percy’ Chiron calls him. It’s a hero’s name.

She wonders if whoever gave it to him knew he’d be the one too.

‘He’s the one.’, she thinks again. It feels strange and tingly in her head.

Strange, but not false.

Hello, Percy Jackson. It's nice to finally meet you.

#SHEEEEEES BAAAACCCCKKKK!#it's been a while! i evolved and got a life and the show humbled me and took over my life.#for the percabeth induced insanity gc on twitter (love you)#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth fic #grover underwood #percy jackson and the olympians #pjo series #pjotv #pjo tv show #pjo tv series #pjo tv spoilers #luke castellan #thalia grace #frederick chase

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mangoisms · 8 months

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circle k (back to you)

summary: in which you're just the graveyard shift employee at circle k bombarded by vigilantes.

━ chapter seven: just get me through the night | read chapter six

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 4.8k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

Steph believes you when you tell her you tripped and hurt your wrist.

After all, it’s not exactly a lie. That is what happened. It just… happened to occur while you were being advanced upon by, you know, the Batman.

You don’t tell her that last part. It’ll just worry her, you think, and she was worried enough about you that following day, when you told her about how your shift was cut short and how you hurt yourself. She fretted about you coming back to your shitty apartment in Coventry on your own but you made up a lie about catching a taxi.

(Technically, in a way, you suppose it could’ve been the truth but you don’t imagine Red would appreciate Redbird being referred to as a taxi service; though, at the same time, he drives like a literal maniac, so, it doesn’t fit.

And yes, he did name his car.

And yes, it is actually named Redbird.

He claims he gets around by motorcycle more these days but that obviously wasn’t conducive with the weather, so he used the car instead. A very high-tech, ultra-expensive car that you had to wonder how the hell he managed to get. He’s your age, after all. But you refrained from asking. It’s impolite, considering everything he did for you.)

After Steph’s shift, you both head to her mom’s house, where Crystal Brown, a nurse at West Mercy, generously takes a look at your wrist, as equally as concerned as her daughter when she hears the story.

“It’s just a sprain,” she says, frowning. “I can’t be entirely certain without an X-ray but I don’t think anything is broken or fractured. No need for a brace, either, but if it keeps bothering you…”

“I’ll get it checked out,” you agree easily. “Thank you, Ms. Brown.”

“How many times do I have to tell you? Just call me Crystal.”

“You know how she is, Mom,” Steph sighs, folding her arms over the back of the chair you’re in, dropping her chin to your head.

“As hard-headed as you? Oh, I know.”

You smile bashfully as Steph snickers. Crystal rises from the table, stepping back to the stove, where she has dinner cooking. At their insistence, you agreed to spend the night.

Crystal has always been kind to you. Both this summer and the previous one did she tell you you were welcome to live with her and Steph here at their shared home, since neither of you could live in the dorms unless you took classes during the summer. Steph abstained from them to get more experience and you abstained because your financial aid wouldn’t cover it, which left you grappling with a three-month lease at the shitty student apartments near GU.

“No Tim?” Crystal asks, covering the pan, turning to look at you two.

Steph clicks her tongue, pulling away from you to flop into the chair beside yours; underneath the table, her ankle curls beneath yours, shin pressed to your calf.

“Busy as usual.”

“He doesn’t know?”

“It’s not that big of a deal—” at the looks you get from both of them, you quickly backtrack “—I mean, I’ll tell him later… That new Mission Impossible movie came out a few weeks ago, so I was gonna see if we could watch it together…”

Crystal frowns. “But you don’t like those movies. Does Tim like those ridiculous movies?”

She probably wouldn’t be displeased if he did. Crystal isn’t overly fond of Tim. Steph says it’s because of their relationship when they were kids but sometimes, it feels far too deep for it to be just that.

Still, she’s civil to him and he rarely says no when Steph invites him (and you) for dinner. If anything, you think Crystal doesn’t mind the opportunity to make him squirm. Steph probably doesn’t mind it, either.

Steph stretches her arms above her head. “It would be on par with him but no. These two just like watching them and making fun of them. I’m good, though.”

“I’ll tell him, then. He’d notice it, anyway, since my mobility is still limited, but yeah…”

“Well, be careful,” she says, mouth pursed. For some reason, it doesn’t feel like she’s talking about your wrist but about something else.

Steph coughs. Crystal looks back to the stove.

“Well, hopefully you two will see him soon. From what I’ve heard, it’s been a while.”

“Yeah,” you say heavily. “A while.”

Crystal doesn’t pay more attention as she focuses on the sizzle of the chicken breast but Steph does, giving you a lingering look that makes you look away.

You… try not to give away too much to her.

You feel horrible enough to be in love with her ex-boyfriend; pining after him in her presence is just the icing on the World’s Worst Best Friend cake.

That’s why you avoided him, after realizing the culmination of your feelings in May.

To see if you could shake the feelings, if you could get rid of them.

Considering how hung up you are on him still, it hasn’t worked.

But you still want to see him again. It’s selfish, probably, to be okay with avoiding him for your own gain and then when he does it on purpose, you want to put an end to it.

But you know now it wasn’t okay.

You want to see Tim, want to hear his bad science puns, you just want him around.

Your feelings won’t go away for a while but avoiding him was the wrong decision. You just have to handle it on your own like an adult.

You would if you could see him more.

You hope you can. Even if it kills you to act normally, to be okay with being friends. By this point, you’ve started to realize having him in any capacity is more than enough.

It has to be.

newest mission impossible movie came out… i can’t believe they’ve managed five of them and this one is only part one of the fifth one. they need to put that series down already

anyway :D in that case, was wondering if we could see it together? on sunday? i’ll get the tix and you get the snacks? we can get ice cream after and talk shit about it

i can’t, sorry! family dinner on sunday, then some other stuff before then and on sat too. see it and let me know about it, alright? :)

You cry when the end credits start rolling.

Not because the movie is good or moving or even so bad that it makes you cry, you’re just…

So tired.

Tired of him never having time for you, for you and Steph.

One part of you wants to give up. What’s the point, right?

His continued lack of time means you can’t even apologize to him, can’t even ask if your initial avoidance was what led to his in the first place.

Mostly because it feels like it doesn’t even matter at this point.

Maybe this is what you deserve and there should be nothing else to say on the matter.

But that hurts even more.

You sit far at the back—shitty seats, he would say—but it gives you the privacy to shed a few tears.

You leave only when the end credits are almost done rolling and the theater is empty. You don’t care about the looks people give you, coming out red-eyed and sniffling from the Mission Impossible movie. You just want to go back to your apartment and hide away for the rest of the summer.

You emerge from the cinema; it’s only eight, so the sun is still out, warming you up from the chilly theater. Sighing, you start for the nearest station to take the subway back to Coventry.

You only get a couple blocks before your eyes catch the storefront of an ice cream parlor. Wallowing deep in self-pity by now, you easily take the detour. The patio in front of it is busy with people and through the large glass window, you see the line inside is long, too. But since you have nothing else to do, you head for it, anyway.

You’re halfway across the patio when you see it.

Through the window, in line for ice cream, is Tim.

Your eyes found him immediately, without intention or purpose. Poetic, almost, were it not for the fact of seeing him here breaks your heart.

Here, not just by himself but with friends. Friends you’ve never met but know of from pictures at his place.

You try to rationalize it initially, still standing there in the middle of the patio, staring into the parlor. Maybe the dinner was canceled. Maybe they dragged him out.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

But then it makes you feel second best. Second choice. That he didn’t think of you when his schedule freed up.

That’s presumptuous, though, right? What gives you priority? Nothing, especially after what you pulled before.

But the ache in your chest hardly allows for that much introspection or self-awareness.

Mostly… Mostly, you’re just hurt.

Seeing him now, separated from you by thin glass, the yawning monster inside you that longs desperately for him is unleashed, because he is so close but he’s not here with you, for you. And that hurts. A physical thing, your chest tight, throat thick with growing emotion.

But then, he sees you.

His head turns and you go rigid as your eyes meet his, which widen as he recognizes you.

It’s been long, so terribly long, since you’ve seen him. See the soft blue of his eyes, this lovely shade, like cornflowers.

It makes this so much worse because you don’t think anything will change, even with this, so it’s like a taunt to see him, knowing this might be the last for a while. A long while.

Another moment between you two, the surprise on his face morphing into something else and you look away before you can see what it is, turning on your heel.

You have to get out of here.

The subway is across the street but the light just turned green. Too long.

The hiss of hydraulics snatches your attention. A bus, several feet away. One last person climbing on. You take off for it, scrambling for your wallet, ignoring how the rough motions make your wrist throb in protest.

You think you hear your name. You hope you don’t.

You barely wedge yourself in just as the doors close.

The bus driver eyes you with thinly-veiled suspicion but you pay the fare and take a seat at the far back, away from the windows.

You don’t even know where this bus is going.

You don’t care.

You just have to get away.

You bury your face in your hands, your tears flowing again as the bus pulls away from the curb.

The worst part about it, you think, is that he doesn’t reach out to you.

Neither does Steph, but you reason expecting that is irrational. Why would he talk to her? Why would he tell her what happened?

You can’t do it, either. It’s for the best, maybe, that you don’t say anything about it at all.

Instead, as soon as you get back into your apartment, you collapse onto your threadbare couch and take a nap. Only dragging yourself off it when you have to get up and get ready for your shift, accompanied with the headache throbbing in the center of your forehead.

You trade off with the evening shift and things are quiet for the most part. To distract yourself (mostly to stop yourself from bursting into tears if you think too hard about what happened), you take on your night shift tasks with renewed vigor. Cleaning the floors, the machines, adjusting displays, doing inventory.

Your wrist protests throughout it but you ignore it.

Steph would scold you for it.

So would Tim.

You pause in the middle of cleaning the counter near the Slurpee machine. Your wrist throbs at your side.

The sharp gust of wind and the sound of your name surprises you.

Shocks you, really, since you’re still a bit on edge from Batman’s visit last week and you yelp, turning around, throwing the wet cloth on instinct.

Your visitor dodges it easily. It lands on the floor with a wet splat.

“Flash? What are you—what—?”

He tilts his head, grass-green eyes narrowing slightly, mouth pursing, and you get the unmistakable feeling of being scrutinized very closely.

“What are you doing here, Flash?” you question.

He keeps making that face. “I wanted to see you.”

That surprises you. You blink.

“Batman won’t like that.”

“Don’t care. I’m not here to cause trouble. Just here to see you. He can’t say anything.”

You don’t think that’ll stop him but you don’t say anything. Flash probably knows. He just doesn’t care. He’ll complain about it sometimes, go to lengths to avoid it, but other times, he just—doesn’t care.

Flash continues to look at you. Scrutinizing you.

You don’t bother trying to stop him from doing it. You’re too tired and the way your eyes are still red and swollen is telling, as well as the circles under your eyes.

“You look like shit.”

“Thanks, Flash.”

His frown deepens and one of his hands comes to your shoulders.

“Seriously… are you okay, kid?”

For some reason, that does it.

The smallest of splinters to your resolve first, your breath hitching, then it breaks entirely, emotion swelling inside you with tidal wave force, your vision blurring with tears.

Flash reels back in surprise at first, then softens, muttering, “Aw, kid,” and pulling you into a hug.

It doesn’t feel perfunctory. Like he is doing this out of obligation at seeing you cry, like this is just another one of his duties as a superhero. It feels genuine, the way he holds you tightly against his chest, like you’re a child being comforted.

That just makes you cry harder.

It takes a while for you to calm down. Then you get embarrassed, sniffling out an apology.

He hands you a napkin, then pokes you affectionately on the forehead.

“Geez, what do you take me for? I don’t mind. Besides, worse bodily fluids have ended up on me. Way worse. This is nothing.”

You laugh wetly.

He squeezes your shoulder. “Seriously, though. Seems like you’ve got some stuff to talk about. What’s going on?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as a fresh wave of tears briefly takes hold of you. You take a deep breath, working through it, blowing your nose.

Flash grabs two Slurpees, one cherry and one blue raspberry, and hops up on the counter, patting the spot beside him. You manage to wriggle up using just your right hand, your left still throbbing.

With plenty of breaks in between to cry a little bit more, you tell him everything that has gone on for the past month. Including the stuff with Red and the others, then your impromptu visit from Batman last week.

“That how you hurt your wrist?” he asks, thoroughly displeased as he reaches for it with gentle fingers. It’s more swollen than before, irritated from you ignoring your body’s warnings, warm to the touch.

“It wasn’t him,” you mumble. “Just me. I tripped and fell.”

He purses his lips but nods for you to continue, which you do, telling him about everything that happened today.

“It just sucks,” you whisper. “I mean, what I’m doing to Steph, first of all, by feeling like that and then with the stuff going on with Tim. I know I shouldn’t have avoided him earlier because of my own feelings and maybe this is what I deserve for it but…”

He shakes his head, seemingly bothered by all of this. Really bothered. You expected some, along with the concern, but all of that seems tripled for a reason you do not know.

He says your name, solemn. “You don’t deserve any of that. Sure, it was stupid but… you still don’t deserve that.”

“I can’t change it,” you sigh, setting your cup down. Your fingers are numb from the cold of it. “I just… I dunno. Had to get it out, I guess, so thanks. Why did you really come here, though?”

He sips his Slurpee. “I really came here for you. I just had this feeling… I don’t know. But it paid off, didn’t it?”

“True,” you admit.

“You want me to talk some sense into this kid?”

“Absolutely not.”

“I don’t know,” he muses, his thoughtful tone bellying the tension that seems to permanently reside in his body now; he’s really annoyed by it. You’re touched, if not a bit confused at the depth of his feelings. “I think I should. Might be good.”

“It’s not totally Tim’s fault—”

“His reaction is his own entirely. You shouldn’t have done what you did but anyone with any amount of common sense would talk to you about it instead of turning around and avoiding you, too. It’s dumb. Don’t let him off the hook.”

“Don’t let me off the hook.”

“I’m not. But from where I’m standing, his offenses greatly outweigh yours, especially with what seemed to happen today and… everything else.”

“Flash…”

“I’m just saying. I am, admittedly, a bit biased but… still. I’m not wrong, am I?”

You sigh. “I guess not.”

“Exactly. And for that stuff with your other friend… she hasn’t said anything about it, has she? I mean, I told you what it’s like for me and Pipes. We don’t feel like that for each other anymore. If I had some friend who turned out to like him, I wouldn’t care. So, what makes you think Stephanie does?”

You throw up your hands. “Most people would! Flash, not everyone takes that approach to their exes.”

“True,” he concedes. “But they’re clearly still friends and just friends.”

“But that doesn’t mean she’s okay with that. That doesn’t mean it’s okay. I shouldn’t… it never should have happened.”

Flash sighs, watching you for a minute. “This is a mess, isn’t it?”

You laugh humorlessly. “You’re just now getting that?”

“I knew before but this is… a mess of epic proportions. Seriously…” he mutters the last part, shaking his head slightly.

Before you can respond, the door opens. You can’t see it, the aisle hiding it, but Flash can; since he remains calm, you assume it isn’t anyone bad.

Then you hear your name, from a very familiar voice and—

“Steph?”

She appears around the aisle, her jean shorts and lilac purple t-shirt wrinkled and in a state of disarray, her hair equally as messy, frizzed from the humidity outside; a light sheen of sweat shines on her face. It’s like she rushed all the way over here.

You hop down from the counter, concerned. “Steph, what are you doing here? Is everything okay? What happened?”

She lifts a hand, cobalt blue eyes on Flash, saying, distractedly, “No, it’s… it’s alright, nothing’s wrong, I just… had to talk to you… Am I interrupting something?”

“Nope,” Flash says breezily, hoping from the counter. “You can talk to her. I was just visiting.”

“Wait—” you don’t want him to leave quite yet but you don’t know how to say that.

“I’ll hang around,” he assures you, tossing your empty Slurpee cups in your next blink; the only indication he did anything is the way they disappear and the breeze that hits you and Steph.

“Batman—”

“Don’t care. If anything, I might like to talk to him.”

“Flash,” you say, nervous, not willing to reveal what happened to Steph but also trying to tell him to very much not do that.

“I’m still thinking about it,” he says, lifting a shoulder. “But I’ll be around. I’ll come back in a few.”

He lifts a hand, then he is gone, the breeze following him much stronger this time.

“I guess you two really are friends,” Steph says when it calms, sending you a small smile, making you relax.

“Yeah…” Though friends didn’t quite cut it for you. Silly, probably, considering you don’t even know who he is under the cowl, but you can’t deny it to yourself. It’s hard to quantify exactly what he means to you—a friend, a big brother, some kind of weird uncle. If anything, it feels like an odd amalgamation of all those things. You wonder if that’s how he feels, too. You won’t ask. You can only handle so much disappointment in one night.

“I’m sorry to come by so suddenly,” she says next, her words oddly formal in a way that puts you on edge. “But I just had to talk to you.”

“About…?”

“About Tim.”

You go stiff. You try your best to school your expression, to not give anything away. After all, concerning him, it could be anything. What happened today, maybe. What’s been happening.

Or your feelings.

You really hope it’s not that.

You’ve only just started to realize you might be losing Tim. You can’t lose her.

You can’t.

“What about him?”

She says your name. Everything inside you tightens.

“I know. I know how you feel about him—”

Your throat aches when you swallow. Everything seems to come bursting out of you in the next second.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Steph, I didn’t mean—I didn’t want—I wouldn’t do anything—” you take a step back, your heart squeezing painfully in your chest.

Her eyes widen and she steps forward, quickly closing the space between you, her hands coming to cradle your face.

“No, no, no, it’s okay, it’s okay—”

“No, it’s not, I never should’ve—god, I’m so sorry, Steph—” your vision blurs with tears.

She says your name again, keeping you in her grasp.

“I’ve known for a long time,” she quickly says. “Okay? I knew, but it’s okay. I was never mad at you, never, it’s okay, I promise.”

“But—but—”

She shushes you gently. “It’s okay. Deep breaths, alright?”

A couple tears trace down your cheeks. She wipes them away, a small smile forming on her lips—for you, entirely for you, the warmth there reflected in her eyes.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she asks, rubbing her thumb over your cheek. “It’s really easy to fall in love with Tim Drake. And this isn’t my roundabout way of telling you I have feelings for him. Those are long gone. I love him and he’ll always be my first love but that time has passed—for the both of us. But for you guys?”

“Stephie…”

“I don’t care that you have feelings for him. I really truly don’t. I just want you to be happy. I want you both to be happy. I think you two can do that for each other.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I think… you’re good for him. He’s good for you. That’s all there is to it, okay? If you really want my blessing, you have it, but… it doesn’t matter to me that you like him. And I’ve known for a while but I just… I assumed you knew I was okay with it. Like it was the thing that was there but we never talked about. Stupid, I know. But… I just need you to know that. Alright?”

She hugs you. You bury your face in her shoulder, hugging her back just as tightly, unable to stop your tears from flowing.

“I’m not just saying this to try and be the bigger person, either,” she murmurs. “Go for it. It’s been long enough.”

“I don’t know…”

“Why?”

“I mean, he doesn’t… and today…”

Steph pulls away, frowning now. “He likes you, too.”

“No—”

“He does. I know.”

“Then why has he…” You can’t keep going, biting your lip.

“‘Cause he’s an idiot,” she mutters. “In more ways than one. But… I’m going to fix it, okay?”

“No, no, don’t—”

“It’s okay. There’s… there’s other stuff going on right now and we need to take care of that first, then you can talk about your feelings. But I’m going to fix it, okay? I’m going to try.”

“You don’t have to, this is our mess, my mess, I was the one who started avoiding him in May after finally realizing my feelings and then he…” you trail off, sniffling.

“There’s something else,” she says cryptically. “That’s… just take my word for it. But I’m going to fix it. He’s been an idiot long enough and I’m not going to keep tolerating it, not if he’s going to keep hurting you.”

You shake your head, confused. Is she talking about today? Did he tell her? You have no idea…

“He only did it because I did.”

“No, no, it’s… it’s complicated, okay?”

You snort despite yourself. “You think?”

She smiles finally. “I know. It’s… a lot. But don’t worry. I’m going to get him to see the light. Not literally, though I wouldn’t mind roughing him up a bit just for how idiotically he’s been acting but… another time.”

You’re still confused. Terribly, terribly confused. But Steph is so impassioned, so sure, you let it go.

“Let me help,” you say. “I should be the one doing this but—but let me help. I need to. It’s my mess, too.”

“It’s all of us,” she sighs. “And right now, I’m in a unique position. So… let me, okay? Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you more later, but hopefully, I can get something together soon. Just sit tight, alright?”

“You do too much for me,” you whisper.

“I’m doing what I should be doing,” she says, looking… guilty almost before the look is gone. “This has gone on long enough.”

She leans forward to kiss your forehead. “But it’s gonna be okay. We’ll make it better.”

You just nod, going along with it for now.

You scrape yourself together after a few minutes, wiping your tears away and blowing your nose. Steph hangs around long enough for Flash to return, at which point she bids you a regretful goodbye, telling you she’ll talk to you tomorrow. You worry about her getting home but she brought her car, or so she tells you, and Flash generously sees her out.

After a couple minutes, he returns.

“So?” he asks expectantly.

“You were right,” you mutter. “She’s fine with it. I’m not entirely sure why she had to rush out to tell me or what she’s planning to fix but… I don’t think I can stop her.”

“No, I don’t think so, either,” he agrees lightly. “I don’t think you should, either. It’s probably important.”

“I guess,” you sigh. “I still don’t think she should be doing it but…”

“There might be more pieces in play than you think.”

You send him a look. “I got enough cryptic talk from her. I don’t want any more from you.”

He holds up his hands, smiling. “No more cryptic talk. Got it. I do, however, come bearing gifts.”

“Where on earth—?”

“Well, I already had them when I came here. I wanted to check on you and give you this stuff, but we got interrupted,” he says. “Give me a second.”

You give him a second.

He leaves and comes back in that time. You raise an eyebrow.

“Check it out,” he says, holding out a box.

You take it from him. It’s a small thing, easily held in your hand. You pull off the top.

And promptly blink as the shiny display of a phone greets you.

“Flash, what—”

He can’t wait for you to finish asking your question, apparently too eager to tell you.

“It’s a phone, for you. But it’s programmed with my contact info, that way you can talk to me, and you can move all the stuff on your old phone over, too. It really is just a regular phone. Well, it does have League-level encryptions on it, but you know.”

“Flash… this is too much.”

“Not really,” he says. “I couldn’t give you that info without making sure your phone was secure and it would’ve been a lot more work to get yours secured, too. Besides, let’s be real, your phone has seen much better days. I think it deserves to finally be able to rest.”

“Jerk,” you laugh.

He shrugs. “Not wrong, though. Anyway, it’s not just for emergencies. You can talk to me. Text me. You know.”

“Flash,” you say, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion, pressing a hand to your face.

He looks like he wants to say something else but stops himself last minute and just gives you a small smile.

“Come on. Let’s set it up.”

You agree, not wanting to continue to refuse since it would be rude and… you do want to have a way to talk to him. Not just for emergencies but other stuff, too. This stuff.

So much is still up in the air.

But you can focus on the here and now, with Flash here to ease your burdens.

reblogs are appreciated!

taglist: @peachesona @knoxx-seresinbradshaw @kikis-writing-service @sweetistic @soundsfunbutno @ginevraxrogers @fridaenpina @skcj24 @bath1lda @omfg-its-tay @laughydaphne @fhrjrirj @iamthesimpmother @alittlelateforstars @thaliadoesthings @scarlett13 @zelabee @coffee-love-alltheabove @benstormy @sad-girl09 @lockofspades s @thereallchristine @thatonecroc @1lellykins @jelsafan0 @hearttjason @kno-way-home

[ask to be tagged! here or my inbox! ^_^]

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #red robin x you #dc comics x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you #batfam x y/n #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n

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tomatoland · 7 months

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Top's wounded inner child and TopMew's (play)dates

Top has a wounded inner child. He may look like a grown man on the outside, but inside, he is stuck here.

Top's reaction to freeze or go silent when emotions are high is very likely due to his fire trauma. When Mew yells at him, I thought Top very much looked like a child being yelled at by a parent. The way he avoids eye contact and bows his head. He feels indignation when Mew asks him if he and Boston planned this together, but he's unable to verbalize anything.

I wonder if his parents blamed him for the fire because it is very much reading as someone in Top's life expressed disappointment or blamed him at a critical time. Twice, Mew has asked Top for a reason why he slept with Boston and he can't say and again when Cheum asks, he can't say.

As I'm all about pattern recognition, the show is setting us up for this to be a conversation TopMew are going to have btw.

Top does take responsibility for his actions though. I initially thought that this was a positive sign of maturity, but it can also be a sign that Top had to take on too much responsibility at too young of an age. He does what he's expected to do, which is apologize, but he can't offer any further explanation.

What we know of Top's childhood is that he was neglected by his parents because they are always too busy working or socializing and he was alone when the fire happened. The responsibility of a household is so much to take on when you're so young and to deal with a crisis alone, no child should EVER have to do that. Parents are supposed to be there to protect their children, give them space to just be a kid and Top didn't have that.

Now, I want to talk about how TopMew's dates are actually helping Top heal his inner child.

TopMew's dates are all about introducing Mew to new experiences for TopMew both to experience together, but notice how they are all very playful.

They eat ice cream together, they go to the bookstore and share different parts of books with each other, they go bike riding, they even have sleepovers where nothing sexual happens, they play laser tag, hide-and-seek, dance like nobody's watching, sing out loud badly, drink neon green apple sodas together, and Mew keeps Top company while he sketches (draws).

Top's inner child holds all these heavy emotions from the fire incident, probably to the point that he can't remember good times he had as a child because he has spent an exorbitant amount of time here, fixating on that one moment. The result of which is years of insomnia, dependence on sleeping pills, a crippling fear of dying alone, and a fear of sleep.

I don't think Top & Mew did this consciously, but isn't it just absolutely perfect that is what their playdates (because that's what they are, aren't they?) are doing, giving Top a chance for him to connect to his inner child in a more lighthearted way than he usually does and just play.

“Three things strike me about inner child work: the speed with which people change when they do this work; the depth of that change, and the power and creativity that result when wounds from the past are healed.”

This space to reconnect to his inner child is what is helping Top move past the self-sabotaging behaviors and unhealthy coping mechanisms from before. Past Top would have called up Beam, Past Top would've fallen for Boston's manipulation. Before Mew, Top had a string of short-term relationships and now, he's thinking beyond three months.

The change in Top isn't because of Mew because even without Mew's presence, Top doesn't succumb to his old behaviors. This indicates that the change that may have started because of Mew, is now in Top. Being with Mew is what gave Top the opportunity to reconnect with and work on healing his inner child that now he wants to move past the things that were holding him in place.

This does bring up a really important fact though, change that is contingent on another person is not stable. Change must start with the individual if there is any chance for long-term sustainability. Maybe I'll be wrong and Top will self-destruct in the next episode, but he hasn't yet. He's still trying.

good article if you’re interested & cr for quote

#ofts #only friends the series #topmew #top tanin #mew witsarut #ofts top #ofts mew #forcebook #force jiratchapong #book kasidet

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heartsoji · 1 year

Text

suna rintaro here. my girlfriend, y/n, is being distant today and i don't know why. let me tell you about what happened.

all in all, please help. i don't know why she's so distant today. is she mad? please give me tips!

@.su.rin post made at 4:16pm

comments: @.y/n.l/n: HELP WHAT IS THIS @.y/n.l/n: for the record i got an a+ on that so it was worth it @.y/n.l/n: love u always rin <333 @.su.rin: reply to @.y/n./l/n- ik that u hate me its ok

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feelbokkie · 11 months

Text

Please Don't Care About Me, It's Okay

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

**Requested**

Hello! How are you? :)

I was wondering if you could a request with chan or changbin 8, 9, 14 and 24 from the hurt/comfort prompt list, where the reader is overwhelmed by negative emotions and tries really hard to not cry because they hate crying in front of others due to some bad experiences (like me✌🏽).

Ofc no rush and take all the time you need☺️

Byeeee ;)

genre: hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: After going public with your relationship with Chan, you started receiving hate. You're good at holding in but, you can't bottle it in forever. (Title is a song lyric from DLC) (unedited)

pairing: bf!chan x reader

warnings: swearing, death threats

word count: 1,476

a/n: as someone who HATES crying in front of ppl bc of the trauma from my dad who, among many things, yelled at me for crying when I was 12 because my grandma died, this hit really close to home 🙃

You knew when you started dating Chan that your relationship would go through challenges. The biggest of them being the fan base. You knew that the fandom as a whole was relatively nice, but there were that subgroup of fans, if you could even call them that, who give Stays a bad name.

The two of you weren't planning on announcing your relationship at first for that reason. But when an opportunity arose for you to join Chan on tour, you had no choice. You didn't want to have to spend the few months you were traveling the world with him having to hide in hotel rooms or watching your backs so you two announced it before you left.

Despite all the precautions you took before announcing your relationship, Stay managed to find your social media accounts and even your job. Although, your job was easy enough to find. You worked as a journalist in the music industry. Once they found your name, everything else came easy to them. How they managed to find out your name was a mystery.

Chan didn't know the extent of how bad the harassment you were getting was. You kept it a secret from him, he had enough to deal with touring and doing interviews. For some reason, you couldn't stop yourself from reading the comments and dms you were getting. People were even going as far as to comment on the articles that your company had uploaded, forcing them to take off your contact information and disabling the comments. Even then, your email and work phone number had already been leaked. Everything turned what was supposed to be a blissful few months into a nightmare. Your only peaceful days were the ones where Chan had a day off or when you and all of Stray Kids would bond, forcing you to unplug from all of your devices.

Everyone was oblivious to the hate your were receiving, and you were kind of happy. The last thing you wanted was to break down and cry in front of them. You hated being that vulnerable in front of others, especially your boyfriend. You don't want them to chastise you for it. You knew they wouldn't, deep down, but years of surrounding yourself with people who would mock or belittle you for showing our emotions have taught you it's safer to just keep everything inside.

You and the boys stood off the side of the airport terminal, finally home from 4 months of traveling. Despite having done this several time throughout the tour, you were nervous for what awaited you on the other side of the gate. You could hear fans screaming the boys' names. All of them had warned you that Korean Stays were more intense than international Stays when it came to airport arrivals. They spent the last few days of the tour trying to mentally prepare you. They told you that you how, unlike other countries, there won't be any barriers between you and the fans. Chan even bought you noise canceling headphones to help drown out the fans. It wasn't just that they were loud, some of them were also hateful and would use the opportunity to say whatever they wanted.

“You’re safe here. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Chan tries to reassure you, squeezing your hand.

You and Chan were the last ones to leave the terminal, Chan wanted to make sure the boys made it to the vans safely. He gripped your hand tightly as you two walked through the mob. You're thankful for the headphones. They're drowning out all the screams, it makes you feel like you're in a music video. You try to stay close to Chan as you make your way through the mob. Two security guards surround both of you, trying their best to shield you from the mayhem. All their efforts can't stop the hands you feel pushing and pulling at you.

Thud!

A fan bumps into you hard, or maybe they pushed you, sending you to the floor and effectively separating you from Chan and knocking your headphones off. You're suddenly surrounded by screaming fans, many of which were verbally attacking you.

"Stay away from Bang Chan!"

"You're so ugly!"

"You should just kill yourself!"

"You don't deserve him!"

The screams are suddenly replaced by music as Chan broke his way into the crowd and shoved his headphones on your head. He helps you stand up and tries to lead you out of the crowd, keeping a stronger grip on you than he did before. Eventually a security guard manages to break up the crowd and rushes to get you both to the van. Chan gently shoves you in first before turning and sharing a disappointed, angry look with the fans, and climbing in after you.

You climb past Jisung, Minho, and Felix to the back of the van before taking off the headphones. Your hands are visibly shaking and you try to take deep breaths to calm down your heart rate. Do no cry.

"What happened?" Jisung asks, turning around in his seat to face you, eyes wide.

"Oh my God, someone already uploaded it." Felix says as Chan climbs towards the back.

Once he's seated, he turns to you and starts rolling up your sleeves checking to see if you got hurt.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Minho asks softly. The three of them watched everything in horror when you and Chan were trying to get to the van. They weren't sure what happened, all they saw was a small crowd form and you and Chan appear from it a few minutes later. Felix was in the process of showing them the videos.

"Y-yeah, I'm fine. A little banged and shaken up, but I'm fine." You squeak.

Everything was not fine. Sure, you had a few scrapes and you were going to wake up sore with bruises, but it was so much worse than that. It was one thing to read all those things being said about you online. It was a whole different story to hear them being directed at you. And hearing them being replayed over again from Felix's phone was pushing you over the edge. You bite your tongue to keep yourself from crying.

"Felix, shut that off." Chan says. He was now checking your face and head for any signs of injury. Anger was radiating off of him, but he remained calm as he checked you.

"Sorry, hyung," He mutters, immediately shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket.

Chan presses a kiss into your temple once he's done checking you over. You feel a tear escape from your eye.

"Fuck!" You whisper to yourself, wiping the tears that were now slowly but falling down your face. You turn away from Chan and aggressively wipe your face. You didn't want him to see you cry.

“Hey, it’s okay to cry.” He says softly, rubbing your back.

"I-I'm not. There's just something in my eye. It's pretty dusty back here." You mumble, crying harder. The floodgates opened and everything you were repressing from the past four months, along with all the pain you felt from today, were coming out. You quickly pull down your sleeves and cover your mouth, effectively muffling your sobs.

“You don’t have to be so brave with me.” Chan humms rubbing your back more.

He knows you have trouble expressing your emotions and how much you hate crying in front of others. He tries to look out for little signs to make sure you're not hiding anything. He does his best to reassure you that you and your emotions, no matter how big or small, are a burden to him. And yet, you still can't help but hide.

"I'm sorry. I-I just can't keep it in anymore. I'm just overwhelmed from what just happened and the past few months." You blubber quietly. Jisung, Minho, and Felix put their headphones on a while ago to give you your privacy.

"The past few months?" He questions. You take a shaky breath, still looking away from Chan.

"It's n-nothing," You silently curse yourself for letting that bit of information slip.

"Have...have people been harassing you online this entire time?" He asks softly, scooting closer to you. Still looking away you nod at him. His hand stops moving on your back as he slowly balls up his fist.

“Hey, look at me," He gently pulls your face towards him, "you can’t keep it bottled up forever. You don't have to hide from me--especially from me.” He pulls your head onto his shoulder and gently strokes your side.

"I-I know, I just--"

"I know why you don't but I'm just reminding you that you're okay to let your guard down with me, okay? Rest, we have a while before we're home."

—

Permanent Taglist

Red means that it wouldn't let me tag you

@berryblog @jaydebow @junebug032 @boiohboii @heistheavatar @lieslab @rainbae-anon @k-cock @hamburgers101 @mrswolfiechan @soulboundauthor @weird-bookworm @thisisnotjacinta @seungmyynie @halesandy @kpopsstuffs @honeydew93

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Buy me a coffee?

#feelbokkie writes #stray kids #skz #chan #bangchan #bang chan #skz imagine #stray kids imagine #chan imagine #bang chan imagine #bangchan imagine #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #chan imagines #bang chan imagines #bangchan imagines #x reader

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maxwellatoms · 8 months

Note

Congratulations, one of your characters made a cameo appearance in my midlife crisis!

This takes a little time to explain, but on the art web site FurAffinity, living users are represented with a tilde, while living impaired users get an infinity symbol in front of their names. I was at a low point in my life when I drew this, and thought about what would happen when the Grim Reaper eventually closed the loop.

Anyway. This was supposed to be for questions, so I'll ask one. The career of an animator seems to be nomadic... they'll spend some time developing a series for Cartoon Network, then move to Disney, then migrate to Nickelodeon, only to return where they started (cough cough CH Greenblatt cough).

Any reason, or reasons, why this happens? Honestly, I have a difficult time understanding why anyone would go to Nickelodeon to start a show, given the way so many artists have been treated by the network in the past. Do all the networks act like this?

Just curious. Thanks for your time, and for the years of entertainment.

You guys look great together, but no loop closings please!

Gotta bilde the tilde, if you know what I mean.

Anyway, yeah... Animators all know that Other Studios have Other Problems. It's not at all uncommon to hear someone say, "I'm about ready for new problems".

I spent most of my career (until the wonders of the recent mega-merger) at WB, so I've really only known WB problems (with a light sprinkling of Disney Troubles). I've asked friends like C.H. Greenblatt and Jessica Borutski about the long-haul at Nick, so I have a basic idea what the culture is like. But if I land at Nick in five years, it could be a completely different set of circumstances and maybe even a completely different set of employers.

I know maybe three studio execs with solid careers who've spent the majority of their time at one studio. Most of the time, the low level executive track is even more of a meat grinder than the creative track. In fact, I'd go as far as to say that the middle-management meat grinder is the cause of the creative meat grinder.

The job of an executive is to make impressive decisions that dazzle their superiors and shareholders. If you've just been hired to replace someone and have inherited a stack of 32 animation bibles in various stages of development with assorted creators, are you really going to just continue going through that pile? I mean, you're replacing someone for a reason, right? So probably better just to toss that whole pile of animation bibles in the trash and start again. Because you're going to look like an idiot if even a single one of those fails. And if it succeeds, it just makes your predecessor look smart, which steals some of your shine. So you axe those creators and all of their support goes away and the cycle begins anew.

During my career, these executive turnovers (and the following creative turnovers) happen about every four or five years. With a little luck, it takes (in my experience) about two years to get a show through development to pilot, and then another year to decide if it's going to be a series. In short, there is precious little time where a creator/EP can interface with and rely on a competent executive to champion them. If you don't have that, you're not going anywhere.

I'm not sure how anything gets made. From the inside, development is always trickle-down sweaty desperation. I guess somehow, every now and then, a neurodivergent 23 year old slips through the cracks and makes a kid's show about The Grim Reaper. It could all be luck.

There are definitely execs who love animation and have made it their life's work. But there are also people who just got into the business as, say, a personal assistant and hasn't watched an animated cartoon since they were six, but suddenly find themselves in control of many millions of dollars worth of IP. There are execs who think of entertainment only as a commodity and who literally don't understand why creatives feel so passionate about "just cartoons" but will remind you "how lucky you are to work in entertainment" if you ask for a raise.

In short, the problems are usually management related. And those problems are mostly the same across studios, with the occasional Infamous Despot you want to avoid at all costs. The good news is that said Despot probably won't last five years.

There are perks at the different studios too. Proximity to decent food. Occasional amusement park passes. Friday morning bagels. The sort of stuff that hopefully nobody is taking a job specifically for.

At the end of the day, there are three or four big studios we can work for. There are also a smattering of smaller indie studios which... make content for those three or four other studios anyway.

The long and short of it is that there's just not a lot of choice where we can work or who we work for. We definitely talk to each other and the studio culture does weigh heavily when you're deciding where to go. Assuming you have the luxury of choice. It all kind of sucks, and it all kind of sucks in the same way. But sometimes you get bagels.

Stay Frisky!

#tv animation #troubles #animation industry

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lale-txt · 2 years

Text

♁ One Piece x Reader exchange: Kid & his s/o dying in his arms

a/n: hi! this is my piece for the @onepiece-reader-exchange, thank you for the fun project! i got the chance to write for @wimble-warcrime who i apologize to for picking the angsty one out of all prompts you gave, but on the other hand i just had to. hope you're pleased with the fic!

contains: gn!reader, HEAVY ANGST, death of reader, blood mention. this is not a light-hearted read.

word count: 1.6k

It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

In fact, it wasn’t supposed to end at all. Forever. You could still hear Kid huff about this, about the mere thought of spending a life together, side by side, until death do you part. He was a pirate after all, he knew for a fact how fast a life can be wiped out in the thump of a heartbeat. Forever was just a foul promise. And yet you found him in his workshop the other night, unusually quiet as he focused as he fumbled with something in his massive hands. It was only when you wrapped your arms around his neck from behind and peeked over his shoulder that you saw the two rings in his palms – a declaration of his devoted heart.

Until death do us part.

You raise your hand towards the vast sky, painted in the lush red and blue colors of dawn, the plain silver band on your ring finger shimmering from underneath all the blood. Shit. So this is it. A hoarse sound escapes your throat, something between a bitter laugh and a cry out for help, painfully aware that it was too late for that. You never thought much about dying, but you didn’t expect to be so calm, almost grateful to experience the rising sun one last time before your heart would stop beating.

Kid. You want to see him one last time. Is this selfish? Yearning for the touch of your lover when you’re tiptoeing on the verge of life and death? Was this too much to ask for? You wonder if he’ll be the one who finds your body. If he will allow himself some tears or just unleash the fury because there was never another way for him to regulate his feelings. And… if he will love again. You hope so, you really do.

Being a Kid pirate meant to never shy away from a good fight. You were pirates, not saints. You would fight tooth and nail for what you wanted to protect and never showed any mercy. The world was harsh and so was your captain, barking out orders and insults as he destroyed whatever crossed his path in the blink of an eye. He was a force to reckon with if anyone ever dared to hurt his crew. During every battle, all you could see was his broad back, the shoulders you used to fall asleep on when nobody else was watching, his bright red hair like a lighthouse in the dark.

He always watched out for you. Kid’s love was never tender, it was a wildfire and you stood in the eye of it, letting the flames lick your skin without being burned. He made you feel so warm, so seen. As if you were indestructible as long as you were together. He couldn’t have known that one day you would fly a little too close to the sun, wanting to be the one who looked out for him just once. Who could have known it came with a price…

The air smelled like gunpowder and blood. And it was quiet, so quiet. The battle must have been over by now, at least the one that’s carried out with fists and weapons; there were other ones held in their hearts only. Not you, though. Your heart sighed. It sure was tired, but at least it didn’t hurt. Death crawled up on you in silence, tugging on your heart strings. Soon, so soon, you’d be stardust again. Maybe you could guide him then, towards the horizon and beyond, until you meet again in the vast night sky.

The faint sound of your name makes you flinch. With your arm still raised towards the sky you try to call out his name, but all you can do is cough up more blood as your vision flickers, your breath sharp and rattling in your chest. One last time. Just one last time. A few more selfish heartbeats is all you asked for.

And then he is next to you, his hand wrapping yours before he brings it to his chest. You can feel his heart drumming in there, a high contrast to the one in your ribcage, getting weaker minute by minute. You blink a few times until you can see him clearly, his expression full of pain and rage, his whole body trembling. He is here, there is nothing to fear now.

“You fucking idiot.”, he growls but his voice is missing its usual spite. It carries sorrow and fear, a side you have never witnessed before. You try to squeeze his hand but with life slowly dripping out of you, all you can manage is shifting your hand slightly in his. You mumble out his name hoarsely, trying to put all the unsaid words in this one syllable but he hushes you, his hand clutching tighter around yours. His metal arm hovers over you, unsure where and how to touch you without causing any more damage – in denial about the fact that there wasn’t anything left he could break.

“Shh, now. We’ll patch you up and next thing you know we’re out there again, I promise.”

You shake your head slightly, trying a weak smile while tears are pricking in the corner of your eyes. No more promises. All you want now is to be held. There was nothing else left to do. With your vision blurry you can’t make out Kid’s expression anymore, but you sense his silhouette leaning closer to you as he brings your hand to his face, kissing your bloody fingertips. You brush over his lips softly, warmth spreading from there and seeping throughout your whole body, like it always did when you kissed. Kid would have never admitted it, but he shines brighter than a thousand suns, a force of life in the fragile shell of a human body.

You sigh in relief when he puts his human arm around your shoulders, lifting you up carefully so your head could rest against his chest instead of the hard floor. Mumbling your name over and over again he holds you tight, his metal hand uselessly resting next to you. You wonder if he will beat himself up for not being able to hold you properly with both arms while you were taking your last breaths and you know he will, and you wish you could tell him that it was okay, that this was more than enough, him being here was enough. You want to tell him that it didn’t hurt anymore, that he’ll be okay, that you will never be really gone, just orbiting around the sun until he’ll join you one day. You hope he will understand you without words, like he always did.

Look after Killer and the rest of the crew for me, okay? Sail to the end of the world and beyond and find that One Piece. Please don’t forget me. I love you, Kid. You know that, right? My heart recognized you the very first minute we met. You were my forever. You’ll always be. Don’t give up on love. I will always be out there. I love you so, so much. It doesn’t hurt, don’t worry. In your arms I always felt the safest. I love you. Kid, will you come find me again in the next life? I’ll be out there, waiting, dancing, laughing while crying. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Hey. Hey, keep your eyes open, okay? Hold on a little bit longer. I’ll fix this. I’m sorry. I’ll fix this. I’m so sorry. Hey… hey. Don’t close your eyes. Hey.”

Kid’s voice cracks. He’s shaking you slightly, fingers digging into your skin as he nudges you with his nose, whispering close to your ear, placing a few kisses in the corner of your mouth, the metallic taste biting his tongue. A wave of panic rushes over him, his whole body frozen on the spot. His heart was telling him to lift you up and run, as if he could escape death just like that; but his gut knew better. That this is it. The rapid end of a love story that only just began, its first blossoms now soaked in blood. His eyes flicker from your face to your hand resting against his chest, the silver band shimmering slightly, mocking him with the false promise it holds. He never wanted forever, he wanted you.

Then there is this light and it feels like you are floating. Death is lifting you up gently from your lover’s arms. You know this isn’t a farewell, this is merely a heart that stops beating, the memory of it never fading, engraved inside of Kid’s chest, becoming an armor for a lifetime until you meet again, just two stars swaying side by side in the night sky.

Kid’s raspy cry disrupts the silence once your hand slips down his chest, leaving a bloody mark where your fingertips once lingered. He is blinded by fury and the burgeoning feeling in his chest that he could have prevented this; that you could still be here, breathing and calling out his name if only he didn’t let his guard down for those three seconds, if only you didn’t split up hours earlier in the naive belief that you still got so much time, that you got a life together.

If only.

If only death could have taken him instead of you. If only hearts wouldn’t shatter in silence. If only he could turn back time to tell you how he felt, how he really felt, say those three words out loud over and over again until you would shut him up with a kiss.

If only love was enough.

#eustass kid #eustass kid x reader #eustass kid x you #one piece x reader #onepiecereaderexchange #one piece reader insert #one piece scenario #one piece imagine #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction

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mysecretlittlelibrary · 1 year

Text

Just Let Me Adore You Pt. 6

Pairing: Stucky x Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Warnings: okay so... it all goes to shit here kind of lol

Genre: angst fr

Summary: You’ve been dating your boyfriend, Bruce, for 3 absolutely blissful years. He’s a scientist and professor who is as smart as he is kind and if anyone asked, you were sure you’d spend the rest of your life with him. That is until two mysteriously charming men that Bruce swears are dangerous take an interest in you that threatens to turn your entire life upside down. I mean… what exactly are you supposed to do with two gorgeous men telling you something that suggests that basically everything you think you know is a lie? And why does part of you have enough doubt to wonder if they might be telling the truth?

Series Masterlist

***

"Mom- how could you not tell me?" You ask her forcing yourself to remain calm.

"Well, your father and I-"

"Daddy knows too?" You ask quietly because the idea that your parents agreed to keep you in the dark makes this whole thing that much harder to process.

"Of course he does."

"Why would you keep this a secret from me?"

"Because we weren't sure you'd ever turn."

"What?"

"In both your father and I we have a rare genetic thing, our wolf genes are dormant. Neither of us can turn- we thought, maybe you wouldn't be able to either and we didn't want the pressure of knowing that to affect you growing up. It can be very hard, being a wolf who can't be a wolf. We worried that if we told you that you would go through middle and high school thinking you were broken because you never turned. It's- wonderful that you have! I can tell you anything you want to know now that-"

"I haven't." You mutter.

"You haven't?"

"I haven't turned."

"Then- where did the question come from? How did you suspect you were a werewolf if you haven't turned?"

"I got clocked." You mutter.

"You got clocked?!"

"Yep. Some guys, near strangers, actually told me I was a werewolf. I've been mulling it over for like the past month wondering if it was even possible. I finally decided to just give you a call and put the whole thing to rest."

"Okay, wait strangers told you? How would they know?"

"They're werewolves. There are actually quite a few of them out here apparently mom."

"And one of them realized you were one?"

"Two of them but, it would appear so. And now I have a second problem."

"What is it baby?"

"These same men that told me I was a werewolf, told me Bruce has known this whole time." You say.

"Bruce your scientist boyfriend?"

"Yes mom my scientist boyfriend, who specializes in studying supernatural creatures. Would've been nice to know I WAS ONE before committing three years to him!" You huff.

"Wait you never told us he studied supernaturals. Why would you leave that out?"

"Because why would my human parents care about what he's sciencing mom?!" You scoff.

"You're okay with him experimenting on supernaturals as long as you aren't one?!"

"He doesn't experiment on them he does pretty much exclusively observational research as far as I know. Mom, what do I do if he's known this whole time and kept it from me? How do I even ask him something like that?"

"Be direct. And look out for the tells."

"Tells?"

"I know as a kid you had such sensitive hearing you could tell if someone was coming to the house before they even reached the front porch and I'm sure by now you've learned to manage that sensory response but if you can focus, you'll be able to hear his heart, hear his breathing change. If you can't focus watch for if he makes eye contact, or if he starts fidgeting, sweating, or pacing. Those are the tells of a liar. Plus regardless of if he's known all this time or not, I don't like the idea of you dating someone that treats our kind like lab rats."

"Okay well, I guess my life is imploding. I'll call you later. I have questions about this werewolf thing but I must first sort out the boyfriend drama." You tell her.

"Alright dear, take care of yourself hm? And tell Wanda I said hello."

"HI MOM! BYE MOM!" Wanda shouts before you hang up.

"Bye Wanda dear!" She says and the call ends there.

"So- you're a werewolf. I was right!" Wanda practically squeals in excitement.

"Okay you need to calm down." You tell her.

"I need to calm down?! How are you not less calm?"

"I think I'm still in shock. Kind of. But also I've been considering this for a while now. Plus Steve and Bucky being right about this means they might also be right about Bruce."

"You really think Bruce knew you were a werewolf this whole time and kept it from you?" Wanda frowns.

"Believe me I don't want to but I have to consider it. He swore Steve and Bucky were delusional liars and- if they were telling the truth about the wolf thing why would they lie about Bruce?"

"So are you going to ask him?"

"I have to. Don't I?"

"Unless you have access to his research yeah."

"How would access to his research help me avoid asking?"

"Well, for him to find out even though you didn't know, he'd have to have run a blood test or something on you at some point and I'm sure he kept them on file somewhere."

"I'll just ask him. I wouldn't feel comfortable going through his files anyway."

"I dunno considering it's likely that he's been running tests on you fuck his privacy in my opinion. Do you have access to his research?"

"Technically, yes, but he takes his laptop to the lab with him usually. I wouldn't be able to go through it without him here. It'll just be quicker to ask him. Mom says I should be able to tell if he's lying about it." You shrug.

"Well there ya go." She says.

"Would it be awful if I waited?" You grimace. The thought of this makes your stomach turn.

"No, it's gonna be a tough confrontation you should do it when you feel ready. Although it's probably not good to let it fester. Can I ask what's holding you back?"

"If he's lying I need to be prepared to leave and I wanna have that in order first-"

"I can't believe you're saying that as if I'm not right here! Pack a bag or two right now and I'll take your stuff to my place. As soon as you find out he's lying head right out the door and come to mine."

"Wait- do you think he's lying Wanda?"

"How should I know?"

"You said as soon as I find out he's lying, as if he for sure is and it's just a matter of confirming. You think Steve and Bucky are right about this?"

"They were right about you being a werewolf. You said it yourself, if they weren't lying about that why this?" She shrugs. "I know you love Bruce but it's not farfetched that in 3 years with all he knows about supernaturals, he suspected you were one, like I did, but unlike me he did what he could to confirm that suspicion."

"Oh." You frown.

"I'm sorry y/n. I don't want to believe that he would do that to you, but you know I've always had my reservations about him."

"No I- I know. It's a valid thought. I mean Steve and Bucky were right about one thing and if I was so sure they were wrong about Bruce I wouldn't feel the need to ask him in the first place but- the ethics of his research have always been a point of contention for me so, I'm not surprised we're here anyway."

"Honestly if he's been telling the truth that's great, but what you should pay more attention to is how he reacts to the question regardless. I mean- everything you thought you knew just got flipped on its head he should understand why that would raise more questions especially since the source of one truth is the source of this information."

"I dunno he's been pretty agitated about this whole wolf mafia thing. Every time we talk about Steve and Bucky he's like in hyper defense. Sometimes it feels like he doesn't believe I can think for myself. If I'm not agreeing with him he says it's because I'm too naive or too trusting or whatever."

"That's- kind of ugly." Wanda mutters and you laugh.

"He's paranoid and he feels guilty."

"Guilty?"

"Because if I'm in danger it's because of his research all those years ago. Not that anyone has made any indication that I'm in danger it's just- knowing all of these supposed mobsters are in my social vicinity he assumes they're just waiting to strike. Circling me like sharks." You chuckle.

"If anything it seems like they're circling to protect though?"

"Bruce would have an aneurysm even trying to consider that possibility." You scoff.

"Okay well, pack some things. You don't have to take him on today but since I'm here we'll pack your evacuation stuff now and just keep it at mine til you do."

"Maybe I should be giving him the benefit of the doubt." You sigh as you pull your small suitcase out of your closet.

"I think you're giving plenty of benefit by bothering to ask him and not just assuming he's lying."

"Yeah but- packing like this? As if I'm expecting to hear a lie and need to escape?" You frown, folding up clothes and packing them into the suitcase without much thought.

"Hope for the best but prepare for the worst that's what you always say. I know it's hard when the worst is that your boyfriend betrayed your trust but it'll be easier to face if you're ready for that possibility."

"Right. Hope for the best. Prepare for the worst." You nod.

"So- if the werewolves end up being right about him, what's your plan with them?"

"My plan with them?"

"Yeah, like- will you go talk to them?"

"I dunno. I have no way of contacting them Wanda they just kind of appear every couple of weeks. It's not like I can go looking."

"I think you could." She shrugs.

"How does one go looking for werewolf possibly crime lords?"

"Well you said Peter knows two of their men?"

"Maybe. I mean Peter knows two of the werewolf mobsters yes but. That only helps if Steve and Bucky really are on top like Bruce thinks they are. If not the last thing I wanna do is have more werewolves looking for me."

"Hm, I guess dealing with Steve and Bucky can wait. First we deal with Bruce." She tells you.

"Yeah sure- I guess so." You agree and finish packing your things for her to take to her place. Despite Wanda's conviction on the matter, you don't have the courage to confront Bruce when he comes home that night. You have dinner and discuss his day and wind down together like you do every other night. You pretend that nothing is wrong and can I just say you are one hell of an actress because Bruce does not suspect a thing. In fact you sit on this information for days before you deal with anything and it's not exactly by choice. The bell at the front of the store rings and you greet the way you always do.

"Hello! Welcome in!" You call, looking up to see Wanda walking towards you with serious conviction. "Uh oh." You mutter.

"Hi Peter!" Wanda says without even looking for him knowing he works pretty much every shift with you at this point.

"Miss Wanda! Hi!" Peter pokes his head into view from behind some shelves. Wanda waves at him and then turns her attention to you with a point.

"You." She says.

"Me."

"You need to talk to him." Wanda says.

"I will! I just-"

"No no you just nothing. You've been sitting on this for over four days. What are you gonna do just pretend it's all okay for the rest of your life?" She crosses her arms. You knew this was coming, and to her credit, she has left you to your devices until now.

"No of course not, but- I'm not ready." You sigh.

"Y/n right now you don't know if you can trust him and that's something you need to sort out because a relationship without trust is like, jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Death waiting to happen."

"Sorry I'm not eager to risk blowing up my entire relationship." You shrug.

"Newsflash the fact that you're in this situation at all means your relationship is probably already fucking doomed. Especially if the truth is what we're worried that it is, then your relationship has been over for a looooong time."

"Ouch." You frown.

"Honey if he's been lying to you this whole time then he thinks you're a fool. Do not let him make a fool of you. When you get off work, talk to him or I will come to your apartment and accuse him myself."

"That is a terrible idea." You shake your head.

"I know, the point is to light a fire under your butt so you take care of it yourself. Because you know I'll do it."

"Why can't you just let me do this on my own time?" You pout.

"I wish I could but as your best friend it would be irresponsible for me to pretend that I'm okay with this ignorance is bliss act you have going on to protect your relationship with a man who we suspect is lying to you. All you're doing is wasting your time and I can't in good conscience allow that to go on especially because in a few months you'll probably bitch at me if I do and if I were in your shoes you would have my head."

"I know you're right but I hate you for it."

"You will thank me later, and I will maybe see you tonight. At the very least I expect a text or I'll be banging on your door by this time tomorrow." She leans over the counter and kisses your cheek before sauntering out of the store.

"What a terror." You sigh to yourself.

"Wanda left?" Peter asks coming up to the counter.

"Yeah. She only came in to yell at me in person so I couldn't ignore her."

"Yell at you for what?" Peter laughs.

"Avoiding my problems. Honestly Peter the best and worst thing you can do is have a best friend that will ride your ass because they will have your back but man is it annoying to hear when you're not acting in your own best interest." You roll your eyes and he laughs some more.

"I'll- keep that in mind. I don't have much in the way of friends honestly so, I'd say you're pretty lucky to have her."

"Aw come on Sam and Clint don't ride you about being responsible and shit?" You ask.

"They're barely responsible themselves." He snorts.

"Fine then I'll be accountability friend."

"You'll be my accountability friend?"

"Yeah! I'm already Wanda's. Usually. Right now my life is minorly in shambles so she's mine but we swap as necessary. I can do the same for you." You say ruffling his hair. Peter makes a face but he doesn't complain about your affection. He never does.

"I mean you don't have to-" Peter trails off.

"I know but, you're a sweet kid. I'm sure I've got tons of advice I can offer you." You shrug.

"Oh- I appreciate it. You've been real nice to me since I started here so, thanks."

"Of course Peter." You smile at him. The rest of your shift passes quicker than you'd like it to because now as you're closing up with Peter you're thinking about the conversation you now have to have with Bruce. When you unlock your apartment the smell of food hits you first. You kick off your shoes and walk into the kitchen where Bruce is pulling a tray out of the oven.

"Hey Brucey." You say.

"Hi babe, welcome home." He says.

"Thank you. What'd you make?" You ask him, setting the table for you to eat.

"Stuffed peppers and roasted potatoes."

"Sounds good!"

"You're just in time to try them." Bruce puts the peppers on a serving plate and walks them over to the table with the potatoes. The two of you sit down and eat together, mostly in silence, but eventually, when your plates are almost empty, you initiate conversation.

"So how was your day? Did you go to the lab today?" You ask him.

"I did yeah. Nothing terribly interesting happened really just analyzing data and whatnot." He shrugs. "How was your day? Any shitty customers today?"

"Not particularly, we don't tend to get a lot of those anyway. Wanda came to visit for a little bit but that's about all." You tell him.

"That's nice." He nods and you feel your heartbeat start thundering as you convince yourself to get to the point.

"Yeah. I need to talk to you about something actually." You say standing to clear your dinner plate. You feel like if you walk you can dispel the nervous tension you're feeling.

"Oh? What's up babe?"

"You know how Steve and Bucky said I was a werewolf?"

"Yes and we agreed they were delusional. Why? Did you run into them again?" Bruce shifts in his chair to look at you as you lean against the counter by the sink.

"No, I haven't seen them since the last time we spoke about them a couple weeks ago it's just- well I finally called my mom about the whole thing-"

"Why would you call your mom if their claims are baseless?"

"Becuase it was the easiest way to put an end to any doubt it's not that big of a deal, I call my mom for all sorts of things Bruce."

"I mean sure but it's a weird question to ask her since you aren't-"

"Except I am." You say, crossing your arms. You barely catch Bruce's eyes widen before he turns back around in his chair so his back is facing you. He takes his time pushing the seat back to stand up while you keep talking. "Yeah according to my mom I actually am a werewolf. She never told me because of a dormant gene in our family, but I definitely am one. Steve and Bucky were telling the truth." You say. Bruce clears his throat and walks over to the sink placing his dinner plate into it.

"Well how are you feeling about it? I mean this is sort of big-"

"What I want to know, is if you already knew." You cut him off backing up a bit to put more space between you.

"What?" He asks with a little chuckle that you think is nervousness.

"Steve and Bucky were right about me being a werewolf, so it begs the question were they also right about you knowing and keeping it from me?"

"Oh come on that's ridiculous, for me to somehow find that out and hide part of your identity from you? I can't believe you'd even entertain the notion." He shakes his head. You look him over carefully, considering your mother's advice. He's not sweating, but he also hasn't looked at you since you said you were a werewolf, he's not exactly pacing but you look down and realize he's rolling his fingers together. "Y/n, come on you can't seriously think that I'd deceive you that way can you? I mean these strangers get one lucky guess and suddenly you trust them more than me?" Bruce adds when the silence drags on longer than he'd like. His heart, focus on his heartbeat. You take another few seconds to try and pick it up. When you really focus like this you can pick up on so many things it can be overwhelming but you force yourself to pick up his heart rate and it's not as steady as it should be. Not full blown panicked pounding but definitely nervously fast.

"I don't know who I can trust Bruce." You say.

"Me! I've never given you a reason to think otherwise. You can trust me. Why would I lie to you?"

"It makes sense."

"No it doesn't."

"Yes it does. Your supernaturals research is your life. I mean you've studied enough werewolves, it's not impossible to think that you'd know you're sharing a home with one or suspect it and convince yourself it's necessary to investigate those suspicions."

"I can't believe you think I would do that to you."

"I don't want to. God knows I don't want to but it's hard not to when you won't even look at me. You haven't looked at me since I told you I was a werewolf and you always look at me when we talk. It's hard when I know how much supernatural studies takes up your life, I know you've tracked and trapped werewolves before so you obviously know how to identify one, but I'm supposed to believe you wouldn't be able to clock one sharing a bed with you?! It's hard when at every turn you tried to convince me Bucky and Steve were crazy. You swore it was impossible for them to be right about this and now look at where we are. The impossible is not only possible it's true. So if they were telling the truth about one thing, why not the other? And when I think about it, like really think about it, since the second 'lie' is dependant on believing the first 'lie'- if you really thought they were insane and lying to manipulate me, why were you so against me calling my parents to find out? I mean if you truly believed it was false a quick call to confirm that would've immediately dismissed the second lie and we wouldn't be here. Your continued objection doesn't make sense unless you knew they weren't lying."

"This is ridiculous y/n I love you, I would never hurt you-"

"If you're lying to me Bruce you've already hurt me. And the fact that you have yet to actually deny it is enough of an answer."

"ALL I'VE DONE IS DENY IT!"

"NO YOU HAVEN'T! You've said it's ridiculous, you've said you can't believe I think that, you've said you'd never hurt me, you've it doesn't make sense, you've said I trust them more than you, but you have not at any point said 'no y/n I didn't already know you were a werewolf and kept it a secret from you.' So yeah, I'll take that as a confession."

"You- you started this conversation assuming I was guilty."

"Do not turn this on me Bruce. If you can't look me in the eye right now and say you didn't know I was a werewolf and keep it a secret from me... I'm leaving."

"And going where? To those crime lords, y/n they do not have your best interests in mind. You'll get hurt."

"Say it Bruce. Say you didn't know." You say quietly. There's a stretch of silence that you take as your answer and without another word, you put on your shoes and grab your bag still by the door.

"Y/n wait!" Bruce says before you can leave.

"You still can't say the one thing I asked of you." You say pulling open the apartment door and leaving without even looking at him.

***

Part 6/???

Tagged Users: @cjand10 @vicmc624 @mandijo17

#marvel fanfiction #marvel #stucky fanfic #stucky x reader #stucky fluff #stucky smut #stucky #stucky angst #werewolf bucky barnes #werewolf steve rogers #werewolf au #Just Let Me Adore You #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #steve rogers

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heavencasteel420 · 4 days

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WIP Wednesday

From Save the Last Dance for Me (tw: racism):

Lucas gets why Mike and Dustin have doubts about the basketball team. There’s a lot of bullshit that goes with it. Some of his teammates are the same kids who called the Party names and pushed them around in middle school, and now Lucas has to smile back at their stupid, bland faces. Everyone assumes that he’s naturally better at basketball because he’s black, so it’s no big deal if he’s good but the joke of the year if he’s shitty. And, while Jason is a nice-enough guy, his politician smile and cliche-ridden speeches can get under Lucas’s skin. Yet there’s bullshit that goes with Hellfire Club, too. There’s a whole hierarchy, with Eddie at the top, the other older boys in the middle, and Lucas and Dustin and Mike at the bottom. If Jason acts like he’s running for senator, Eddie pretends to be some kind of evil trickster king. Lucas doesn’t begrudge him the theatrics—he appreciates how he throws the school’s disdain back in its face—but, sometimes, when he sees Jason and Eddie snipe at each other in the cafeteria, he just feels pissed off. You’re fighting over nothing, he wants to scream at them. There are monsters in this town. People have died. Of course, Lucas suspects that, deep down, he’s just not a team player.

From Tonight, Tonight, the Highway's Bright (specifically Jonathan's Fast Times at Ridgemont High English journal entry):

Before I moved to Indianapolis, I worked at a movie theater, so I saw a lot of movies, mostly in bits and pieces. That's how I first saw Fast Times at Ridgemont High, in the summer of 1982. I didn't like it much back then. I thought it was gross, and not in a cool way like The Evil Dead. Just loud and annoying. I don't feel that way now. It helps that I actually watched it from beginning to end, like you're supposed to watch a movie, but also I think you sometimes have to experience things before you appreciate a movie or a book or a song. I still don't like Spicoli. I can't laugh at him because I keep wondering what's wrong with him. Weed is good (disclaimer: not that I would know) but it's not that good. I still don't get the big deal about Linda (Phoebe Cates) getting out of the pool. She looks great but it's not real. I don't mean not real because it's a movie. I mean not real because it's all in Brad's head. She's not really looking at him and taking her bikini top off. (Sorry for writing about nudity in English class, by the way. I'm trying to be tasteful about it. But Brett Mason is sitting beside me right now, drawing a woman in a bikini. She's wearing boxing gloves and fighting a giant cockroach. It's very Kafkaesque.) Anyway, I keep thinking about Stacy Hamilton.

From Tomorrow's a Long Way Off:

Something inside of him froze. He thought they’d been in agreement about the trip to Indianapolis: that they needed a second car as soon as he could drive it, and that Lonnie was offering their only chance anytime soon. He thought they’d been in agreement about Will, too: that he had to be shielded from Lonnie’s moronic disdain. Apparently, though, she’d been working alone the whole time. And so had he. “I can’t talk to you,” he said. “I’m going to bed.”

#wip wednesday #does jonathan think that kafkaesque means that there's a big bug?#no but in a sense yes

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peachyyykid · 7 months

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Deceivers Ch. 23 - Travels

word count: 2778

Chapter 22 - Plans

Two days ago, on an unknown island in the New World

After the long talk with Frewin, the two of you had come to a decision. The plan was genius, and you were in luck that it was so convenient.

Instead of having to go back to sea, potentially dying, Cawrolin would take you to the island where Jeany lived.

When Frewin first proposed the idea, you couldn't believe how that was supposed to work, but it would go like this: Cawrolin would wait for a newspaper bird and blackmail it, forcing it to take a letter to the Victoria Punk. In case that it would fall in the wrong hands, you couldn't use any names, locations or general remarks that could benefit the wrong people.

Then came the trickiest part: If Kid and the crew even wanted to come and help you, they would roughly have to arrive at the same time as you. Also, they couldn't answer your letter, so you just had to hope and see.

In two days' time, you would already sit on Cawrolin's back, hopefully not falling to your death in the process.

Right now, you sat at the table writing, sipping another glass of Frewin's self-made lemonade. The pen glided over the rough paper and your thoughts travelled onto it.

Hey you guys,

You're probably wondering how the fuck I sent you this letter. Long story short: My new friends and I threatened and blackmailed the newspaper bird. I can't wait to tell you, it was an experience. Good news is, I am safe and not alone. I have help.

I'm so sorry for leaving. I really am! It was stupid, I didn't think it through, and I foolishly thought I could handle it alone. I was too chicken to ask for your help. I thought maybe you wouldn't want to help me. I realised too late that that's not the case at all. You guys (all of you!) are the closest thing I had to a family in months. But I will tell you all that to your faces when we see each other again, because that's what you deserve, and I don't have much time.

They have J and my brother. And by they I mean everyone we don't like. Captain was right, something was fishy. Remember J? You should know where she lives. I will be heading there tomorrow. Might take me a day or two to get there, depending. I have a ride, but unfortunately, it's not durable enough to drop me off with you.

I don't expect you to be there for me after I drugged our night watch and the captain and fled, but I wanted to let you know that I'm safe. The sea didn't get me.

I WILL NOT do anything stupid, I promise. No confrontation and such. I just want to do everything I can to help my brother and my best friend. My new friends can't come with me, so I'm on my own.

I miss you. Please wish me luck.

The next paragraph is just for our captain. Seriously, hand the letter to him now. I mean it. I know that F and J are still reading it at this point. Hand it over or I WILL cut of your fingers one by one with a rusty butter knife.

Hey you,

I am sorry, from the bottom of my heart. I broke my promise. If you are willing to give me another chance at being your... doctor, I will gladly take it and not mess up. I will make up for everything, no matter how and how long it takes. You're confusing me most of the time, but right now I'm sure that I'd rather be where you are than anywhere else.

Love,

Doc

You held the letter in your hands and read it again. You really couldn't afford any slip ups, but it seemed very vague for strangers and specific to your friends.

Cawrolin cawed and you looked at her. The newspaper bird stood next to her, looking absolutely miserable. Neither Frewin nor you knew what she had blackmailed him with (and how...), but it seemed to be successful.

Carefully, you read the letter one last time, chuckling at the warning for Flipper and Jonah. Anyone other than Kid reading the last part would be kind of embarrassing.

"Alright!", you exclaimed, before putting the letter into an unmarked envelope.

"Don't worry, they won't leave you hanging", Frewin said.

"I'm not worried!" Your voice sounded fake.

Of course, you were a little worried. You abandoned them after all. Maybe this was the last chance you had with them, especially with Kid.

"Of course not!", Frewin grinned, "are you all packed though? Food, water, maps, log pose just in case? Your knives?"

"Yes, to all of that", you answered dutifully.

"They're gonna be there, (y/n)", Frewin said, his voice now without humour. He sounded like he genuinely believed it.

You nodded.

"You told me your story and from what it sounded like I can tell that you're important to them."

"Most important is that they’re important to me, just like Jeany and my brother. So, I'll have to be there either way! That's good enough for me."

"Very well. Do you have a plan for when you get there?", Frewin asked, a hint of concern in his voice.

You scoffed amusedly, "I'll wing it."

That was the truth. You didn't have a plan, you just knew that you would avoid confrontation, and that you knew the town where they held Jeany well enough to be sneaky.

Frewin raised his brows.

"Honestly. I'm strangely optimistic about this."

That was also true.

"If you say so, I believe you", Frewin smiled.

- - -

Today on the Victoria Punk

"I know it's gonna be hard for you, but I cannot stress this enough, don't damage their ship", Killer yelled at the crew, who were more than ready to attack the marines.

General murmuring filled the deck, all agreeing that that wouldn't even be necessary.

They were in luck. The ship was relatively small for a marine ship, with only a crew of little fish on board.

"Light work", Kid chuckled.

"Wanna bet how long it takes?", Killer asked from his Captain's side.

Kid's mood had improved drastically after not only receiving your letter, but also being handed the perfect opportunity to let off steam and get a ride through the calm belt.

"Two minutes", Kid pressed out through gritted teeth, "if I win, you'll cook me a personal lunch every day for a week."

Killer stared at him through his mask with his arms crossed, fingers tapping on his biceps.

"I already do that."

Kid furrowed his brows. Right.

"Anyways. I'll say three", the masked man decided, and turned around to Flipper, who was sitting in a sniper spot in the crow's nest, "Flipper, do me a favour and have a look at your watch!"

"Gotcha!", a faint, faceless voice came back from above.

"When I win, you'll play dress up as a marine after we got their ship", Killer said, almost snickering at the thought.

"I'd rather die", the redhead spat.

"Sore looser", Killer commented.

"Concentrate."

"Okay."

Killer turned his face forward, a half-smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

The marines didn't even fathom what hit them when the Victoria Punk used its quick manoeuvrability to its advantage, so the crew could jump on their deck.

Swords and various parts of metal clashed, and when the marines tried firing a cannon at the Kid Pirate's ship, their captain stopped it masterly.

Insults were yelled at the opposing crew from both sides as blood splattered and seeped into the wooden planks.

Flipper took a good portion of them out with his sniper skills and the Kid Pirates didn't even break out into sweat.

Some light damage of the ship couldn't be avoided, but it was merely scratches in comparison to what havoc Kid and his crew normally left behind.

Most of them were still in fight mode and not yet satisfied, when the hordes of attacking marines died down until it eventually stopped.

Kid stood on their deck in puddles of blood, letting his gaze wander over the ship with a wicked grin on his face.

"Whoo! Two minutes and forty-seven seconds!", Flipper yelled from the crow's nest and Kid growled.

"Time for Lieutenant Commander Kid to make an appearance", Killer whispered from the side.

"I will kill you in your sleep", the captain snarled.

Jonah came towards them from a corner behind the galley, with an injured man in his grip, struggling to keep up.

"Captain, I found a navigator. Do we need him?"

Kid pondered, looking the whimpering marine up and down.

"Can't hurt having him around", he then said, and the man sighed.

"You're Eustass Kid...", he slurred, "what do you want from us?"

"Your ship. You will take us through the calm belt", Kid commanded nonchalantly.

The marine's eyes widened, and his head shook violently.

"I can't! That's treason!"

Kid chuckled and looked around, scanning his crew's faces while they started laughing manically.

"Treason?", he grinned, "I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation you're in. Your dead colleagues are the lucky ones, you got me?

The marine opened his mouth in silence and looked around on the deck, taking in the sight of half of his crew laying on it motionless, the rest trying to crawl to non-existent safety despite their grave injuries.

"If you don't help me find what I'm looking for, I will cut you open and use the time while you're balancing between life and death to take out your intestines to strangle you with them."

Kid looked down on him with a vicious grin, and he realised that it had been a long time since he last did what they did today.

The marine gulped.

"Did the message arrive?"

A harsh nod was the only answer he got.

"The nice man helping you stand up straight is Jonah. He will accompany you to your workplace."

Jonah pushed the man towards the galley and Kid took a deep breath.

"Alright, throw the bodies overboard, alive or dead. Half of you will take the Victoria Punk straight to the closest island without any incidents to wait for us."

The men started rummaging around on deck, collecting bodies, and throwing them over the railing. Some marines pleaded for their lives, but it fell on deaf ears.

"Wire and Heat, I'll assign the command over the Victoria Punk and the crew to you for the time being. Moku and the recruits will stay with you. Killer, Flipper, Jonah, Mammo and Shiki will come with me, along with twenty other sailors. Volunteers!"

Twenty sailors were found quickly, and the crew split up according to Kid's plan.

The two ships parted ways and Heat, Wire, Killer, and Kid saluted each other before the Victoria Punk was out of reach.

"Remember our bet?", Killer said now, and nudged Kid in the shoulder.

Kid let out a gruff sigh.

"I have a better idea. Our bet made me think."

"Interesting, I'm listening."

"All of us will dress up as marines to disguise ourselves", Kid grinned brightly.

"Kid, come on", Killer scoffed, "you're just saying that because you're pissed off that you lost and now you don't want to be the only stupid looking one."

"Or it’s just clever to blend in. I guess we'll never know", he said to Killer, before calling out to the rest of the crew, who all assembled on deck.

"Listen you slags, everyone grab a marine uniform from the quarters and put it on!"

They all looked at him with empty eyes, unsure about whether the command was a joke or not. Kid groaned in frustration.

"We can't afford losing any more time and I'll be damned if we end up in an inconvenient situation because we're pirates on a marine ship in the calm belt. Move your lazy asses!"

Killer was pleasantly surprised by how Kid's head was obviously thinking straight and logical, and wondered if the chance of seeing you again played a part in that.

Reluctantly, the crew moved towards the quarters to rummage around in the marines’ belongings. Kid and Killer joined them, looking for uniforms for higher ranks.

"If I was in this line of work, I'd wear an admirals uniform", Kid huffed and threw various pieces of clothing over his shoulder.

They were successful in the second room they searched, and ten minutes later, the entire crew was sporting white and blue uniforms.

"This is wrong", Flipper complained while trying to button up the buttons over his chest.

"It's disgusting", Mammo added dramatically.

From afar, they might fool curious people, but up close it was clear who they were, especially since nobody had the heart to separate from their trademark.

Kid with his coat and goggles, Killer with his mask, Flipper with his absolutely outdated rifle and the others with all their small peculiarities.

"Where's our navigator intern, Jonah?", Killer asked.

"Chained and bound to a chair, I'll join him now so we can start our journey."

"Perfect", Kid grinned.

While the marine ship turned towards its destination and sailed into the night, you sat down in a straw basket way too small, with Frewin and Cawrolin observing you, many many miles away from the pirates.

"Like this?", you asked the man, and he nodded.

"It's small, but it has to be, otherwise Cawrolin couldn't carry you."

He gently placed a large bottle of water, food, and all your belongings in your lap.

"Your legs will be very uncomfortable, but don't move too much. Tell Cawrolin to take breaks if you feel like either of you has to", Frewin advised you.

"I'll try to just pull through", you smiled.

Of course you wanted Cawrolin to get back to Frewin in one piece. They were doing you such a huge favour after all.

You felt a little sentimental. The two of you (sometimes three when Cawrolin participated) had a lot of good talks in the last two days, and you learned a lot about life.

"Uhm, Frewin?", you said hesitantly, and he hummed in response, "thank you for everything. You're really someone to be remembered, and I hope we see each other again."

"We will. And if you wanna talk, I'm just a snail call away."

He patted your head.

You watched him curiously as he tied two buckles around Cawrolins legs, right above her claws. Each of the buckles were connected with two ropes, which ended on each corner of the basket you sat in.

"The start will be a bit rocky", Frewin said while testing the security of each rope, and you nodded.

"Good luck, (y/n)", he smiled.

"Thank you. So much, really."

The bird let out a loud caw, and a strong wind tugged at your hair when she spread her wings, flapping them twice before her feet left the ground.

You looked at Cawrolin in awe, because this was the first time you saw her spread her wings. They were massive and seemed way too big for her body.

Cawrolin was in the air first, and then the basket slowly lifted, shaking left and right before going steady.

Frewin waved at you from below, and you did your best to wave back without moving too much, although Cawrolin seemed secure.

The old man got smaller and smaller, and soon you had to look back up to avoid feeling nauseated.

You observed how the large, white wings swallowed the moonlight shining on your face with each flap outward, and how they blocked your view at the stars.

"You're really the strongest bird I know", you chuckled up at her, and she cawed quietly.

Over the past days you had gotten used to talking to a bird like you would talk to a person, talking like to a child possibly came closest.

As Frewin had foreshadowed, your legs got stiff soon, but you just clenched your teeth and tried ignoring it.

Instead, you narrowed your eyes to see what was around you. You could faintly make out the dark sea below, and some islands in the distance.

The sky was clear, no clouds in sight. After your unfortunate journey to Frewin's island, you knew that storms could brew any minute, so you tried your best to observe any changes around you. In case of a storm, Cawrolin would have to land somewhere.

You felt peace. Flying was peaceful.

Although your legs felt weird, you felt like nothing bad could touch you up here.

You thought about your brother, desperate to know what happened.

He was at Jeany's pub, with her, his crew, and the world nobles. You wondered how they got him to lure you into a trap. Most probably threats of physical harm.

How would all this end? Would it even end at all?

Nobody could possibly know, you could just hope for a happy one.

The wind up here was mild, and very calming. The even flaps of Cawrolins wings hypnotised you and aided by the darkness you slowly slipped into a deep slumber, finally free of worries about marines, nobles, and pirates.

#one piece #one piece fanfiction #kidd #fanfiction #killer #kid pirates #eustass kid #eustass x reader #x reader #eustass kid x reader #eustass kidd x reader #reader insert #female reader #kidd x reader #eustass kidd fanfiction #eustass kidd

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djarins-cyare · 3 months

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Get to Know Me (tag game)

Thanks @burntheedges and @sydneyinacoma for the tags! 💖

I guess I don’t post much about myself on here, so behold the mystery of Jyar’ika revealed under the cut (because I waffle and didn't wanna take up y’all’s dashes)…

Ahh space to include GIFs (*is happy*)...

1. Were you named after anyone? Hmm, that’s a sneaky way to get a name reveal outta me. Alright, I don’t mind… apparently one of the hosts on Blue Peter (the longest-running children’s TV show in the world - you’re not getting an age reveal outta me too!) had a baby just before I was born. Why my parents were watching a children’s TV show I have no idea, but this host evidently wrote/sang some kinda song on air about calling her baby daughter Jemma with a J not Gemma with a G. So I was named after a terribly trite and obscure TV reference that nobody will ever remember. You may call me Jem if you wish, my friends all do, and if you’re bothering to read this then you’re in that category.

(If you're wondering about the GIF, the show was always broadcast live and they had several pets. The outtakes are numerous.)

2. When was the last time you cried? I think I’m weird… I don’t tend to cry? Or only if I’m really really upset. Maybe I’m Cameron Diaz in The Holiday? So yeah, I can’t actually remember 🤔.

3. Do you have kids? Nope, although it’s a fairly recent decision to not have them. I spent much of my life assuming I wanted kids until I realised I had been conditioned by society to think I did. Since I started considering what I genuinely want and need in my life, I’ve never been happier! I'd make an exception to adopt a certain little green guy, though.

4. What sports do you play/have played? Ugh, I hate questions like this. Nope, I’m a lazy asshole and now you all know it 🫣. I mean, I activity-hopped throughout my school years (gymnastics, karate, soccer), but these days I live in front of a computer. My exercise is lugging 24 bottles of water up 4 flights of stairs twice a week.

5. Do you use sarcasm? I’m British. Sarcasm is my mother tongue.

6. What’s the first thing you notice about people? I’m the least observant person ever! So voices a lot of the time, I think. Pretty sure that’s why something clicked inside me as soon as Din Djarin spoke his first on-screen words.

7. What’s your eye color? Depends on the light, but somewhere between dark blue and grey.

8. Scary movies or happy endings? I’m an absolute wuss when it comes to scary movies, so I don’t put myself through that. Also, the literature student in me desperately wants to point out that these things are not mutually exclusive, as you can have scary movies with happy endings, so a more appropriate ‘either/or’ scenario would be tragedies or happy endings. But either way, I will say no to the former and yes to the latter. I dislike making myself feel scared or sad – I consume fiction (in all formats) to feel good, so I’ll always look for the positive. I’m currently experimenting to see if I can write a massively angsty fic, and it was supposed to be done by the New Year, but I’m struggling. I will also have to include one of those open-ended ‘maybe it could work out after all’ epilogues. I just can’t leave my characters in pain.

9. Any talents? Not sure what constitutes a talent… I can sing, play guitar, write a longass Din Djarin fanfic that people seem quite keen on, uh… cook, I guess (though I rarely bother), understand quite a few languages (less proficient at speaking them). I’m sort of a jack of all trades, master of none. I would say I have a talent for procrastination – I can complete a whole workday and get barely anything of substance done!

10. Where were you born? In a village outside a town in Surrey, England. It's only about 30 miles from London. Lots of trees. Very dull. I left as soon as I could.

11. What are your hobbies? Writing is my main obsession, specifically Din Djarin-related, of course. Also reading (same genre). Throughout my entire life I’ve enjoyed stories in all formats – reading, writing, watching, listening, proofreading the fuck out of them – so if it’s a good yarn, I’ll have a good time.

12. Do you have any pets? Not currently, my landlord won’t allow it. I used to own 3 rats who were the most adorable boys and so smart – they knew their names, responded to commands, liked to snuggle. When I can finally buy my own place I’ll probably get a dog, as I like pets that listen to you, even if only sporadically. I had a very non-communicative chameleon once. He was called Minion. He was not a good minion.

13. How tall are you? 5’4. Not tiny, but sometimes I have to go up on my tippytoes to reach stuff.

14. Favorite subject in school? English literature (see hobbies question above). When I got to university and enrolled on an English lit/lang degree, I tried to take as many literature courses and avoid the language ones. It wasn’t until years after graduating when I started proofing/editing and writing more seriously that I developed a respect for all the mandatory language courses I had to do. I also liked media studies and film studies; you can guess why. Psychology was interesting too, it’s good to understand human nature if you want to write realistic characters.

15. Dream job? I wish I could write novels for a living. It’s a goal as well as a dream. I know a couple of authors who’ve self-published via Kindle Direct Publishing (I proofread/edited for one of them), and they were successful enough to turn that into their careers. They keep encouraging me to try, although I’m currently in my ‘obsessed with Din Djarin so just writing fanfic to develop my authorial voice’ era. When my obsession wanes, as obsessions inevitably do, I’ll hopefully feel ready to write something original and take my shot. But I’m not pressuring myself, and right now I’m happy attempting to entertain the Mandalorian fan community. I feel safe here 💖

Now I know I’m supposed to tag people since that’s the point of a tag game… but I’m that autistic kid in the corner who is too shy and worried about tagging people who might not reply. So I’m foregoing tags today. But, if you’ve bothered to read this and you haven't already played: TAG YOU’RE IT! That’s me tagging you, please take it seriously and thank me for your tag in your own post (I will be genuinely thrilled if anybody does this, and I’m sending advance love to anyone who does – you don’t know how much it means to someone autistic to have the decision-making element dealt with for them). So go on, now it’s your turn!

#about myself #tag game #ask game #tag you're it #ask me anything #tag yourself

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