#and then I come on here out of habit and see the absolute fucking shitshow going on

[queerbrujas]

.

#y'know today I was thinking 'hmmm I'm not really feeling being online lately' #and then I come on here out of habit and see the absolute fucking shitshow going on #and yup #that's about right #silv.txt

[isagisyoichi]

AFTER SCHOOL!

synopsis: how they'd ask you out

warnings: gender neutral reader, a few swears, sae's is so freaking long, eat up sae nation, italics are a character's inner thoughts

characters included: isagi, bachira, nagi, chigiri, sae

a/n: part one cause these were long as freak. let me know who you guys wanna see in the next part :P

for: @lynii-nii bc they suggested this wonderful idea (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

— isagi yoichi

isagi is incredibly smart, but his intelligence can also cause him to get in his own way, as he has this habit of getting into his own head and overthinking like crazy.

which is exactly why he's so nervous to ask you out. his inner thoughts are a shitshow, and that's putting it lightly-

"what if they say no, what if they laugh in my face, what if i get so nervous i throw up on their shoes and they hate me forever and i have to move out of japan and change my name and-"

yeah, long, long, story short, he's a mess.

but, he’s a mess that likes you very much and is willing to try his best to tell you that. if he dies of embarrassment confessing to you, then so be it.

that and, isagi would rather deal with the heartache of being rejected, than torture himself over the possibilities of could’ve been if he was just a little bit braver.

(well, actually, if it was up to him, isagi would rather not deal with either of the two outcomes. but, if he had to choose, he’d go with the first one.)

on the day of his confession, isagi waits by your locker just before the end of lunch, where he asked you to wait for him there so he could talk to you about “something.”

but, as he waits, his nerves start up again and much to his chagrin, so does the little voice in his head that just won’t shut the fuck up.

don’t do anything stupid, isagi. don't mess it up- they'll hate you forever and then you're going to end up alone for the rest of your life and-

thankfully, a familiar voice quickly snaps isagi out of his agonizing inner monologue. "isagi?"

isagi's head snaps up and he sees you greet him with a kind wave.

"y/n!" he says a little bit too excitedly. and while isagi internally cringes at his execution, you can't help but chuckle at his enthusiasm.

"so, what did you wanna talk to me about?" you say, leaning on your locker, looking at him with an absolutely adorable, wondering expression that pulls at every single last one of isagi’s heartstrings.

shit, shit, shit, they’re so pretty. ah fuck, how the fuck am i going to do this?

jeez, y/n, you are ruining this poor boy’s life, and you don’t even know that you’re doing it.

"i just wanted to say that i-,i-," isagi stutters out. not off to a great start here, isagi. "i really-, i-"

"you really, what?” you question, a hint of concern lacing your voice as you tilt your head in confusion.

fuck it, isagi thinks. he takes one final breath of courage and just lets the words fall out as they please, praying that whatever he comes up with is at least somewhat coherent.

"ireallylikeyouandiwannabeyourboyfriendifthat'sokaywithyou!" he finally jumbles out.

was that even a real language? gah! good going, idiot.

"oh, that was it? yeah, i know, isagi. took ya long enough," you giggle. "i like you, too."

isagi: ... what do you mean "you know" (ಠ.ಠ) 

you lightheartedly explain to isagi that his crush on you was a bit ... obvious to put it nicely.

apparently, staring at a person like this (♡__♡) when you think that they can’t tell that you’re looking but they actually can, makes it very easy to deduce that you have a crush on that said person.

which was news to isagi, who by the way, is as red as a firetruck by now and can barely bring himself to look you in the eyes.

isagi opens his mouth to once again say something that probably wasn't going to be comprehensible by any means, but the only sound that can be heard is the alarm that signals the end of lunch.

saved by the bell. isagi thanks his lucky stars he was prevented from saying something stupid. well, something even more stupid.

"ah, dumb bell," you gripe disappointedly, making isagi let out a small laugh.

"i'll text you after school, okay?" you inform isagi with soft smile, and he can only return by nodding eagerly. (he cringed so hard at that when he looked back on it later that day lol)

but, before you make your way to next class, you plant a chaste kiss on the blue eyed boy's cheek.

"i'll see you later, boyfriend." you drag out the last word teasingly and depart from isagi with a wink.

as soon as you turn around, isagi caresses the spot you kissed, trying to process what just happened.

well, isagi's out of commission for the rest of the day, good job y/n.

— bachira meguru

"you want me to what?" you questioned, not quite comprehending the situation.

"1v1 me! first to three goals wins, y/n-chan! if i win, you get to do something for me, and if you win, i get to do something for you!" bachira explains animatedly.

i'm being set up, he probably just wants me to do his homework or something (；￣ェ￣), you think to yourself.

(you're close, but no cigar)

"that's not fair, bachira!" you whine. "you'd kick my ass in an instant," you huff, crossing your arms and jutting out your bottom lip slightly.

cute, bachira thinks.

"ah, you flatter me too much, y/n," he says faux haughtily, earning him a joking eyeroll and a raise of a certain offensive finger from you.

"come on, y/n," he pleads. "i'll go easy on you!"

(he was not actually gonna go easy on you, but he did need you to say yes in the first place lol)

after lots of groveling and bachira resorting to literally begging on his knees, you finally give in, making bachira cheer victoriously.

there is no way this'll end well for me, you groan internally.

half an hour and many instances of falling on your ass later (damn bachira and his god-like dribbling), bachira's got you beat three to nothing.

who could've saw that one coming (¬_¬)

"i won, y/n!" bachira sing-songs triumphantly, while you lie down on the cool grass and attempt to catch your breath.

"i can't believe you call that going easy on someone," you pant, while bachira only shrugs, grinning in levity at your burnt out figure.

"i'm just that good," he teases. "and now, you have to do something for me!" he exclaims as he simultaneously his offers his hand to help you off the ground.

"you know, if you wanted me to do your homework, you could've just asked." you mutter, grabbing hold of him and lifting yourself off the field.

"huh? who said anything about homework?" he asks, a puzzled look painting bachira's face.

"isn't that what you wanted me to do for you?" you reply, looking just as confused as the yellow-eyed boy in front of you.

"no, i wanted you to go on a date with me," bachira says, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

you: what did he sayyyy ?!?!? Σ(ﾟロﾟ)

who wants to go on a what with you?

you started to feel lightheaded, and you weren't sure if it was from the lack of oxygen circulating through your body, or your brain overwhelming itself trying to comprehend the current situation.

god, you up there? you're about to get another guest soon.

but, despite that and the drum-like pounding in your heart, you can't help yourself when shake your head with an amused smile.

leave it to bachira to somehow incorporate football into a confession. his passion for the sport was one of the reasons you liked him so much, so you had to hand it to him.

"did you just ask me out via football game?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"did it work?" 

"yeah, yeah it did." you answer candidly. bachira's enchanting yellow eyes light up like the tokyo skyline at night, illuminating your heart in the process, and his face streches into a grin that reaches both of his ears.

"but the normal way would've be fine, too, ya know," you quip, giving him a playful look of exasperation.

"maybe, but this way was more fun,” he banters. letting one arm wrap around your neck, while the other makes it away to the top your head, ruffling your hair in jest.

“yeah, for you!” 

— nagi seishiro

ceo of the least romantic confession ever because he doesn't even properly confess in the first place

rip

anyways- initially you guys just start off as friends and end up growing really close as time goes on

and eventually, you two start doing couple things as your relationship progresses, like holding each other's hands, cuddling when you hang out together, etc.

and because nagi's a sixteen year old boy, he thinks that doing couple things = automatically makes two people a couple

meanging, nagi he never officially asked you to be his s/o because he thought that was already established, given the circumstances of your relationship (men, i’m telling y’all!!!)

you, on the other hand, have no idea where you stand with him at all because

nagi makes you feel so special- like you're the only person in the world to him. he makes you happy like no one else has before- when you're with nagi, you can't feel anything but that happiness.

yet, despite that, nagi has never officially asked you out or put a label on things and you hate it.

you hate tossing and turning at night, losing sleep, staring up at your ceiling, wondering if he actually likes you as much as you like him.

and you hate having to consider the possibility that nagi's just messing around with you, while you're stuck being head over heels for him.

(don't worry, though. he's fallen for you just as hard, even if nagi doesn’t know what asking a person out is </3)

so, when you’ve finally had enough of being in the dark about your relationship, you muster up the courage to ask him:

“what are we?”

“we’ve been dating for two months?” oh my god he's genuinely confused on where this is coming from because he thought you knew this already.

you, internally: is he serious rn (●_●)

nagi: (・_・？)

he thinks you’re trying to fuck with him for a tiktok challenge or something LOL.

you just blink at him in disbelief for a couple seconds before you explain the situation to him.

afterwards, nagi apologizes (not even gonna lie nagi doesn't totally understand what he did wrong, but he just says sorry anyways lol)

and offers to take you out for boba or something as your first official date as a couple together. which is a huge step up from your usual stay at home "dates."

well he has the spirit 👍

— chigiri hyouma

i think chigiri's a real sweetheart when he has a crush :')

he's the kind to ask about your day, if you've gotten enough sleep, etc. and, it's not even to make mundane conversation, it's because chigiri genuinely cares.

and although he's a bit shy around you compared to the way he is with his friends, chigiri does joke around with you a little, too.

(by the way, he gets really blushy around you, and for that, he thanks god that his hair is able to cover his face.)

anyways, i think he's one that also gets super nervous to ask you out.

albeit, not isagi nervous but, he's still feeling a little uneasy. chigiri's considerably reserved, so the act of confessing is really quite a large step out of his comfort zone.

so, instead of verbally confessing, chigiri opts to confess via (love) letter.

he’s a capricorn, so huge perfectionist. this means he went out of his way to make the letter as nice as it can be.

he goes all out- he even begs his sister to let him use her fancy stationary and pens, just so he can make the letter as nice as possible.

(additionally, chigiri's handwriting? nice as hell. could definitely pass off as a computer generated font)

and the quality of writing in the letter is just as beautiful as it's presentation.

chigiri had rewrote it like ten times before he finally decided it was worthy for you.

the final product isn’t very long or detailed because chigiri doesn't want to scare you off by coming on too strong but, it's still quite sweet, and really well-written, too!

chigiri’s got actually has a way with words. football star by day, author by night. (get you a man that can do both.)

he’s real eloquent and well articulated, and describes in perfect moderation how you make him feel and how much he likes you.

but, one line that's particularly really sweet is the one where he says you're like the breeze that sweeps through his hair when he runs-

he says you're a force full of life, thats hits him at full speed, filling him with an excitement that he can't quite put into words.

but at the same time, you're pleasant and welcoming, like an old friend that he . you're comforting and familiar, someone he finds himself coming back to time and time again.

but he adds "you know?" at the end of that so it doesn't come off as too cheesy lol

like i said, chigiri's apprehensive about this whole confessing thing, so he just chooses to leave it in your locker before school lol

he just hopes no one saw him kiss the letter for good luck prior to slipping it into the slit of your locker.

but, more than that, he hopes you like the letter more. (and him too, of course.)

he gets his answer when later that day when chigiri finds a letter addressed to him, his name written in a heart, in his locker later that day, in some very, very recognizable handwriting.

(well, actually the "letter" just a piece of notebook paper folded into fourths. in your defense, supplies were limited.)

he lets out a small laugh your makeshift letter. he the appreciates the effort, but chigiri appreciates the recpriocation of his feelings even more :)

(so now, you guys have a date saturday, 6pm sharp. he's picking you up at 5:30, dress casual <3)

— itoshi sae

i think it takes a while for sae to actually ask you out.

i'm talking about like months LMAO. let's hope that you're patient.

and it's not because he's shy or whatever, but i think sae's real stubborn and doesn't want to admit to himself that he has romantic feelings for someone.

probably doesn’t want that kind of stuff to interfere with his soccer career and whatnot.

that, and sae's not the type to fall for people easily. love at first sight? yeah, not in his vocabulary. he couldn’t care less about a pretty face he’d forget about in about two hours tops.

you had to establish a strong, close friendship with him first, in order for him to even entertain the possibility of liking you.

but, he does eventually come to terms with his feelings when he finds himself smiling at the thought of you in the middle of a meeting with his manager.

(that was the first time his manager had ever seen sae smile and he was in a state of shock for like two minutes lol)

sae is the least nervous out of everyone here because i doubt he'd put the effort into confessing to you if he wasn't sure that you liked him back.

one day, he texts you "come over," and you don't think much of it, seeing as you and sae already hang out a lot anyways.

(but that doesn't stop your heart from racing every time you see a notification from sae pop up on your phone)

anyways, your hangout at sae's house went as it always did- you came over, hung out, talked, watched a movie and listened to sae talk shit about it the entire time, you know, the usual

a little later, you find yourself in the kitchen, grabbing something to drink. defending an innocent movie from sae's criticism really parches a person.

as you pour yourself a glass of water, sae follows you to the kitchen, opting to lean against the fridge to stand next to you.

"what would you say if i called this a date?" sae asks suddenly. your eyes widen in shock as you almost choke on your water.

just when i thought i was getting used to his blunt personality, jesus christ.

you try to regain your composure, attempting to come off as uphased as possible, as if the itoshi sae, U20 international, soccer star itoshi sae-

the same itoshi sae that you've been crushing on for months, just asked you what you thought about calling your hang out, a date.

"i'd say that'd be cool," you hum as you put down your glass on the countertop, trying acting as normal as possible.

cool is the understatement of the year, you think to yourself.

you can only hope that sae doesn't take notice of the fact that your eyes look like they're about to pop out their sockets, or the way your fingers are nervously tapping at your side like a metronome.

"cool." sae returns, accompanied with a soft smile. he can't help but be entertained at your act of feigned aloofness.

sae knows you much better than may you think. he knows you well enough to know that you're losing your shit right now.

you're so easy to read, y/n, sae thinks to himself, shaking his head in playful chastisement.

sae lets his arm snake around your waist, pulling you close to him. you let out a surprised yelp, making sae let out a breath of amusement. 

he uses his free hand to lift your chin up, forcing you to make his piercing blues eyes to make contact with yours.

you look up at him with wide eyes, visibily taken aback by his sudden actions, but nonetheless curious to see as to where this would take you.

"and, what would you say if i asked you to be my significant other?" he asks languidly. his gaze is still locked onto you, and it's making the whole thinking process thing really hard now.

but, even still, you know don't have to think that very much about it all. you know exactly what you wanna say.

"i'd say that'd be cool, too." despite your nerves, there's not a hint of apprehension in your voice. you know that you're right about about this, about him.

sae's smiles at your response and you feel like you've fallen for him all over again.

it's a different smile than his usual ones. it's close-lipped, but broad and sincere and just oh-so boylishly charming. it makes you feel weak in the knees, but for all the right reasons.

and his eyes. they're soft and fond, much unlike his usual detached stare. there's a kind of life in them that's foreign and unfamiliar, but one that you're more than happy to welcome.

it's all a new sight for you, but it's one you could certainly get used to.

"cool." sae returns, still smiling at you.

he lets go of your chin and lets both his arms wrap themselves around you slowly, as he places a light, heartfelt kiss on the top of your head.

that's another thing you could get used to for sure.

#blue lock #blue lock x reader #bllk #bllk x reader #bllk headcanons #blue lock headcanons #isagi yoichi #itoshi sae #sae itoshi #nagi seishirou #bachira meguru #chigiri hyouma #isagi x reader #nagi x reader #chigiri x reader #bachira x reader #sae x reader

[its-tie-kir-ra]

New Naruto fan here who only reads the manga. Do you think the Naruto anime is awful or both that and the manga? I couldn't even get mildly irritated with what you said, lol. The anime is honestly a shitshow consisting of a million filler episodes that fucks up the plot, characters, relationships, and character interpretations because a lot of the dumbass Naruto fandom can't differentiate filler content from canon content. (I definitely won't be watching the anime in the future.)

Wrote a very long post, but I'm gonna keep it short instead. Especially since I have a folder in my computer titled "Naruto Series" that may one day come out into the open.

(edit: i love how i thought i could write a short post)

I have read a good chunk of the manga, particularly the parts when I wanted to compare scenes to see if they were really as bad (they were). From what I understand from talking to other people who have read the full thing, all of the issues I have with the series are things straight from the manga. I'm sure the filler screwed things up, but if I hear one more person saying that the filler is the reason why Naruto sucks I may throw something. All the things I'm gonna list are in the manga:

Naruto himself as a character (absolutely hated him), the creator's unfortunate habit of introducing new characters and plot devices whenever it suits him while forgetting the old ones (by the time we've reached the time skip we are keeping track of over 15 main characters, and he's still not done introducing new ones), the issue of him introducing these giant problems and then they either get handwaved away or forgotten (Naruto's promise to Neji) and him being unable to actually follow through with the consequences that the characters choose (in the first arc they make a HUGE deal over leaving the village and then Sasuke leaves the village and it turns into 'no, Sasuke, come back, no consequences, uwu' and that's the least bad one).

And don't get me started on Sakura. My eye twitches involuntarily every single time I think about her, not because I have extremely positive or negative feelings towards her in canon but because of how much she was absolutely wasted. She could've easily have been one of the best characters in the series if Kishimoto, the absolute hack, gave half of a fuck. And that was all him.

These are all manga creations, and these were all things I had huge problems with. I don't know how far you've gotten so I'm not gonna get into too many details. Uh, hope you enjoy the series?

And, being completely honest, I've never met a Naruto fan that isn't insanely obnoxious and in love with what they think the series is/what the series could be rather than what it actually is. And they've soured my relationship to it even more. I'm sure they're not all like that but fuck, a huge portion of them are.

Like there's a legit person in that original post right now saying that Naruto is a better-written show because at least "Naruto is trying to say something" when...it's not. It's not saying anything. Yashahime may be saying nothing, but Naruto is speaking gibberish at best.

Thanks for the ask 💜✨ I hope you have/are having a better experience with the series than I did

#anti naruto #i guess #naruto is bad actually #i have absolutely no idea what to tag this #is this anti sakura #it's definitely anti sasuke because i hate him with a thousand suns #anti sasuke #anti naruto series #anti naruto fandom #anon asks #tyquira asks

[soulmate-game]

Bio Dad Bruce Wayne Month 2020

Day 5: Overprotection

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

—*—*—*—*—*

“What.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—*—*—*—*—*

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

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

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

[after-witch]

(Horrorfest) ‘Don’t Fall Asleep’ Dream Demon Dabi x Reader

Title: Don’t Fall Asleep (Dream Demon Dabi x Reader)

Synopsis: Inspired by A Nightmare on Elm Street. ‘Whatever you do... don’t. fall. asleep.’

Word Count:

Notes: Kinda-yandere, horror, violence, implied assault

You nervously chew on your bottom lip. You hate this habit, because you think it makes you look like a ridiculous schoolgirl. It reminds you of the many pasts that you left behind, the old versions of yourself that you shed like old coats when you first started college, then again when you graduated, and once more when you moved to  a new city. Always running, always on the move, at least until meeting actual friends and landing an almost fulfilling job in a city thriving with life and culture made you set down roots.

Roots which were currently threatening to wear thin, to rot and mold underneath your feet. All because of your dreams... all because of Dabi. 

“(Y/N)?”

You look up, and realize your friend had stopped talking a while ago. What was she saying before? Something about her job and--

“Are you okay?” Her tone is more annoyed than concerned, but you can’t exactly blame her. You’ve been drifting off so often lately, finding it hard to focus at work, at home, and even with your closest friends.

“Sorry,” you spit out. “I’m just--” You want to tell her, but you’ve told her before, and you knew she didn’t want to hear it. Not after the bad dreams had stopped for a while and everyone went back to a nervous, egg-shell type of normality.

They were so worried about you, but you were better now, so everyone was relieved; there were no more frustrated group calls and secret group chats where you were left out of events because no one wanted you to nod off and wake up screaming in the middle of a board game session.

You sigh and play with your ponytail. “Really stressed with work,” you finish, lying through your teeth. A look at your friend makes your stomach drop. She knows you’re lying. She’s going to make you tell her everything and--

“Oh,” she says. “No worries. So anyway, like I was saying…”

Her words feel muted as she repeats whatever story she’d been telling. She knows you’re lying, you think, she knows the dreams are back and you’re terrified and alone and--she doesn’t want to hear it.

You nod occasionally while she speaks, keeping up the pretense of conversation in the hopes that it will help you stay awake.

**

If someone were to hack into your phone, they wouldn’t find anything very strange. Unless they wandered into your alarms and wondered why in the hell anyone needed alarms set every 30 minutes or so.

The alarms are your saving grace. You started setting them when you realized that you could get sleep.. you just had to be careful not to sleep enough to dream. Experts said it took an hour or 90 minutes to dream, but experts weren’t being chased by some terrifying monster every time their brain decided to shift into REM, so experts could stuff it.

Truthfully, you feel proud of yourself for thinking of the idea in the first place. You weren’t going to let that bastard and his dreams keep you from sleep--no, you’d get sleep and keep him from you. Ha-ha, two birds, one stone--and one infinitely wise (Y/N).

Tonight, you decided that you’re going to get a few naps in before the sun rises; you have an important meeting at work tomorrow and the naps will help you brain feel a little refreshed. You still felt foggy, but nap after nap was better than no sleep at all. So you make your bed, cozy but not too cozy, double check your alarms, double check the sound on your phone, and fluff your pillow. Your eyes close easily and it’s not long before your conscious thought slips away.

You jerk awake, sudden and harsh, to the the sound of an obnoxious unknown ringtone you’d selected solely for its ability to annoy the fuck out of you. It was a true, cobbled together shitshow of a tune that you loved to hear, because it meant another successful nap.

You check a text message on your phone, then look over at your cheap dimestore clock you’d pinned to the wall, before glancing in the mirror. Check, check, and check. Everything was normal. Your phone worked right, the clock was working, and you could see your own reflection. You weren’t dreaming.

Your stomach grumbled. You hadn’t eaten since that afternoon--catching up on late work earlier had left you frazzled and you worked right through dinnertime just to make your extended (and oh so late) deadline. 

It was too late to order in, but you did have a frozen pizza somewhere in the back of the freezer. Happily, you got out of bed, pulled on your warm robe, and walked out of your bedroom into an dingy boiler room with peeling concrete walls and a roaring furnace making the floor and walls and air heavy with heat.

Wait.

Your heart pounds ferociously as you spin back, reaching helplessly for a bedroom doorknob that isn’t there. No, no no no--

“Did you have a good nap, (Y/N)? Did you get some sweet shut-eye?” The voice is taunting and cruel and absolutely terrifying. You screw your eyes shut and repeat the mantra you’d drilled into your head: “I am dreaming. I recognize that I am dreaming. And I want to wake up. I am going to wake up. I am going to--”

A voice, harsh, low, and right in your ear:

“That’s not going to work, you dumb bitch.”

The whimper that leaves your lips is unlike any noise you’ve made before. Helpless and hopeless, like an animal caught in a trap. Tears are streaming down your face as your force yourself to open your eyes, coming face to face with your tormentor. Dabi. The name and face that was etched into your memory from the first time you’d dreamt of him, years ago, when your life still felt normal and sane.

His face is partially scarred, and you cringe at the sight of bright, silver rings lining his eyes and cheeks; with Dabi this close, they practically glinted.

“IwantowakeupIwantowakeupIwanttowakeup--”

His hands are suddenly on you, harsh and hot and burning you as he shoves you against the wall. Your back collides with the concrete and you cry out at the searing pain that shoots through your legs.

“You’re not going to wake up. At least not for a while.” His grin is practically feral as he brings up one of his scarred hands to your cheeks, stroking it with a deceptive gentleness. “You’ve been asleep since this afternoon. Poor little (Y/N) fell asleep at her desk…”

You shake your head rapidly. “No--no, I set my alarms, I’ve been up, I, I--”

The slap to your face is sharp, light, and humiliating. “I-I-I,” he says, mocking and cruel. “Nah, sweetheart. I tricked you good though, didn’t I? Let you think you actually got something done for once, let you think you weren’t a total fucking failure.” 

He leans in close, practically whispering; his breath is acrid, like smoke, and his entire presence radiates an uncomfortable heat. “Can’t say I’m going to be as nice later on, though…”

You jerk your shoulders, a pitiful struggle makes him smile for a moment, but when you don’t stop trying to get out of his grip he pulls you forward and slams you back into the wall. Instead of hitting heavy concrete you feel yourself falling, falling--then landing with a surprising bounce on something soft.

You look to the side and see you’re on a mattress. Dabi is above you, both arms pinning your shoulders down with a firm force. He leans in close, as if to kiss you. Your entire being lurches at the thought.

“No!” You say, kicking your legs. “Get--get off, don’t--”

Dabi chuckles and pulls his face back. “Don’t worry, I’m not that fast. You’re not here for that, yet.”

You stare up at him. Your body feels numb, tingling in fear. You finally manage to whisper out: “Then what do you want?”

He tilts his head slightly before his eyes roam up and down your prone form. His gaze lands on your chest. His hands press on your shoulders and you can feel stinging, like running your hands under hot water in the kitchen sink.

“We’re going to play first.”

**

You wake up at your desk, your real desk, your real home. Your entire body aches as you force yourself to move, to jump around, wave your arms, as the tears blur your vision nearly entirely. You do your checks but realize it could be another trick, it could be--but Dabi would never have let you go, not at the moment when you finally pulled yourself out of the dream.

Suddenly, the elation at being awake, at being free, at being alive turns into searing pain; your chest hurts, it hurts so bad. You pull your shirt down--and scream.

You think, faintly, vaguely, wildly, as you call for an ambulance: well, at least they’re second-degree burns. I can still feel the pain.

**

You turn off the cold shower tap, trembling and shivering in the frigid air. They were brutal and sometimes painful, but they kept you awake, and that’s all that mattered. You quickly dry yourself off and slip into a thin nightgown before grabbing your toothbrush.

The bathroom mirror has never been a more unwelcome sight, but you force yourself to stare into it, to stare into your own, tired eyes. You look sick. You look older. You’re so sleep deprived that you honestly, truly think you might die from it. 

But you know that won’t happen, not really--because Dabi would certainly kill you before the sleep deprivation could. And his version of your death would not be nearly as merciful. If he would even kill you at all. Could you keep you forever, dead or alive, but dreaming all the same?

The thick burn scar running across your chest aches as you considered it.

You grab another handful of caffeine pills and swallow them, hard and bitter, chasing them with a chug from your lukewarm energy drink. God willing, you won’t sleep… at least not tonight.

#horror #horror writing #dabi #bnha #yandere #a nightmare on elm street #afterwitch writes #horrorfest #yandere dabi

[msmarvelouswinchester]

Love In Sin

Chapter 2

Summary - Special Agent Winchester is forced to go undercover with his frenemy Special Agent L/N when they try to track down a notorious drug dealer. How will Y/N and Dean complete their task? Will their relationship worsen or will new feelings emerge between them?

Pairing - AU Detective!Dean x Reader

Series Warning - Fluff, Angst, Slow burn, Implied Smut, Violence, Swearing

Chapter Warning - None

A/N - Beta'd by the amazing @deanwanddamons (she is an amazing writer, go check out her blog)

Spn divider by @talesmaniac89 (she makes such amazing edits)

Early update because Tumblr is a shitshow and I think I managed to add the "keep reading" feature somehow (Hopefully it works)

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“Oh my God, Y/N! Did I just see Dean Winchester, the hottest detective of the entire bureau, go down on one knee in front of you?” Charlie squealed when you approached her.

“Charlie,” you said in an annoyed voice.

“What? You are going to be married to Dean. Y/N I don't even like boys, but damn that boy is a total hottie. You will be sharing a house with him. Oh my God! You will even share a bed with him-”

“Charlie! First of all it's a fake marriage. Second, we are on an undercover mission. Yes, we will share a house to keep our cover intact, but we will sleep in different rooms. We will be maintaining total professionalism,” you said cutting of Charlie's incessant talking.

“Whatever you say Y/N. I bet he knows how to take good care of his ladies in bed,” Charlie gave you a smirk and strutted off to God knows where.

“This week's gonna be a long one,” you muttered and let out a deep sigh. Suddenly, you felt a pair of arms around your waist and out of force of habit you lifted your legs and backward kicked the person in the crotch.

“Son of a bitch! What the fuck Y/N?” You looked down to see Dean lying on the ground, holding his crotch, writhing in pain.

“Oh! I'm so sorry! Well you shouldn't have wrapped your arms around me like that,” you said and bent down to check Dean, but he swatted your hands away.

“I can’t even hug my wife? What if it was Mr. Singer?” Dean winced while he tried to sit up straight.

“Keep your hands to yourself, Winchester and why would Bobby wrap his hands around my waist?” You rolled your eyes at him, “now answer me what led you to sneak up on me like that?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you got the text Mr. Singer sent to us, but then you kicked me in the nuts,” Dean said as he stood up, brushing off his clothes.

“Uh-no. I was talking to Charlie.”

“Ah Y/N, always the Chatty Cathy. You know you should focus, this is an important case.”

“Shut up, or I will kick you in the nuts again,” you warned and took out your phone to check the text.

“He sent us the address of the house we will be staying in. It's actually a beautiful house. It's so big,” you exclaimed.

“That's what she said,” Dean gave you a cocky smile.

“What are you, five?” 

“No, actually I'm thirty-five. How can you forget your husband's age?” Dean shook his head in fake disbelief.

“Why did I agree to this case, again?”

“Because you were competing with me,” Dean chuckled.

“Ugh! You're terrible,” you said.

“Agent L/N and Winchester - I hope you both have received my texts - I will be receiving and sending texts from this number. No phone calls unless absolutely necessary. Remember to erase the text messages after you read them. I will allow you to go back to your houses because I know you have to pack. Your undercover names will be Mr. Dean Campbell and Mrs. Y/N Campbell. Good luck on your mission,” Mr. Singer said and disappeared into his office.

“So what say, wifey? Let's go back to our houses?” Dean asked.

“Stop calling me wifey. I'll meet you tomorrow at the given address. Don't run away,” you said and went to your desk to gather your belongings.

“Hey, want to hitch a ride with me?” Dean asked with a smile on his face.

“Sure, but what's your ulterior motive, Dean? You never ask me to ride with you,” you asked.

“Nothing. I just thought since we will start living together from tomorrow, why not ask you to hitch a ride with me?,” Dean shrugged. You looked at Dean, there was something different about him - was his eyes always that shade of  gorgeous green?

“Fine,” you smiled softly.

“We should get to know each other a little bit, so that you can fall head over heels with me,” Dean smirked.

“That's never gonna happen, smartass.”

The car ride back to your house was filled with comfortable silence with some exceptions of small talk and you giving directions to your house to Dean.

“You should attach a GPS,” you said.

“Nope. No tampering with Baby. She is a classic,” Dean said his eyes focused on the road.

“I can see that. Dude? You seriously have cassette tapes! You are ancient, Winchester,” you said causing Dean to glare at you. You loved to rile him up.

“Stop here,” Dean pulled up on the side of the road.

“Is this your house?”

“What? Do you have any suspicions?” You said and opened the car door to get out but stopped.

“Hey, you want to come inside, grab a drink?” youasked.

“Sure, why not but what is your ulterior motive, Y/N? You never invite me over for drinks,” Dean smirked. 

“Haha very funny. I thought you would have more originality.”

Dean shrugging, shut off Baby's engine after he was convinced he had stopped her at a safe parking spot.

You opened the door to your house and invited Dean inside.

“It's a nice house,” Dean commented and plopped down on the couch.

“Thanks. You want-I have beer, wine and sparkling water, what do you want?” You asked,opening up your fridge.

“Beer will be fine.”

You handed a bottle of beer to your colleague and sat down on the couch beside him.

“We should hang out more often. You are fun when you are not competing with me,” Dean said.

You hit him in the arm. “Shut up! I am not always competing and I am fun. It's you who is always making smartass comments. I hate those.”

“Yeah right you are fun,” Dean gave you a sarcastic laugh, “And FYI, ladies love my smartass comments.”

You enjoyed your drink for a while in silence which wasn't uncomfortable at all. You turned to look at Dean and saw him gazing intently at you, but quickly averted his eyes. You started to blush under his strong gaze. What was happening? It definitely had to be the drink.

Dean got up from the couch abruptly.

“I-I think I should go. You have to pack and..well I have to pack too. I-I'll see you tomorrow,” before you could even acknowledge what happened, Dean was out of the door.

You closed the door behind Dean, still pondering over what happened. Finishing your drink, you went up to your room to pack your stuff but your mind occasionally  wandered, reminding you of the freckled face with gorgeous green eyes. You shouldn't think about your work colleague like that, should you?

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

Feedback is appreciated !

Forever taglist - @miss-nerd95 @foxyjwls007 @donnaintx @angelicthreads @amandamdiehl @fablesrose @thatmotleygirl

Dean/Jensen Taglist - @akshi8278 @mrsjenniferwinchester @jensengirl83@defenderrosetyler @idksupernatural @wirdbeimaufhebengebunden

LIS Taglist - @mylovelydame21 @metalfangirl @eliwinchester99 @deanmonandnegansbitch @holylulusworld​ @roonyxx​ @my-proof-is-you​ @saintt101​ @flipperjanga11​

#love in sin #supernatural #Jensen Ackles #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #au dean x reader #au dean winchester x reader #spn fic #dean fic #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #au dean winchester fic #spn series #au dean fic #dean x y/n #dean x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x you

[iatasbcl]

Everything Will Be Alright

Connor (Detroit: Become Human) x gender-neutral reader

Summary: Connor has a bad day and his partner makes sure he is okay.

Warnings: Angst, insecurities, Gavin being a shitbag. Fluffy ending??

A/N: Y’all, I just wanted to give Connor a hug

Word count: 2205

Today had been a disaster, an absolute shitshow. The criminal he had been trying to catch for months managed to escape and Hank got injured during the chase. It wasn’t a serious injury, but he knows it could’ve been avoided. On top of that, detective Reed blew up in his face, again.

Today was one of those days where everything felt too much. He was in a constant state of panic, his hands shook, and his inner temperature rose.

Emotions were still hard to handle for Connor, especially the negative ones. Guilt, fear, pressure, and stress would sometimes consume his mind, they would eat him inside out.

“You can’t do anything right, can you?”

Reed’s words would usually fall on deaf ears, he had gotten used to his crude and irritating behavior after working alongside him for a while. But him beating him down when he already felt like a failure seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back.

Gavin pushed him around and taunted him, clearly delighted to see Connor fuck up. Something in him snapped and before he knew it, he had pushed him back, harshly. He immediately fell on the floor with a loud thud.

Connor turned back and hurried out of the prescient, he needed to be anywhere but here.

A few hours had passed.

He opted to walk around the city despite the heavy rain, it soaked him completely, but he didn’t care. He sat on a bench and let the droplets pour on him. His LED was a dangerous red spinning and rotating endlessly.

Connor was the most advanced model Cyberlife ever came up with, Failure should only be a small possibility; something that most likely won’t happen. So why did it happen?

Hank was home, probably resting because his partner failed to protect him.

He failed, he failed, he failed, he failed.

His thoughts were spiraling down into a deep untangled mess, a mess he couldn’t get out of.

A sudden message flashed in the corner of his vision, Hey Connor, Chris told me about what happened, you okay? It was from the detective, they were out on a case today, so he didn’t get to see them at all. He didn’t know if he should reply. A few minutes passed and another message flashed.

Please talk to me. Is it alright if I call?

Was it alright? Could he talk normally? He probably could. He’d rather not worry them.

Yes.

The second they saw the message; he received a call. He picked up; his LED turned yellow as soon as their voice reached him. “Connor? Baby, are you okay?” They sounded like they were worried sick. It made him feel terrible but nonetheless, he answered.

“Yes, all of my systems are fully functional.” They sighed in return, “Connor, that’s not what I meant. Also, are you out in the rain? What’s that sound?”

“I am outside, yes.” He muttered; they didn’t say anything after that, but he could see that they didn’t hang up. “Is it okay if I come to pick you up? We can go back to my place and talk,” They paused momentarily. “But it’s okay if you want to be alone, I understand.”

He contemplated their offer for a moment, he would love to let every single one of his doubts out and be held in their loving arms. He craved it, in fact. However, burdening them with his own worries didn’t seem right to him.

“Sweetheart, you know I will always be there for you, right?” They knew how he was by now; they probably already knew what he was thinking. “I want to be there for you, Connor. Please let me.”

A soft “Okay.” Left him and he sent them his current location. “Alright. I will be there as soon as possible, see you.” With that, they hung up. It amazed him how their voice alone had managed to calm him down a bit. It still wasn’t enough, his chest remained tight and his thoughts were all jumbled up. He knew he should move out of the rain, find a better spot to wait for his partner, but he couldn’t.

And so, he waited. It didn’t take long before someone approached him. Their steps were hurried so he turned to look at them, and there they were. They held a bright yellow umbrella to shelter them from the rain, they didn’t approach him immediately; a mistake they made in the past.

“Connor is it okay if I share this umbrella with you?” they asked tenderly, worry laced their features and it made Connor feel bad. He nodded and they carefully moved towards him and the umbrella covered them both now. They held out their hand, it was an invitation that he was grateful for and accepted. His hands brushed against theirs and eventually they intertwined. It made him feel safer.

They stayed like that for a while, he found the comfortable silence rather pleasant and peaceful. However, he knew they shouldn’t stay out for too long in this weather. He tapped their hand and they looked up at him, eyebrows slightly raised in question.

“We should go, staying out in the rain like this could be harmful to your health.” He said. They stared at him, “My apartment isn’t that far away, we could go there.” It was more of a request than an invitation, a request he complied with.

They lead him through the park and to their automated car. Once the two of them got in, they closed their umbrella and threw it in the back, after that they proceeded to turn on the heat and set the destination to their home. Comfortable silence loomed on them again and stayed for the whole ride with only the sound of raindrops accompanying them.

The ride took exactly 10 minutes and 15 seconds when they pulled into the driveway. The car doors opened, and they got out first, they stood Infront of the car and waited for him to get out.

And he did, they extended their hand again, waiting for him take it. He did that too, following them up to the stairs and into their apartment. “I have a hoodie that would probably fit you; do you want to change?”

Right, he was socked wet and was probably ruining their carpet. “Yes.” they hummed and went into their room, they came back after a few minutes with a towel, a D.P.D hoodie, and sweatpants. “You can change in the bathroom.” They said and gave him everything they had brought.

He went to the bathroom and changed, it was a relief to him, the sensation of wet clothes was starting to bother him. He dried up his body and synthetic hair and looked at himself in the mirror, he looked slightly better, slightly. He opened the bathroom door, his water-filled clothes in his hands. His partner was hanging their coat when they noticed him standing there, he felt lost as to what to do and probably looked like a lost child.

They smiled a bright, adorable smile that sent his heart throbbing. They approached him and took the clothes from him, “I will wash them later, don’t worry about it.” He nodded and they left to probably put his clothes in the washing machine. He went on and sat on their couch, he sat straight with his legs close to one another. He took out his coin, he could never really leave it.

He fumbled with it, throwing it around and doing his usual tricks. It somewhat helped him when everything got overwhelming. “Connor?” the voice took his attention away from his coin and to his love, who cautiously sat next to him.

“Do you want to talk about it? We can cuddle or watch something if you don’t wanna.” They said and put their hand on his, slowly rubbing it. He knew talking about could help him, it did help him a bit before, but it made him feel horrible at the same time.

Unpacking your baggage to someone helps you deal with the shit it causes, Connor.

Hank had told him, referring to his therapy sessions. Connor didn’t fully understand it before, he hadn’t deviated for that long. But now he could see what he was talking about, your past can wear you down in the worst ways possible.

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “It’s okay, take your time.” They gave him a gentle squeeze. He let out an unneeded sigh and instinctively went to fix his tie; another nervous habit.

“We were chasing someone.” He started; his voice sounded distressed, so his partner held hand in a delicate manner. “I was right behind him, but he still managed to escape. Hank sprained his ankle during the chase. I could have prevented it if I had been faster.”

They looked at him with compassion, nodding for him to continue. “After I took Hank to the hospital then home, I went back to the precinct. Detective Reed heard about what had happened and he wouldn’t stop sneering in my face and pushing me around.”

“I just couldn’t take it anymore and I pushed him. I shouldn’t have let him get to me.” He was looking at his hands now. He felt hands grip his shoulder softly, urging him to look up. “No, okay? This is not your fault. Gavin had it coming, I’m surprised you didn’t punch him or something.” They paused. “You’ve been the bigger person for so long, it’s not your fault he can’t stop acting like a child.” They emphasized the ‘not’ as if trying to make him believe it.

“He shouldn’t be kicking you when you were clearly so down. I’m sure the captain will talk some sense into him since everybody saw what happened. That piece of shit.” They cursed, clearly angered with the other man’s behavior. But that was quickly pushed aside when they said, “As for the first part, Connor, you did everything you could. I’m sure Hank doesn’t blame you for it.”

They were right, Hank didn’t blame him for it. He even scolded him when he looked at him with guilt in his eyes, telling him it was his own fault he slipped, not his.

“Love, does this have to do with what we discussed before?” the question was asked delicately but it still managed to make him flinch. They had touched on his insecurities before but never unwrapped the whole issue. “Yes.” Was his broken answer.

Amanda still haunted him. He could still hear her criticize everything he did; something was always wrong, nothing he did was ever good enough for her. He still shuddered when he remembered how she almost gained control of him during the revolution, it frightened him to his very core. “Sometimes, it feels like she will come back and reset me into a machine. The perfect machine she always wanted,” he paused when his vision got blurry, he was crying. “I want to be perfect; I crave it.” He muttered as tears rolled down his face, he moved quickly to wipe them away, but they stopped him. He could feel their warmth against his cooler body, they had pulled him into their arms. “It’s okay baby, let it all out.” They whispered.

And he did, he sobbed as he buried his face against their shoulder. Everything crashed down on him, his fear, his insecurity, and his guilt. They held him as he shook, running their hand in circles on his back. It went on for a while, but he eventually calmed down.

“I am sorry.” He said, wiping his face in embarrassment. Their hand touched his face, wiping some of the tears themselves. “Never apologize for this, Connor.” Their tone was gentle yet stern.

“Amanda never saw you for who you are. You are the most amazing person I’ve ever known, wanna know why?” They paused and pressed a kiss on his forehead, “You are selfless, amazing, worthy, god, you’re so fucking loveable. We all mess up occasionally, it’s part of being human. You can make mistakes, everyone does. It’s important to love and forgive yourself.” The next kiss was on his nose, “You are a brilliant detective, Gavin just wishes he was half as good as you are.” His cheeks, “You are the best boyfriend anyone could ask for.”

They pecked his lips this time and rested their forehead against his, “I love you for who you are, Connor. So many people do; Hank, Sumo, many officers appreciate you like Chris and Tina. Don’t let anyone tell what your worth is.” They smiled and so did Connor. They stayed in each other’s arms like that, them whispering sweet nothings in his ear and him taking in all the love and appreciation they gave him.

He knew the road to being completely fine would be long, hard and challenging. It scared him but he wanted to get there, he wanted to be free from doubt, to accept his mistakes, to be okay. As he laid against their chest, listening to their steady heartbeat, he knew they will be with him every step of the way.

Everything will be alright.

#dbh connor x reader #Connor x reader #rk800 x reader #dbh #dbh imagine

[tobiomlk]

those tsukki fluff hcs? i am LIVING. could i get general dating hcs for tobio? 👉👈 good luck with your blog - 🐸

— kageyama as your boyfriend

LISTEN kageyama has a condition where brain is filled by (2) things: volleyball and food. relationships? that doesn’t exists. you’re gonna need either a miracle or a saint’s patience to get anywhere with this nerd, whichever works best for you.

i hope you’re well aware that your luck is on a negative count from the get-go, since 1) his knowlodge about romance is next to none and 2) he’s dense as fuck. even if he’s the one to develop feelings first, he wouldn’t act on those any sooner because he doesn’t even gets what’s going on. he just goes ( ??? ) whenever you smile at him and there’s this funny feeling around his ribcage and he’s 100% sure it’s hunger. so, unless you have the guts to fess up first… get ready to simp over this boy for the longest time.

that or until his teammates ( namely, suga ) do a divine intervention ‘cause damn, he’s so grossly in love, and if kageyama was already in the dark we fucking lost him, because what does it means to be in love??? that’s not a position or a game tactic as far as he’s concerned.

he even goes as far as to seek the textbook definition on dictionaries and spiel to himself like a damned mantra in the hopes he’ll get it but guess what? he doesn’t. if anything, he just further confused with the poor intent of describing such abstract concept with big words.

the whole process of realization is so agonizing and infuriatingly slow, it has gotten to the point where all da fucking team is up to date with the tragedy and they’re even making bets as to how it’s going to end ( tanaka and noya are putting all their money to kageyama not ever knowing about his feelings, ennoshita and the third-graders still have a bit of hope for their son. the first-graders are just enjoying the shitshow. )

but when it finally hits him… that there’s no better place than the one by your side and he couldn’t possibly have it otherwise… then it’s over for both of you.

once tobio is set his way, there’s no stopping him. hell, he might as well blurt it out as soon as he sees you, for all he cares. “it seems like i’ve fallen in love with you”.

but now you returning his feelings??? the most unrealistic and unlikiest scenario. his monkey brain definitively didn’t think out this far and now he’s in shambles. you’ve to spent half of an hour explaining to him that, all of it apparently means that you can be “a couple or something” and you can literally see his braincells combusting through his eyes.

are you going to clown him for his confession for the rest of his life? yes. do you hold the moment close to your heart regardless? Yes You Do.

needless to say, kageyama as a partner is awfully awkward. the boy’s barely familiar with platonic relationships, dating it’s like walking blindfolded onto unknown territory. he’s going to need you to teach him the ropes !!! ( not that you’re complaining, of course you’re not complaining )

being as unapproachable and volleyball-crazy as he’s known to be, i think many people depict kageyama as someone who doesn’t fully invests himself onto his social relations, especially the non-platonic field; because yes, to kageyama, volleyball comes first and foremost, but he’s just as devoted and earnest when it comes to his teammates and friends, and more importantly, you. once there’s something that means a lot to kageyama, he’ll give everything he has to offer, and you aren’t the exception to the rule.

while volleyball still takes most of his time and that won’t change under no circumstances, you can tell he does his best to spend the scarce time he has to spare with you. juggling between his passion and his loved one is not an easy task, but kageyama knew what he was applying himself for and there’s no way he’ll be half-assing, no sir!

at the very least, he always makes sure to walk you home. even if that means he’ll have to return afterwards to the gym, because he always trains ‘til very late and there’s no way he’s gonna keep you waiting that long for him ( you keep telling him it’s fine, that you don’t mind waiting, but he doesn’t relents “no. im taking you home first, then practice. and that’s final. now come here, dumbass.” )

he also calls you every single night before heading to sleep! he can’t stay long on the phone because he needs to go to bed early for morning practice, but just being able to hear your voice… to know about you and your day… is more than enough for him.

honestly it never fails to melt your heart when he begins talking in this raspy, low voice and you can tell he’s sleepy by the way he mumbles his words so you tell him that it’s ok for him to go to sleep now but he just shakes his head in spite of the fact you can’t see him and goes like “i still have a couple of minutes left. i want to hear your voice.” like honestly GET FUCKED !!!!!! HE’S SO LOVELY I’M-

kageyama understands if you have different interests and things you’re passionated about ( in fact, he’ll even try it out just so he can something to share with you! ), but, truly, nothing would make this blueberry as happier than you showing the tiniest bit of interest into volleyball. sometimes, the topic creeps onto your talk and unavoidably, tobio switchs to full nerd mode and starts geeking out about the matches and stuff and he’s just so giddy about it but then he freezes, and realizes he might be info-dumping you about something you probably don’t even care about, so he kinda cuts himself before going on… but the look of sheer happiness he offers you when you encourage him to go on? how his big, doe-eyes lit up once you ask him to explain you more carefully? can you possibly fathom how joyous it makes him to know he can get the best of his favorite things together?

to be honest, you’d expect him to be less considerate and act more fit of the self-centered, entitled king role he has been granted— not saying that he doesn’t slips and has his bossy moments of no filter, because he does, but the thing is: he’s surprisingly open to your opinions, too. over time, he’s been taught that communication is of utmost importance and the only way to understand others and have them understand you, and he’s firmly sure that applies to every aspect of his life. he wants you to know that, just as he speaks his mind, you’re free to do the same.

it’s ok if you argue, it’s ok if your points of view don’t match, because that means you’re talking to each other, and that’s way better than letting things sink without actual closure. kageyama learnt that the rough way. his speech might not be the most articulated or refinated, but he tries his best to get his points accross without unecessarily hurting your feelings. communication is so crucial to him, please, keep it in mind.

with that being said, kageyama’s prone to be unromantic and even insensitive at times with how he voices his opinions, because he’s no concept of sugar-coating and won’t hesitate to tell you if you suck at something, or flawlessly ignore your efforts to put on a lovey-dovey mood. but if you talk him about it and express that you’d like him to have some more tact, he’ll take the note! “tact? ok, ok. i’ll.  try to be as tactful as possible from now on and… read the mood? but i make no promises” ( spoiler alert: he keeps telling you that you suck but now he lets you have a sip of his milk and pets your head to soften the blow. )

and speaking of physical affection… god, kageyama is an utter stranger to pda. i mean, the boy is just a prude, unripe blueberry. he doesn’t know how it works, he’s not used to it, and the last thing he wants is to go and do something that’ll put you on a tough spot. your comfort is one of his main priorities, so you have to let him know what’s ok and whatnot, then he’ll start getting the hang of it. once he does, you’ll find out that kageyama is, as a matter of fact, one of the most touch-starved persons you’ll come accross with.

he just can’t seem to get his hands off of you, in the most literal and non-sensual way possible. be it small gestures like your hands brushing together, shoulders bumping, or your heads resting against each others’, kageyama just craves the feeling of your skin against his. despite how bad he denies it, he’s pretty clingy.

you’ve picked on how much he apparently enjoys holding hands, and petting your head, for that matter. you don’t know why, but his hand would always makes its way atop your head. it has even gotten to the point in where he does it out of habit, and when you ask him what’s wrong he just replies “nothing? why do you ask?”

i think kageyama has two stages while he’s on a relationship. the earlier ones, where he cannot lock eyes with you for more than give seconds before going all blushy and stiff, and the advanced ones, in where physical contact has practically become a must and one of his primary functions as a human being to operate naturally.

kageyama’s hugs are so freaking awkward at first… there’s no guides about this. does he just envelops you with his arms ??? and then stay still like that ??? what if he hurts you by holding you too tight ??? oh my god he’s even holding his breath while he’s at it SOMEONE FREE HIM-

and don’t even get me started on the kisses. LISTEN YOU DEFINITIVELY CLASH YOUR TEETH DURING YOU FIRST KISS AND YOU ABSOLUTELY CANNOT CHANGE MY MIND ON THIS ONE !!!!! knowing him, he needs weeks of mental preparation and advice from his god-send suga-senpai before going for it, and when the moment comes… he goes too hard for literally no reason and right after you’re both on the floor whimpering ‘cause that shit HURTED.

“ow, ow… tobio WHAT the HELL” “oh, PISS OFF”

well, at least he has an excuse for rehearsing!!! don’t worry, he’s a fast-learner ;))))

cuddling is just about the same you guys spend all day squirming in order to find a comfortable position and it’s just a mess™ of limbs and giggles.

“wait… maybe if i put my arm around here…” “wait, tobio, you’re tickling me-” “??? don’t laugh !!! STOP LAUGHING THIS IS NOT FUNNY”

but once you finally manage to settle down, god, it’s so pure… kageyama loves to have you in his beefy, setter arms as much as he loves being hold by you. the crook of your neck? a heavingly place for him to rest his head and which belongs to him and him only !!!

look kageyama is so weak for physical affection i’m not even kidding. all you need to calm him down is to rub his back soothingly and he’ll even forget why he was so mad about to begin with. the amount of power you hold over this boy… it genuinely surprises people to see how tame he’s when it comes to you. everyone can agree that if kageyama has a weakness, that’s you.

tobio is not the one to get particularly cheesy or romantic, everyone knows at least that much. however, he has this thing in where he genuinely voices out how great he considers you to be without batting an eyelash which of course makes you super flustered because “why are you getting so cheeky for?” “??? it’s the truth though” SHUT UP IM SOBBING.

you know how slow and oblivious your boy is, so the last thing you expect is him being able to read you as easily? it takes its sweet time, but within the years, kageyama steadily learns to understand you and how do you operate. your habits, your body language, what makes you happy or upset, he knows all of it. he can tell when something’s off just from a glance, yet he’s so nonchalant about it— like it’s obvious to know what’s on your mind. now, does he know how to act knowing this? not really, but give him props, he tries his best!

with all that has happened to him, it should come as no surprise the fact kageyama can get pretty insecure in the relationship. it’s not like he doesn’t trusts or you ( god, the boy could trust you with his life ), but you can’t blame him for letting his insecurities get the best of him. he’s just so, so afraid… that one day you’ll notice how unlikeable he truly is and you end up leaving him, like most of the people have done to him in his life…

tobio desesperately needs the reasurrance, the words of affirmation, to bask on the feeling of knowing he’s so deeply loved, and that he’s no such thing as an unlovable person. i hope you let him know that, just as he lets you know how grateful he’s for having you in his life.

all in all, kageyama can be a blunt, awkward and more than a bit dense partner, but he’s striving to become a better version of himself day by day, so, he secretely wishes you’ll put up with him a little longer.

#🐸 anon #answered #IM SORRY I GOT SO CARRIED AWAY BUT I HOPE U UNDERSTAND WHEN U FUEL MY MONKEY BRAIN WITH MY LOVE FOR TOBIO . SHE GETS SHIT DONE DKJFSGH #my heart belongs to (1) boy #hh you're so sweet froggy anon !!! i hope u know i love u and cherish u endlessly djkh #thanks for requesting! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #kageyama x reader #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama x you #haikyuu headcanons #kageyama headcanons #kageyama tobio #blueberry boy #haikyuu!! #hq!! #hq x reader #hq x you #filed under: karasuno #filed under: kageyama tobio

[essieeeeeeeee]

FUCK IT, i’m posting part 1. no title yet, so it’s just “bad touch villain fic” for now until I can get my act together enough to come up with one.

may I just start by saying that I love how we all as a fandom have collectively taken one look at our guy Shaw and thought: this boy needs to get fucked.

on a separate but equally important note, Transporter 2 may have been an absolute train wreck of a movie, but it gave me the gift of some quarter-dressed villain chick licking up the side of Jason Statham's face while he exudes such gay "I'd rather be literally anywhere else than here in this moment" energy, so there's that.

i’m fucking wheezing, man. his face.

anyways, in case it’s not obvious, I’ve stolen the T2 villain couple and threw them into here instead, so if you’re curious about what they look like, feel free to look them up (Gianni Chellini and Lola). this isn’t a crossover, it’s just me being lazy and stealing characters from other movies and playing with them.

a’ight, here we go with part 1. will get part 2 out relatively soon, I think. hopefully. god, I’m so slow at writing, guys.

----------

The bell above the door chimes merrily as Shaw pushes it open and steps into the diner, breathing in the homey scent of grease and caffeine that wafts out at him the moment he crosses the threshold. He lingers in the entryway - tucking his sunglasses carefully into his front left suit pocket, and letting his eyes drag over the establishment in a quick, practiced once-over.

American, is the first thought that comes to mind. Tacky, the second, though he supposes that’s a given, considering the first.

To be fair, it isn’t the worst diner he’s ever stepped foot in - that dubious honor went to a crusty hole in the wall in New Jersey, the name of which he couldn’t and didn’t really care to recall - but even so, the place isn’t exactly what he’d expected from a meet and greet with the CIA.

It's… lively, for starters. 

Shaw skims his gaze over the laminate red and white booths, the worn looking tabletops sticky from dots of leftover syrup. Bright sunlight peeks through the big windows, now that the storm clouds are dissipating in the frankly oven-like California weather.  Patrons chat loudly from each corner of the room. It's open and cheery and packed with parents and their tiny screaming sprogs, and all of it's already giving him a very sleep-deprived headache.

Shaw can pinpoint every word of the conversation that’s happening six booths to his left, too, which means privacy won't be much of a concept here either.

Strange choice in location, he thinks, for a debrief with top secret government information regarding a world-ending cyber death cult.

Deckard shrugs off the discomfort of it all, though. Partly because he honestly can't muster up enough of a fuck to give, and partly due to the fact that the smell of freshly brewed coffee has been relentlessly beckoning him forward since the initial whiff of it hit him from the doorway. He takes a quick moment to map out the visible exits, more habit than anything - front door, side door, likely a back one through the kitchen if needs must - and, once satisfied with his perusal, makes his way towards the bulky figure in the back right corner that’s stuck out like a mountain among mole hills since Shaw first walked into the place.

“Hobbs,” he mutters wearily, and spares a grimace at the grungy empty seat across the table. He resignedly lowers himself into it anyways.

The lawman’s eyes flick up from the plate in front of him, and he doesn’t look all that surprised; but Shaw knows it’s because he caught Hobbs’ gaze since the moment he stepped out of the rental car in the lot outside.

They’re both just a couple of paranoid bastards like that, he supposes.

And Hobbs looks - good. Better than the last time Deckard's seen him, awkwardly parting ways at a terminal in LAX, the both of them littered with bruises and scrapes that were only a small testament to the absolute shitshow they'd somehow just survived. Now it seems the bigger man's nicks are less than scabs, and the large bruise Hobbs had been sporting across his left temple at the time is nearly gone.

Shaw grudgingly notes that he's also been nursing his own wounds, and steadily healing, if slowly. His right shoulder still twinges when he moves it the wrong way, paracetamol continues to be a three times a day affair, and the spastic tick in his left hand hasn't quite let up since Brixton's electroshock therapy session, but overall - things are better.

His ribs still ache something fierce, though. Fractured, likely. Not that he's about to whine about it.

“Tinkerbell,” Hobbs greets, and then blithely stuffs another bite of the fried monstrosity that sits on his plate into his mouth. Shaw’s grimace deepens. “You’re late.”

“Blame your shitty weather. Flight delay.” Deckard ignores the insult; he's too fucking tired to pick up Hobbs' volley today. Instead, he leans forward, careful to avoid the greasy stain at the edge of the table, and gets straight to the point. “Where’s your contact?”

Because that was the obvious missing piece here, wasn’t it? Shaw didn’t come traipsing all the way to Los Angeles just to witness the Hulk stuff his oversized mug with substandard diner fare.

Two weeks out from Samoa - two weeks of very different, yet equally consequential family reunions, of settling affairs that only a forty-eight hour hotseat on every major news channel in the world can cause - and now it was time to get down to business. Hobbs’ CIA friend had promised intel. Shaw may be reluctant to forego his solo status for another team-up with Ms. America here, but he wasn’t an idiot. Information on Eteon didn’t exactly just rain from the sky.

Nine years of hunting the bastards down on his lonesome taught him that much.

Besides: the fact that Hattie’s life wasn’t on the line with this one left Deckard feeling a mite less prickly. Hobbs may be an annoyance, but he's at least a tolerable one.

“Also late,” Hobbs says, glancing down at his watch. Then the man sighs, and rubs at his temples in a way that makes Shaw wonder exactly what he’s getting into, here. “But he’ll probably show up -”

“- fashionably late and with Starbucks? You bet your perky muscled ass I will, Rebecca.”

Deckard startles a little in his seat, because where the fuck did this arsehole just come from, and his hand reflexively slides over the utensils on the table in front of him, but he smothers the instinctive urge to lodge one into the meat of the thigh that's suddenly appeared at his side. The scruffy, grinning man it's attached to seems to catch the movement, from the way his eyes dart down to the table. He shifts, just slightly, away from Shaw.

Smart fucker.

And no sensible shoes, either. That was interesting.

"Locke," Hobbs says, resigned, scooting in to make a little room as Scruffy slides himself into the seat left behind.

"Aw, don't be like that, Becky," the man whines, and Shaw can't help but mouth a bewildered 'Becky?' at Hobbs with raised brows. Hobbs only drops his head and rubs at his temples a little harder. "You know my delicate emotions can't handle the strain."

"You brought Starbucks. Into a diner."

"Never judge a man for his grande quad nonfat one-pump no-whip mocha habit, Lukas. Gosh, have I taught you nothing?"

"I can sincerely say," Hobbs grinds out, and Shaw is somewhat delighted by the disgruntled twist in the other man's features, "that the only thing you've ever taught me is the true meaning of patience."

"Don't you sass your father like this in front of company, young man. Already in the rebellious teenage phase, Christ, they grow up so fast, don't they?"

"Like mold," Deckard drawls. The disgruntlement on Hobbs' face grows deeper.

"Ha," he says, flatly. "What'aya got for us, Locke?"

"Don't rush me, sweetums, I'm famished," CIA titters, enthusiastically waving down one of the bustling waitresses. Deckard's somewhat grateful for it; he'd murder for a coffee, and that wasn't a metaphor. "And, what, no introduction? The manners on you today."

Hobbs sighs. Shaw honestly can't help but be somewhat amused by the balls this bloke must have, riling up the lawman like this. He's not sure quite yet what to think about Chatterbox - intriguing or just downright irritating - but he can at the very least admit that anyone who can put that level of utter frustration into Hobbs' eyes was worth looking into.

"Shaw, meet Locke," Hobbs says, waving impatiently at the agent beside him, who wriggles his fingers at Shaw in greeting while slurping loudly around his straw. "Locke, meet Harry Potter's uglier cousin."

Deckard scowls.

"Well fuck me sideways, but Dudley sure grew up nice, didn't he?" Locke says, and - Shaw’s actually a bit flattered to see the agent’s eyes flick over him lasciviously.

But before he can quite unravel that one, a server appears at the table edge, shooting a wide, familiar smile in Hobbs' general direction. "Can I get you boys anything?"

Locke straightens in his seat. "I'll take one of everything."

"No he won't," Hobbs snaps, smacking the idiot’s shoulder with the back of his hand.

"You're so right, snookums, gotta watch that girlish figure." Locke rubs his arm with a wince, beaming at the woman, who's started to look a bit flustered at this point, poor dove. "I'll take a number two, extra syrup, extra mayo."

She nods slowly, and turns to Deckard, as though hoping to re-establish some sort of normality.

He takes pity on her. "Coffee, thank you. Black.”

"To match his soul," Hobbs mutters around a sip from his own cup.

"To match my shoe," Shaw corrects with a tight smile. "Going up your arse."

Hobbs snorts. "Think you got that one twisted, son."

"Think you might want to start ponderin' the merits of a wing-tipped enema. Son."

"Jesus, you two are adorable," Locke interjects, resting his chin in his hands as the waitress pours out the coffee and shuffles nervously away. "Like some sort of walking, talking, opposites-attract, enemies-to-lovers, sixty-nine kay slow-burn. Is there a kudos button hiding around here somewhere?"

Shaw can't interpret even half of that. He has a strong inkling that he should probably just shoot the man for it anyway.

"You wanna get to the point, chuckles, before I put your head through this table?" Deckard says. He drums his fingers casually against said tabletop, just to make his own point that much clearer.

Entertaining as Hobbs’ little motormouth of a friend has been, Shaw has just spent the better of his last twenty-four hours on a transatlantic red eye: he's exhausted. Even a verbal spar with Hobbs isn't quite giving him the usual spike of adrenaline it deserves. The only thing he wants more right now than the coffee in his hand is his head on the pillow of a hotel room bed, and CIA here was the last obstacle standing in the way of that particular goal.

Not a safe place to be, generally speaking.

"And oddly in sync with your threats, too," Locke muses. He shifts back in his seat, though, and quickly raises his hands in surrender when Shaw leans forward menacingly. "Right, yes, ok, the point! I, ah. I definitely have one of those."

Finally, he digs into the bag at his side, hastily pulling out a few manila files. He slides them across the table towards the two of them. Shaw lets the murder in his eyes simmer down a bit as he snatches up his own.

“So, the Snowflake,” Locke starts. “Turns out the late professor wasn’t the only one with his hands in that diabolical cookie jar - ”

Scruffy keeps talking, but Shaw stops listening the moment he opens up the folder and skims his eyes down the first page.

Oh, shit, he thinks.

His stomach makes a very abrupt descent to his knees.

Because there, tucked under a paperclip in the top right corner, is a set of photographs. Generic, really. Black and whites, likely mugshots from the look of them. A man and a woman - staring straight towards the camera, little smirks nestled in the corners of their mouths like poorly hidden secrets. Shaw’s gaze traces over the sharp curve of a cheekbone, an aristocratic nose.

The faces staring up at him are jarringly familiar, in the worst possible ways.

The kinds of ways, in fact, that suddenly makes it very tempting to get up from the table and walk away, as quickly as possible.

“-ellini and Lilian Nuata,” Locke says, pointedly tapping the photos in his own file, and it’s as though the world’s volume has abruptly turned back up again. Shaw blinks, then snaps his eyes back up to the two men across the table from him. He blanks his face to cool disinterest when he finds Hobbs staring back at him.

Deckard’s not sure what kind of expression worked its way across his face while he took in the literal goddamn nightmare in his hands, but the perplexed look Hobbs shoots him makes Shaw think it wasn’t as subtle as he would have hoped.

"You know 'em?" Hobbs asks.

And fuck, but that's a loaded question. Shaw can feel his face twist like he’s sucked a lemon. It's completely involuntary, and he hates himself for the tell.

“We’ve… met,” he answers, somewhat honestly.

As if 'met' could ever sum up the amount of sheer overwhelming fuckery their run-ins entailed. Shaw covers his discomfort with a fortifying sip of his coffee.

It curdles in his stomach.

"Oh, good," Locke says, almost obliviously cheerful. "Then you probably know just how pants shittingly insane our Harley Quinn and Joker duo here are."

Bit more than you'd think, Shaw muses with faint dread. 

"Nuata's the big brain behind our little Snowflake," Locke continues. "Andreiko may have invented the capsules that carried it, but the whole organ-melting, blood-spitting, eugenics genocidal virus shebang? That's her bouncing bundle of joy." The man takes another flippant slurp of his latte. The sound grates on Deckard's nerves, but he's feeling a bit too numb to give much of a shit about it.

"And Chellini?" Hobbs asks. The lawman's still shooting curious glances Deckard's way, and Shaw figures that's his cue to stop acting the part of nervous wallflower.

"Muscle," he finally speaks up. The word somehow comes out normally, despite the fact that Shaw's throat is feeling drier than the Sahara. "But also happens to have a brain, unlike someone else I know."

Hobbs' semi-concerned expression falls back into an irritated scowl. That’s good. Deckard doesn't need the man's cautious hovering. 

They may have a somewhat decent, if not entirely amicable working relationship now, but Shaw wasn't about to dump his sordid histories into Hobbs' lap. They weren't friends. 

Deckard didn't really know what they were at this point, actually, but it certainly wasn't that. 

"Nuata can take care of herself, but they're… formidable, together," Deckard continues, before Hobbs can open his mouth. "They're sadists. Like to play with their food before eating it."

"And you've… met, huh?"

Something about Shaw's voice must have been slightly off, because the concern is creeping its way back into Hobbs' eyes. It makes Shaw's skin itch in irritation; he's not some child to be coddled and fretted over. Best to cut that nonsense off right here and now.

"Worked with 'em on a job once." Deckard shrugs, nonchalant, and leans back in his seat. "Briefly. Didn't quite appreciate their methods, so we parted ways."

It's the truth, if a heavily edited one. Either way, the mission is accomplished: the concern vanishes immediately.

"Of course you worked with them," Hobbs snorts bitterly. "Looney tunes here sound just your speed. What kind of job they end up luring you in with, anyway? Selling poison to toddlers? Murdering puppies in Tokyo?"

Ah. Well - ouch.

That one hit somewhat closer to home than likely intended, going by the expression of mild regret on Hobbs' face moments after the words leave his mouth. The sting of it is sudden, surprisingly unexpected, and altogether earned, really. It’s an abrupt reminder that even in the wake of Samoa, there’s still a decent amount of unpacked baggage between the two of them. The kind of baggage that comes with literal skeletons in closets 

Or in fiery, crumpled sports cars, smoldering vengefully on a busy street in Tokyo.

Shaw considers himself a reasonably self-aware person; he already knows he's a piece of shit. Doesn't mean he'll tolerate Hobbs shoving his nose into the fact like some misbehaving dog.

"Fucking hilarious," he snaps, narrowing his eyes. "Don't think that's any of your business, is it?" 

He leans forward, and suddenly Deckard finds that he's angry. The irrational kind: no specific target, no specific cause. Angry at Hobbs - angry at Locke - angry at every little shout and laugh in the air of the diner around him. Absolutely, completely, furiously angry that this file, with those pictures, has been dropped into his lap like a fucking grenade when he least expected it.

"You sure seem real interested though, Tiny. Maybe you get off on that kind of thing, huh? Puppy murder? Kiddy killing?" Hobbs' mouth twists, as though he knows he deserves the retort, but that it's pissing him off nonetheless. Shaw smiles grimly. Good. "'Cause I know a few people who could give you some details -"

“Yeah, I’m sure you know plenty of people -”

"Maybe we could table that steaming pile of inhumanity for another day," Locke interrupts suddenly. "Fascinating as getting in touch with our inner Cruella de Vils sounds, we're on a bit of a time crunch, darlings. Your flight to Spain to bag us Bellatrix Lestrang and her boytoy is in five hours, and we’ve still got some ground to cover here."

Shaw cuts himself off, and reigns in the bright spark of rage still flickering in his head. Closes his eyes for a moment.

What is he even doing?

He opens his eyes again, lets them flick back down to the photographs in front of him with the morbid helplessness of watching an imminent disaster just waiting to occur. Knows, with swift clarity, exactly where the anger is coming from.

Tired or not, Shaw’s aware that the abrupt flare of resentment is an unreasonable reaction to what was meant to be an innocuous comment. He attempts to tamp it back down a bit; difficult, with Hobbs’ narrowed-eyed gaze staring at him from across the table, but do-able.

Professional, he thinks. You’re a fucking professional.

"Spain, huh? Always liked Spain. Good memories," Hobbs says suddenly, voice far too innocent to be anything but deadly. Shaw watches with sharp eyes as Hobbs takes a very pointed sip of his coffee, staring Deckard down. The bigger man places the cup back on the table with a quiet thud, and smiles. "Like when we blew up your brother’s plane, for instance."

On second thought, fuck professional.

"Whoa now,” Locke says, hastily grabbing at Shaw’s wrist with a nervous laugh as the Brit's fingers spasm hard around the cutlery on the table in front of him. Lucky timing - Deckard had half a mind to jab the butterknife in his grip straight into Hobbs' hand, crowded diner be damned. “Let’s just take it easy there, Scarier Spice. We’re all friends here.”

Shaw very deliberately glances down at the hand on his arm, before letting his eyes drag back up to the agent’s.

“You’re gonna want to let go of me,” he says, slowly. “Friend.”

The hand is instantly snatched away, with frankly satisfying speed.

“So aggressive,” Locke says with another nervous little chuckle, fanning himself. “I gotta say, the fearboner I’m getting right now? I’m kinda into it.”

The ache in Shaw's temples gives another sudden, violent throb, and - yeah, no.

He wasn’t throwing himself back into the wreckage that was Chellini and Nuata for the sake of the two men in front of him.

Deckard rises from his seat. "Have fun with your little mission, Hobbs. You go enjoy knocking a couple of pissant nobodies' heads together in Spain like a good dog, while I go find some useful intel to work with."

"Yup," Locke mutters quietly. "Definitely aroused in this moment."

"Locke, shut your goddamn mouth," Hobbs snaps. "Shaw, just - sit down."

And oh, but that's rich. "In case you haven't noticed, steroids," Shaw sneers, leaning forward on the table, "you ain't the boss of me."

Hobbs just rolls his eyes. "Don't be stupid, jackass. This is our best shot at getting these bastards, and you damn well know it."

The DSS agent leans forward himself, hardly backing down from the challenge in Shaw's eyes. And usually, that would get Deckard going - really throw some fuel on the fire - but now it just makes him hesitate.

"Besides," Hobbs adds, and his mouth quirks up into the beginnings of a wry grin. "Can't knock some pissant nobodies' heads together without my sidekick tagging along."

… goddamnit.

Shaw didn’t feel guilt very often, but Hobbs’ playful, friendly little smile was causing an avalanche of it. He falters; stands at the edge of the booth, half-turned towards the doorway, towards freedom, towards his ticket out and away from not-so-old wounds he’d rather take a bullet to the head for than let Hobbs be an audience to.

But. But.

He also wasn’t quite monster enough to allow Hobbs to wander into that horror show on his lonesome.

Slowly, grudgingly, Shaw sits back down.

He does not flush when Hobbs beams at him like the giant fucking golden retriever he is.

“Wonderful!” Locke says, clapping his hands together cheerfully. “Gosh, isn’t this exciting? It’s like we’re a team. Like the X-men or something. Ooooh, I call Wolverine.”

“Locke,” Hobbs says forlornly.

“Yeah, no, you’re right, Shaw definitely pulls off the brooding loner better. I think I’m more of a Jean Grey myself, too.”

“What’s the plan?” Shaw asks brusquely, flipping open the file again. He slides his gaze past the photos this time, and further on to the information on the page beneath.

The pictures still manage to haunt him out of the corner of his eye.

“They’re holed up in Chellini’s private chalet in Almeria. Real fancy stuff,” Locke says. “These two may be balls to the fucking walls bonkers, but they're not stupid. Guards and security out the ass, I’m tellin’ ya. We’ll need you two to go in, extract them, and maybe not destroy half the city in the process, because Big Daddy Government isn’t thrilled at the thought of covering your usual laundry bill.”

“Get in, get the marks, get out. Simple,” Hobbs says, leaning back in his seat.

“You’re simple. This is not,” Shaw snaps, tapping at the folder. “We need an actual plan, not your usual smash-and-grab theatrics.”

“Pretty sure my ‘theatrics’ are what threw your ass in jail.”

“Pretty sure your incompetence is what got me out of it -”

Somehow, an hour later, the smallest semblance of a strategy comes together. The stability of it helps soothe the tension buzzing at the edges of Shaw’s mind, but even so, it lingers, like a bad taste on the back of his tongue. He traces his fingers along the black and white images in front of him for a brief moment as CIA pays the food bill, before forcefully flipping the folder shut.

"Still one thing I need to get straight,” Deckard says, gaze suddenly pinning Locke to his seat. “You had me fly to Los Angeles, from London - just to fly back to Spain?"

The murder must be back in his eyes, Shaw thinks, because there's certainly a new hint of fear in Locke's.

"Ok, to be fair," Locke starts, edging back in his seat slightly, "one: I didn't actually know you were in London, because two: you're a very naughty, sneaky boy who happens to be incredibly difficult to track down, and did I mention I have a very delicate bone structure?"

Locke's voice climbs increasingly higher as he presses further back into the booth - likely because Shaw was leaning across the table with the intent of strangling him.

“Shaw, stop scaring the rabbit,” Hobbs says, shoving at Locke’s shoulder as the man pushes himself into Hobbs’ space. “Locke, let me the hell out of this booth.”

Shaw slips out of the booth himself, but not without a withering glare in Scruffy’s direction.

They make their way out of the diner, Locke scurrying off with rambling goodbyes that Shaw doesn’t bother listening to, and the sudden wave of heat as he steps out of the doors with another chime of bells above them is almost nauseating. Deckard grimaces at the bright blue sky as Hobbs siddles up next to him.

"You good?" Hobbs says, and bumps his shoulder awkwardly against Shaw's own.

And the move is just - so fucking Hobbs, so endearing (though Shaw would commit a fantastic amount of homicide before admitting that fact), that Deckard slowly, reluctantly deflates. The still-smoldering anger finally winks quietly out of existence, and just leaves him feeling exhausted in its stead. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine," Deckard mutters, glancing away with an irritated little sniff. "Just -"

He looks down at the file in his hand. Thinks of the photographs.

Trepidation hits him like a roundhouse kick to the gut. 

"- tired," he finishes dully.

Hobbs pats him on the shoulder with a big hand, and then just. Leaves it there. Like they're pals, or something. Shaw hesitates, but decides not to shrug it off.

It's ridiculous that it helps his nerves somewhat.

"Yeah, well. I've got a guest room, if you need to crash for a couple hours before the flight."

The offer is unexpected - possibly for both of them, going by the slight discomfort Shaw can pick out of Hobbs' posture, and the way he won't quite meet Shaw's eyes after - but Deckard honestly considers it for a moment. 

Only a moment, though. "Already booked a place," he lies through his teeth.

Fat fucking chance he'd be able to get any sembleance of sleep, with images of mugshots seared into his mind. Shaw knows himself; in all likelihood he'll find a place to kip out, with enough caffeine to hotwire an elephant, and drown himself in research for the next three hours.

Preparation never really helped when it came to Chellini and Nuata, but it sure as hell would make him feel less like he was throwing himself into the lion's den. Again.

"Right," Hobbs says. He gives a little squeeze to the shoulder under his hand, before letting it fall back to his side. Shaw refuses to let himself acknowledge that the sudden lack of pressure there is a disappointment, because he's not a fucking child. "I should head out. Gotta find someone to watch Sam while I'm gone."

Ah. The daughter. Strange, to suddenly remember that Hobbs was a man in charge of nurturing something. "Wheels up in four, then," Shaw says, slipping his sunglasses back onto his face in the California sunshine. "Just don't bitch to me about your leg room this time, Gigantor."

"Not all of us suffer from being vertically challenged, short stop."

"Just mentally, in your case," Shaw says, and can't help the corner of his mouth from ticking up slightly at Hobbs' snort of laughter.

“Sure,” the big man says with a huff. “Guess I’ll see you in España, tonto.”

And with that Hobbs walks off with cheery little wave, Shaw following him with his eyes as the lawman hefts himself onto the motorbike and departs with a roar of the engine. Shaw just shakes his head, and sighs.

Chellini and Nuata. Jesus fucking Christ, he thinks.

Well.

If nothing else, at least he'll have back-up this time.

#hobbs and shaw #deckard shaw #luke hobbs #shobbs #locke #my drabbles #got up early this morning and just pounded out the rest and made some edits #so sorry if the ending seems rushed #... because it was #whump to come in part 2 #this chapter is me constantly battling the 'are they too ooc??? they seem too ooc' thought demon #but you know what WHATEVER because this is fanfic anyway so HA #bad touch villain fic

[fallingfromdepression]

12/6/2020

this is gonna be less about school and more me rambling about my mental health and where i am rn in life. i got triggered earlier and i’m hoping i’ll feel better once i write it all out so then i can hopefully get my mind focused back on trying to do this final assignment due tmr evening that i’ve barely started so that’s what the stakes are. put under a cut bc it’s detailing quite a bit of some of my personal life

so i bought a surprise box from an indie artist that ended up being around $30 total with shipping (not too bad since the box is supposed to include at least $50 worth of merch). i haven’t had a lot of misc purchases ever since i came back home, or at least i’m definitely spending less than i did when i was at school, and i generally like all of this artist’s merch so i thought it was a decent expense. unfortunately i did have to buy it today when i am technically supposed to be working on finals and etc but it didn’t take much time since i was notified abt the restock yesterday and i preferred to buy sooner rather than later (i.e. after all my finals are finished) esp from small businesses that have a limited stock. but since my parent is intimately involved with my finances, they saw the purchase asap and kind of interrogated me abt it esp since it’s not a purchase from amazon or a bigger business.

now the context that makes that latter part more meaningful: about this time last yr, i had a situation where i tried to buy an anime merch through a proxy on twitter. this proxy didn’t have an actual website so i was buying through DMs. when i paid the proxy in advance, this same parent saw the purchase and asked me abt it and checked up on the process without asking for any further info. i made the grave mistake (in hindsight) of being honest and telling them i still hadn’t received the purchase months after i had paid them so then this whole shitshow ensued where my parent was convinced the proxy was conning me (the proxy had proxied merch for other ppl before based on their facebook proxy page) and had me cancel the proxy which the proxy thankfully agreed to except they still wanted some payment since they had still gone through the effort to get the merch supposedly (the wait was due to them not shipping the good out yet) so they said they were only going to refund part of the payment. yet again i told my parent abt this partial refund and that further convinced my parent the proxy was conning me (out of $3) so they were like no absolutely no payment to the proxy. lucky for the proxy, around the time i was refunding the payment i had left home and gone back to school so i told them to refund the full amt and i’d pay them separately so i could pretend this $3 payment was for something else i was buying physically. and very very lucky for me the proxy was understanding and refunded the full amt so it looked like i got everything back and i paid them separately through another app. the thing is i was expecting the proxy to take a while bc i had seen on other twitter accounts that proxied merch through individuals tended to take a while, and it had been abt 2ish months since i made the payment. i understand the concern my parent had esp since they are not familiar with online informal dealings, but the thing is ever since this fiasco my parent has assumed everything i buy from a small business (aka anything they don’t recognize) is me getting conned again.

to a degree i understanding and appreciate the concern, but i’m frustrated bc even with that proxy payment i literally cried that night out of anxiety and concern bc i knew there was a chance i could get conned and i had spent days being like ‘should i do it. oh god idk should i. but i’ve checked up on this proxy through any means possible and they seem ok enough...’ so it’s not like i’m like naive af and being like ‘tee hee con me !!’ like i understand the risk and was willing to do it (and to this day i still believe i would have gotten the merch albeit much later than expected). and my age is considered adult age pretty much internationally so it’s not like i’m a naive af 8yo who doesn’t know the dangers of the internet. yes i haven’t made much online purchases but i’m aware of the scams and try to make sure i’m buying from a trusted seller and if it’s worth it for the price. but i hate having to be so concerned abt my spending habits and whether the package will get here in time before my parent cancels the order out of fear of me being conned “again” at my age. i’ll admit i don’t have a stable job yet but it’s not like i’m spending money every week or even every month. if i wasn’t at home i would be less concerned bc the shipment isn’t going to my home address so the parent can’t scrutinize it but bc it is now, my spending is put under more scrutiny.

anyway my parent’s low-key interrogation shook up my mental state as expected and i had to take a bit to unload on my sibling and cry a little. i know if i wasn’t at home this wouldn’t affect me as much but bc i’m at home and having to deal with it in person instead of over text or a phone call... and the damn pandemic isn’t ending anytime soon so i’m going to have to stay at home for the indefinite future. it’s not like i have a ton of shit i want to buy but i don’t want to have to deal with this trigger every few months (last purchase was back in maybe september or so towards a book publishing kickstarter which i guess bc it was only $15 my parent didn’t kick up too much of a fuss abt since technically i still don’t have the ebook i paid for). i’m not purchasing any christmas presents for friends or anyone so i don’t have that as a cover or anything. but the thing is even once i leave home i have little confidence i’ll be able to be independent and my sibling told me it’ll take a few years for me to get a grasp on things but idk. it just feels so far away in the future and i can’t envision my present self with no motivation or willpower to do it even though i mean when push comes to shove i’ll get it done i suppose. i know the rational outsider’s answer would be ‘well why don’t you start working on that better future self now?’ and i’m like great fucking suggestion and i have nothing to argue against that. i just literally cannot envision my future at this point, even if i act on my vague dream of doing art as a job. maybe once i fucking finish these finals and this quarter i’ll be able to think more clearly but idk. as i said in my last post, i really need to consider seeing a therapist bc being at home and having to handle being under my parents’ control again is really doing a number on me esp as essentially a NEET (partially false since i’m still in edu but i really do be feeling like that since i feel so useless and dependent on my parents at my age when i know others my age are slightly more independent).

i feel like this ended up me rambling about essentially the same things i ramble abt whenever i talk abt my mental health the past few years and idk how much this actually helped unload the burden on my mental state. i just wish i didn’t have to have this trigger bc i would’ve just made the purchase and then not think much abt it until i receive the package. but now i have to have this concern for the future on top of the fucking deadlines i have in the next 2 days.

#diary

[bohemian-napsodyy]

Somebody Else Is All You Need (PART 2)

***There’s spoilers! if you haven’t yet, please read part 1 first HERE***

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: it’s sad, look out

A/N: here it is folks! the long-awaited, much-demanded part 2 to Somebody Else Is All You Need :) also, thank you to the anon who suggested Gwil play a bigger role in part 2 — you got my brain-gears turning and I can’t thank you enough ❤️

Research says it takes twenty-one days to break a habit.

If that was the case, you were never going to be able to make it a habit of not checking your phone to see if Rami had texted you.

It had been only four days. Four days since you last saw and spoke to him. And it wasn’t on good terms either.

Four days.

That was ninety-six hours without him.

Nine thousand, seven hundred and sixty minutes, which in seconds could be converted to-

You had to stop. This was getting out of control.

The more you replayed the fight in your head, the worse things got. Your mind was a pendulum, swinging back and forth between regretting leaving and then not regretting your decision. You had to face fact, Rami acted like a complete asshole.

But did that really justify you leaving the way you did?

Not to mention, Lucy was in the picture now — which was a whole other shitshow in itself, really.

You were giving yourself a headache. A four-day-long headache to be exact.

You stared up at the popcorn ceiling of your hotel room as the Weather Channel buzzed in the background. Your initial idea was to give yourself a little relaxing getaway downtown for the time being. Go see a movie, go for a swim, browse the shops here and there — anything to get your mind off Rami.

But the moment you went down to the pool, towel in hand and sunglasses on your head, something made you turn around and walk right back the way you came from. All you could see in your mind was you with him in the pool, happy together.

It just didn’t feel right, coming to a place like this without him. It made you feel worse, empty even. Were you trying to move on, or simply trying to tune everything out? The sting in your heart made you think it was more of the latter.

You were running out of things to wear. You really only had your sleep shirt and sweatpants — that was all you were wearing when you left, after all.

You went down to the gift shop to buy a swimsuit for the pool of course, but that did no good. You couldn’t even make it to the pool chair without breaking down for crying out loud.

You had to pick up more of your things from home, you knew that for certain. You couldn’t stay holed up in your pajamas in a downtown LA hotel forever. The cabin fever was starting to kick in. You felt itchy. You had to get out.

But going back home to pack more things meant you’d see Rami again. That was the last thing you wanted. You would rather go back to the pool and try to hide your sniffles from tourists and little kids splashing about the pool than go home and speak to your boyfriend.

Could you even call him that anymore?

What he did was bad, you knew that. Real bad.

Sometimes you’d wake up thinking that all he did was forget you at the bar, but then slowly Lucy would crawl back into your memory, like a sliver you couldn’t get out of your hand.

You made your decision to head back home in an instant. It was easy, really. A simple equation had popped into your mind and the result was what got you practically running from your hotel room to the car, ready to head back and pack up your stuff once and for all:

Rami + You + Lucy = error. There was no solution. But there was an explanation for the lack of solution.

He cheated on you.

The mere thought made you sick to your stomach. It was a topic you honestly didn’t even want to go anywhere near addressing. But he had six months in London. Six months in London with her.

And judging by how you found them at that party — they hadn’t been ‘just friends’ in London, either.

You jumped when your phone started ringing in the car, and you snatched your phone off the seat lightning fast.

But when you glanced at the screen, expecting to see Rami’s name on your phone, you were taken aback to find it wasn’t him calling, but instead an unknown number.

You tried to ignore the sinking feeling you got when you saw it wasn’t Rami, and set your phone back down on the seat.

You could feel yourself growing more and more anxious as you got closer to the house. What if Rami was still home, even though it was already two in the afternoon? What if he’d pull some fucked up charm-thing of his and convince you to stay?

Oh god. What if he had already moved on? What if Lucy was there?

You knew it was unlikely, but after everything that had happened in London, as well as at the party, your mind was wandering everywhere. There wasn’t any scenario you could consider ‘impossible’ anymore.

The statement you’d often tell yourself in your mind now had a question sewn into it:

Rami would never do something like that… would he?

To your relief, his car wasn’t in the driveway when you pulled in. You thanked your lucky stars you managed to come at a time when Rami had gone out. You honestly didn’t know what you’d do or say if you saw him again, you weren’t ready for that yet.

You thought you were prepared to come back home. You really thought you were.

The moment your key clicked in the lock and you swung the door open, you almost doubled over and started to cry right there. Everything hit you all too fast, all at once.

The pictures you had taken together on vacation last Christmas were still hung up on the wall. For some reason you had expected him to take them down in anger. The room still carried a faint combination of the pine candle you often loved to burn, along with the hint of spice from Rami’s cologne.

You hovered in the entry hall for a few extra moments, almost expecting him to peek over at you from the kitchen and smile that goofy grin he always wore when you came home.

“I made you tea,” He’d always announce proudly, before beckoning you further inside into the kitchen.

But there was none of that today. No tea. No Rami.

You hated what he had done. But you hated this emptiness more.

You jumped when your phone began to ring again. Swiping at your damp cheeks hastily and sniffling, you pulled out your phone and frowned.

The unknown number was calling again.

You tapped ‘decline’ and set your phone back in your pocket, only to have it start ringing once more moments later. It was still the same number.

What the hell?

“Hello?” You asked cautiously, frowning as you began to make your way upstairs to your room.

“Y/N? This is Y/N, right?”

“Yes…” You answered slowly. “Who’s this?”

“Oh, sorry.” The voice on the other line apologized, laughing a little. “It’s Gwilym. From the BoRhap party.”

You blinked in surprise, pausing on the stairs for a moment as you tried to recall if and when you gave him your number at the party. You weren’t that drunk, were you?

“Hey,” You greeted him, slightly confused but also grateful to speak to someone other than a hotel wall for the first time in four days. “I hope you don’t mind me asking but uh, how did you get my number?”

“Rami gave it to me when he was looking for you.” He explained. “He was hoping you’d reply to someone if you weren’t going to reply to him. But I never heard back from you, either. I was starting to worry.”

Oh. That made sense.

You realized Gwilym’s text must have gotten lost amongst the thirty or forty-something nutty texts Rami had sent that night. You didn’t even realize someone else had texted you.

“God, I’m sorry,” you groaned, running a hand through your hair. “It’s been just crazy over here, I’m sorry I never got back to you.

“It’s alright, don’t worry Y/N.” Gwilym replied gently. “I just wanted to see if you were doing okay. And also if you need anything.”

You sighed as you placed your empty suitcase on your bed. It looked more like a black hole at the moment rather than luggage to you.

“I’m not okay, I don’t think.” You replied quietly as you started grabbing some of your shirts and packing them in your suitcase. “I mean, I’m planning on leaving and I don’t know when I’m going to come back, and it just…”

You broke off as your voice hitched. You could feel the tears start to come back. You felt stupid for crying in front of Gwilym, who you literally just met four days ago.

“I’m sorry,” you manage to blurt out. “Everything I was honestly never expecting happened so fast and…”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Gwilym answered soothingly. “If you want… I’m in town for another few days before I have to fly back to London. I could come by for a bit? You know, if you need a friend.” You almost started to cry even more at Gwilym’s kind offer. You nodded emphatically, before remembering you were still on the phone.

“I’d really like that,” You almost laughed with relief. “Thank you.”

“Great. You’re at Rami’s place, yes?”

“Yeah — I was planning on going back to my hotel but I’ll wait for you here. It’s easier.”

“Wonderful,” Gwilym replied. “See you soon, Y/N. I’m on my way.”

“Y/N…?”

You had just hit ‘end call’ on your phone when you heard your name. Whipping around in shock, your heart stopped when you saw Rami standing at the entrance to your room. His features carried a mixed expression of anger, confusion, and absolute heartbreak. He was still wearing his coat and shoes, so you figured he must have just gotten home, heard you speak, and come straight upstairs.

But now that he was here in front of you, and after you had already spoken with Gwilym, you didn’t want to talk to Rami at all.

So instead you kept packing. Almost slamming your clothes into your suitcase as you went. Rami rushed over and grabbed your wrist to try and stop you from adding more clothes to your suitcase.

“Hey,” he whispered shakily. “Y/N, what’s going on? I haven’t seen you in four days, where are you going?”

Huh. So you weren’t the only one counting the days you’d been away.

You shook your head and tugged your wrist away from his grasp. You didn’t even want to look Rami in the eye.

“Y/N, talk to me.”

You busied yourself with trying to count the threads on the sweater you were folding. You weren’t going to look up, you weren’t going to look up, you weren’t going to-

“Y/N, please!”

Rami was yelling now. You could see out of the corner of your eye that his hand kept darting towards you, as if he wanted nothing more than to touch you again, before thinking twice about it and changing his mind.

“I’ll tell you I’m sorry a thousand times, and then a thousand times after that because Y/N, I am so, so, so fucking sorry. Please. I just want to hear you say something. Anything.”

His apology didn’t cut it for you. You were fully packed now, and you closed up your suitcase with a click before grabbing the handle and dragging it down the hall.

“Y/N, wait!”

The catch in Rami’s voice was what made you stop. It wasn’t that you listened to him, but you were taken so off guard by how broken he suddenly sounded that you froze. You didn’t want to look at him even more now, in fear of breaking into tears yourself.

“What can I do to get you to talk to me?” He pleaded. You heard footsteps as he approached you from behind, but he never touched you. “What do I have to do to get you to stay here? Do I have to beg? Do you want me to get down on my knees? Because, fucking hell, I’ll do all that and more if it means you stay for just one more day and I get to talk to you.”

That made you whip around in bewilderment. Your first instinct was to snap at him and tell him to ‘cut the shit’, but when your eyes finally met his, you saw he wasn’t joking.

Rami had sunk to his knees now. The sight alone had started to make your eyes sting again. You shook your head.

“Stop it,” You tried to hiss, but it came out as a whisper. “Stop this Rami, get up. This is ridiculous.”

He ignored you, and instead slowly wrapped his arms around your middle. You could feel his shoulders trembling as he began to cry.

“Don’t go,” he begged, his voice muffled both by tears and your shirt. “Please, Y/N, you never have to speak to me again, just don’t leave, fuck!”

You closed your eyes as tears trailed down your cheeks. This was far from what you had expected would happen when you’d inevitably have to cross path with Rami again. You thought he’d be angry, and both of you would be yelling and screaming at each other.

This was much worse.

You dropped to your knees as well, so you were now on the same level as Rami. Sighing in defeat, you gently brushed a few tears off his face.

“Please stop this,” you whispered, your composure crumbling in the form of a sob. “It’s not going to do any good. I have to leave. For now.”

“But you’ll be back?” Rami’s voice wasn’t even a whisper. You shook your head.

“I don’t know.”

Rami reached out and caressed your face with trembling hands. A new set of tears had begun to glisten in his eyes.

“I lost you once already.” His voice was wavering as he spoke. “I’m not fucking ready to see you leave again. Please don’t. We can figure this out and-”

The doorbell cut him off. That was enough of a signal to make up your mind.

“I’m sorry Rami,” You said, moving away and grabbing your suitcase. “I have to go.”

You threw your coat and shoes on and opened the door to see Gwilym standing there. He frowned in concern when he saw your tear-stained face. Without a word, he pulled you into a hug.

You looked over your shoulder just as Rami came down the stairs. He looked from you, to Gwilym, and back to you again. You could see the fire in his eyes.

“Is this where you’re going?” He demanded, nodding towards Gwilym. “Back to his place? Is this where you’ve been this entire time?”

You couldn’t believe Rami. You had put up with so much of his bullshit and this was what you got in return. Your hand tighted on the handle of your suitcase and you started to walk faster to Gwilym’s car.

“That’s real low, Y/N. You’re a coward.”

That made you stop.

You turned around, all previous sympathy you felt was completely gone.

“That makes two of us.” You spit out. You didn’t even wait for a reaction before tugging open the car door and slamming it shut.

Gwilym didn’t start the car right away. Instead, he placed a hand on your shoulder reassuringly.

“Let him cool off,” He suggested gently. “Too much has happened in such a short while.”

You could only nod as you stared blankly out the window. It felt like ages before Gwilym finally started the car.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Anywhere,” You answered with a whisper. “Anywhere but here.”

#rami malek #rami malek x reader #rami malek imagine #rami malek oneshot #elliot alderson x reader #elliot alderson #elliot alderson imagine #bohemian rhapsody #bohemian rhapsody x reader #queen #queen imagine #queen oneshot #freddie mercury #freddie mercury imagine #freddie mercury oneshot #request

[corvid-knight]

Questionable Sleeping Habits

Dave has issues with sleeping.

(read it on ao3 here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12822006)

Anyway. Staying awake for this amount of time at one go is fucking stupid, and you know it. You really do know it. You're completely and totally aware that you should've given in and passed out maybe eight hours ago. You're also completely and totally aware of a fuckload of other shit, some of which most definitely isn't real.

Yeah. You've been lowkey hallucinating for a good few hours—how many hours you don't actually know; your time sense goes out the window when you pull this shit. Apparently the Knight-y Time-y powers don't prevent that from happening, which is probably a blessing because this way if you want to watch a clock you're gonna have to find one, and you know for a fact you'll get distracted with trying to confirm the unreality of the ghosts you're seeing before you do that.

Damn, but the ghosts suck. They're not even ghosts, you've hung out with ghosts on the not-too-rare occasions when your dreams take a left turn into the dream bubbles, and these are just shadows out of your head. (Or you could call them what the fuck they are, hallucinations. But that's too close to admitting how dangerously far you are into sleep deprivation.)

(But then again you just thought that, so you know you're admitting it by calling it anything else.)

There's Bro, shadowing you, a step behind and a step to your left, katana hanging loose in one hand and blood dripping down from the messy hole in his gut, leaving tiny smoking stains where each drop hits the floor. There's John, pacing back and forth in front of you, his face twisted as he snarls imprecations you can't quite hear at you. (Sometimes you wish your brain would just give in and cough up an aural component to the hallucinations. You don't think it could be worse than trying to lipread and find out what the fuck you did to make John hate you. Except of course it's not John. The only one here to hate you, is you.) There's a kid that you don't want to admit is your warped and imperfect version of yourself at six years old, grabbing at ghost-Bro's legs and crying soundlessly as his hands pass through.

They're not ghosts, you tell yourself. Not fucking ghosts.

Jesus fuck you need to stop walking through the halls. You need to pick a nice quiet corner in a room nobody uses—there's a lot of those here, there was absolutely no need to build this palace as stupid-big and fancy as it is but Roxy wanted to and there wasn't a reason not to either—find a spot nobody's going to pull you out of for twelve or fifteen hours, and just fucking crash.

Otherwise? You'll end up passed out somewhere embarrassing, get the chewing-out you know you so richly deserve. You should just take a shortcut to that step. Find Karkat, find John, find fucking Jade if she's around and let whichever one you come across get a good look at how out of your fucking head you are right now. Only problem is, you don't trust yourself to not simply dissolve at any contact, and even though you're mostly good with expressing emotions like a normal(ish) human being (usually), right now you have Bro's blank but disapproving gaze on you, and you can't fucking think of curling up next to someone and talking to/at them until you can manage to fall asleep. That's an act of weakness, or he'd have seen it as one. Or it's an admittance of weakness, and he'd count that as worse.

The kid—lil' Dave, the stupidest fucking ghost here—sobs, violently enough that you think you might hear a faint whisper of it, and abandons Bro, dodging ghost-John's kick and flinging himself at you. You have to close your eyes before he gets close enough to (not) touch you. You can't fucking stand the look of pain on his face when you turn out not to be a safe haven either.

With sight removed, sound decides to make a surprise appearance in the Amazing Dave Shitshow. It's garbled and horrible and loud enough to make you flinch, angry voices and a sustained metallic whisper of a sword being drawn and pained panicked breathing all jumbled up into what hell must sound like if it could be bothered to exist at all. Still better than the visual equivalent, so you keep walking with your eyes closed. Not like there's anything to run into.

Except after some length of time that's more than seconds and less than minutes, that's precisely what you do. You run into someone, or maybe they run into you but probably not, and because your eyes are shut and your hands are shoved into your pockets you eat dirt, pretty much. Your shades go somewhere that isn't in front of your face, the air whuffs out of your lungs as you hit the floor, and the voices in your head go mostly silent as your eyes open.

Fuck fuck fuck—it's him. Bro. Him. Leaning over you, shades reflecting you on the ground in front of him, he's not a fucking hallucination because you just ran into—

"Dave, what the hell. You alright?"

Wait. No. Stop. He's not cold or annoyed, he's. Confused, and not bothering to hide it.

"Dirk." You don't realize you're saying it aloud until he raises an eyebrow at the relief in your voice. "Uh..."

Ghost-John is gone. Ghost-Bro is standing a fair distance away from Dirk, arms crossed over his wound, studying him. And lil' Dave...well, he's enough to distract you out of finishing your sentence; he's wrapped around Dirk's legs, burying his face in Dirk's worn-out jeans and peeking out at you.

Well, shit. This probably says something about your subconscious, but you're not totally sure what.

"Dave." When you look up at him again—a lot more guiltily than you should—he's holding out one hand. You have no idea why. "You okay, dude?"

"Yeah, of course, sure, I—" can't take your fucking eyes off the kid holding onto Dirk like he's a lifeline— "I'm fine, why—why wouldn't I be okay—"

"I don't know, maybe because you're on the ground? I mean, if I've managed to permanently damage you by running you over, I feel like I should be offering more apologies than I am."

Oh. Yeah. That's what the hand's for.

"Sorry." You reach up, and he pulls you to your feet without even wavering. Damn, either you're lighter than you thought or he's got some serious muscles somewhere in that skinny frame. It's probably good that he's strong, though, because your vision goes weird and wavery for a second, and the only reason you don't go right back down again is that Dirk grabs your shoulder. "...fuck. Sorry."

"Don't be." He's frowning as he steadies you, but it's got a flavour of concern instead of annoyance. "You're not okay, though."

Damn.

"I'm fine, I—where are my shades?" You know precisely where they are. You can see them (and ghost-Bro trying to nudge at them with a foot that just overlaps like a badly exposed photo) out of the corner of your eye. But if you don't let on that you know where they are, if you don't look, maybe Dirk will have to.

"Oh." He does glance down, but his hand doesn't leave your shoulder until he spots the shades and has to step over to snag them. Bro sidesteps right before they would've touched—away from you, thankfully, instead of towards. Even if he's not real you don't want him near you. "...I think they're okay."

"What?" You mentally curse yourself as Dirk looks up from the shades in his hands to you, his face going more confused than ever. "I. I mean. Ah, fuck." The wall is right behind you; you step backwards to lean against it. "How about you just hand them over and I'll fuck off and leave you alone? That work?"

"I'd rather work out what's going on with you and make a decent effort to fix it, actually." He's absently turning your shades over in his hands, watching you.

Lil' Dave hasn't let go of Dirk's legs yet. Ghost-Bro's just now decided to show some interest in the kid, though, adjusting his grip on his sword in a way you're all too familiar with; it has one meaning, and that's your ass getting kicked. Even knowing he's a figment of your imagination you wince and almost reach for your own weapon.

And Dirk catches that. Of course he does. You can't see his eyes go a fraction of a centimeter wider, but you can see the set of his mouth go from worried to wary. Okay, if you're scaring him it's time to clue him in on the state you're in. At least to some extent.

"I'm, uh..." Admittedly, that's easier said than done. Or easier thought than said. Whatever. Closing your eyes makes it easier, because you can't see him and you might not even hear his response over the screaming in your head. "Having some issues. Seeing shit."

"You're what?" His voice cuts through everything, though, and the phantom noise almost shuts up as Dirk's hands come down on your shoulders. He's gentle. You still flinch. "What, did you manage to alchemize LSD or some shit...?"

"No!" That came out a hell of a lot louder than you meant to be, but Dirk doesn't seem surprised. Maybe you just think you're being loud. "No, I swear...just. Stupid. Haven't slept in awhile, that's all."

You risk opening your eyes, and immediately regret it, because just like Dirk's got ahold of you, Bro has the kid. He's bleeding. Of course he is. Bro doesn't seem to give a fuck that you're watching, but lil' Dave sees you. He's fucking crying, mouth moving in what's got to be a plea for help, and you're not going to be able to give it.

"...Dave? Dave." Dirk's tone is patient, and you have a feeling that time just slipped a little for you here. He's been saying your name awhile, hasn't he? And when you manage to focus on him you realize that he's taken his shades off, tucked them into the neckline of his shirt next to yours. "You're going to go to sleep now, alright? I can stick around if the shit you're seeing is that bad—"

"It is." The only reason your voice doesn't crack is because you keep the volume so low. If you look away from Dirk's amber eyes, you're going to see Bro. If you see Bro you're going to have a full-scale meltdown, and Karkat's the only one who's seen that and knows how to handle it. Falling apart for Dirk is unthinkable. "I, it's, I can't—please."

Nice. Coherent. But then again you want to cry for no fucking reason at all. Dirk just shakes his head a little, pulls your arm around his shoulders and wraps one arm around you, and pulls you down the hall. You don't even know which direction he's steering you—your eyes are, again, closed.

Time slips and folds and realigns and at some point you're leaning against him as he gets a door open, and you're sobbing because Bro was there when you couldn't keep your eyes closed, and he's not pushing you off as you do what the figment of your imagination did before and cling to him. He's getting you to lie down on some fancy couch that you're going to get snot and tears all over, and he's gently reminding you which version of your brother he is, and you're not letting go of his shirt.

God, this is going to be embarrassing later.

Right now, though? Right now you cry and you babble at Dirk and he nods and makes noises that you really hope are sympathy and not disgust. What are you even telling him? Your mind's on autopilot and so is your mouth, but you hear shit about how you can't sleep and you don't want to sleep, how dreams about the game and before the game seem more real than anything else sometimes and you don't want to dream, you can't handle waking up next to Karkat and having him ask what makes you whimper and beg and wake up almost screaming. You hear yourself spill your guts and you hear Dirk telling you, calmly and quietly, that he knows, that if you dream he'll wake you up, that it won't get better if you don't sleep.

Dirk talks you down from the wave of unreasoning fear you're riding, and when he pries your fingers off his shirt he wraps his hands around yours. He doesn't stop talking, either. As far as you know he doesn't shut up at all, and his voice is all that you carry down into your dreams.

...for once, they aren't bad. For the first time in a good while the dreams are almost okay. You forget them even as you pass through them, and when you start to come back to consciousness they're just...gone.

Dirk's gone too when you finally wake up, but someone's curled up on the sofa against you, someone reassuringly, comfortingly warm and making soft noises in his sleep. Or maybe not in his sleep, because when you sigh in relief to have him wrapped around you Karkat makes a deeper, intentional noise and moves his arm to lace his fingers through yours.

"So he called you in." You could make it a question. Or be more specific. But nah, you're still too exhausted for that. "You pissed at me?"

"Don't be a dumbass." You swear that he intentionally makes his voice get deeper when he's this close to you, just so you can feel it through contact as much as you can hear it, just because he knows the immediate effect of that on you is to trip every stress switch you have, turn every single one off. Nice. Better than nice. You don't have a word for how nice. "The kind of pissed I am is at the universe for fucking you up to where you do this shit and scare poor defenseless Dirk senseless over whether you're actually losing it."

"Shit. I'm gonna need to apologize to him, huh?"

Karkat's grip on you tightens even though you didn't move to get up. (And you won't, not in the immediate future. He's warm and you're still tired.) "Later."

"Later," you agree firmly. And, because you legit can't remember half of what you probably said, "So how pissed is he?"

You can feel Karkat's exasperated growl as much as you hear it. "I didn't say he was pissed at you!"

"Doesn't answer the question, babe."

"Shut up." When you start to point out that you're not that easily silenced he pulls you half-onto his chest, one hand coming up to start roughly-gently fingercombing your hair, proving that you are, in fact, that easily silenced. "He's not pissed at you...you talked, that's all. Got confused—"

"Confused isn't the word for it."

"—talked about your bro, talked to him like he was your bro—"

"Fuck." Okay, that's actually the worst thing you could've done.

"Shh."

"He knows about Bro, he's gonna think I think he's horrible—"

"I said shush." Karkat's sharp-ish claws dig into your scalp, not deep enough to hurt but definitely enough to make you shiver and distract you out of finishing your sentence. "He knows you don't think he's horrible."

"Let me up so I can text him." That's half a joke. You don't even know if your phone's in your pocket. Karkat whines when you try to wiggle away, though, pulling you all the way on top of him and somehow managing to flip you over so you're lying on your stomach, on his chest. Holy fuck this is perfect. "Hey..."

"Don't 'hey' me." It's funny how easy you can tell a mock-growl from a real one. He growls again when you start laughing—the vibration tickles, it feels awesome—and probably would've started complaining about your inability to be serious for one goddamn minute, except you pull yourself up enough to give him the messiest, worst possible kiss before he can.

He starts laughing after barely three seconds of that, kisses you back through the laughter, and still lets you go when you slide back down to curl up on top of him, hiccuping around the last couple giggles. God, you're stupid, but this time it's good-stupid. Love-stupid instead of just stupid-stupid.

Karkat's still laughing, and purring through it, as he starts running his fingers through your hair again. "Idiot."

"Very idiot. Constantly. That's my only possible state of being—"

"Shush." God, you should not be so easy to shut up, all he's got to do is mess with your hair and pet you like a cat and you're done, it's that simple and he knows it. "You still need to sleep, don't you?"

"Mm." That may just be the most neutral noise you've ever made. You hiccup again. "Do I?"

"You do." Karkat's voice is firm as he drapes the arm that's not attached to the hand tangling in your hair over you. "You definitely do. And you're officially required to come lay down with me at least until I fall asleep every night now, just so you know. That way I can tell just how much sleep you're skipping."

"Like you—" another hiccup; damn— "like you sleep more than I do."

"Damn right I sleep more than you do. At least I try to sleep every night and don't just wander around like a cluckbeast with its head cut off—"

"That's so not how you use that idiom."

"Shush. Shut up. I'll use your idioms any way I fucking please." He huffs, then swallows a chuckle as you hiccup again; you can feel him shake a bit from holding it in, trying to keep up the mask of indignation. "Besides, if you cut something's head off they don't run around. Falls down and bleeds everywhere, maybe. I've seen—"

"Chickens ain't exactly people."

"They have one head, right? Pretty much the same." Karkat shakes his head when you start giggling again at that comment, patting your shoulder gently as the laughter dies down and the hiccups really don't. "Stop that."

You hiccup as he says that, and try very hard not to start laughing again. "That's not how it works—"

He makes a rude noise and then hums for a second, considering. "Okay, John told me about this—"

"Please, spare—" hiccup— "spare me."

"Nope. If you hiccup again I'll kiss you." He grins proudly at you.

"How is that going to work? Now I have a reason to try to hiccup."

"Exactly." That smug smile isn't going anywhere, so you just roll your eyes at him and wiggle into a more comfortable position to wait for another hiccup.

And of course he's right, it doesn't happen. "Fuck."

Karkat looks so fucking proud of himself it's ridiculous. "See? John was right for once—"

"I don't care..." You drag the last word out into a complaining whine. "Rather have kisses and hiccups than none of either."

"Hey, I didn't say I wouldn't kiss you if you didn't hiccup." Karkat's very capable of moving you anywhere he wants to, and he uses that ability now (god damn but you love the fact that your boyfriend could probably throw you through a wall) and pulls you up to kiss you again, maybe a little bit less messy than when you were the one starting it but not for lack of trying by either of you.

He's the one who finally pulls away, shaking his head as you immediately try to get back to his face and holding you off easily. "Dave, c'mon."

"Mm, no. Don't even try appealing to my better nature on this. I don't have one." He's not going to cave easy, though, so you relax and shift to wrap your hands around his wrists, not even trying to pull his hands off your chest. You like them there very much, thanks. "We both know I'm a stubborn lil' bitch who's never gonna stop 'til he gets what he wants—"

"Oh my god, shh." He pulls you down, cradling you against his chest, and maybe that's not a kiss but it's good enough. Better than good enough. "Making out can go on hold until you fucking sleep."

"Hmmm..." Yes, you could argue with him and maybe even win because he doesn't actually want to stop, but on the other hand...he's warm, he's purring, he's back to playing with your hair with one hand...yeah you're done. "I wake up, you're getting kissed whether or not you're up."

His soft laugh is another layer of vibration under you. "Fair enough. Sleep, kisses, food—"

"More kisses."

"Okay, food then more kisses, then you can talk to Dirk if you still want to—"

"Don't want to. Still need to." Apologize to him, really. You already want to start worrying about how the hell you're going to say that, but no. Not just now.

"You do not need to, he understands—you know what, forget it." Karkat huffs, wraps his arms around you tighter, and settles down to just mumbling about how fucking stubborn you are and how you need to listen to what he says and then actually do it. Underneath that, he's purring.

Between the two soothing sounds, you end up asleep faster than you plan to admit.

#Davekat #dirk #Karkat #dave #fluff and angst #Fluf f

[secretblogofthedepressedanon]

April 23, 2021

I keep losing my cool at things that don’t require that, and I don’t like it. I am recognizing the pattern & the problem easier now, but I still can’t seem to get myself out of it when I am in it. I try, but it’s like once I get all wound up, the ‘off’ switch is rendered useless for a period of time. The impulses are so strong and I am so amped up. Like my fight or flight response is on 10 and the only thing I can do now is dive right through it. I dunno.

Today, it was dumb and I just got overwhelmed and when I got overwhelmed I got angry. Why do I always get angry? Why is that the emotional response? Either way I don’t like it.

I guess I just feel like I need somewhere to properly redirect it. Like I get anxious or irritated or whatever about something, and then I have nothing to do with it. Nowhere to put it. I guess I need a creative outlet, but really how is that going to help when I get pulled into a mess like that suddenly? Where I don’t have the ability to just go paint or draw or whatever it is that I want / need to do. I need something else, something I can do to cool the impetuous anger as it is happening, not later. Not after I have made a mess of things.

I guess really that’s one of my issues, I get irrational and impulsive and I make a mess out of things and then I cannot unsort it. It’s an ugly cycle I have repeated before, over and over and I really feel like it is getting old. To tell you the truth, I just feel like I am a ball of emotions that I cannot control, understand, or follow. Everytime I think I understand, something new crops up or I present the *same bullshit* with a new process / thought cycle every fucking time and I hate it.

What is my issue with letting myself be happy? 

Lol like why do I self sabotage so much?? What is my god damn deal? 

He won’t put up with this forever. I wouldn’t anyways. He is endlessly kind and understanding and patient in ways that I, reasonably, deserve but... I feel like I don’t. I feel like I am undeserving and wild and neurotic and just absolutely out of my mind. Logically, I understand that that’s just my brain telling me those things because it is in unhealthy. I understand that I am just doing my best, and that I deserve unconditional love & kindness...

But when I look at him when I am out of control. When I am just upset and losing my mind  I just feel like he is so good. So kind and strong and sincere and level and he just doesn’t deserve the way I behave. And I really am trying to do better, learn more, and become emotionally / mentally well. I really am. And I can see the progress I am making. And yet.. I just feel like I keep failing him, as if by not being able to regulate myself I am just hurting him. And it isn’t fair to him. I know he chooses to be here. I know he loves me, genuinely. And I know he wants to help me, and that those moments are not all of who I am. I know he sees so much more to me than that... But I just can’t help but to feel like this cycle that I am stuck in... He doesn’t deserve to have to be there for this. He doesn’t deserve to have to watch me struggle like that, or watch me lose control or be that way. I want him to be with someone who can help him in the ways he needs, as he has done for me. 

I want to be that person more than anything. And I am working on it. I am trying so hard, I am doing the shadow work and I am confronting the things within myself that scare or disappoint me. Really, I am.  But I still just feel like he could be leagues & miles ahead of where we are now if he didn’t have me weighing him down or dragging him backwards. 

Is that just more of my brain talking, or is it the intelligence & awareness to know that I am fucking up? I don’t even know anymore. 

I need to get into therapy. I know I do. I am working hard, and its good, but I cannot do it alone. And asking for help isn’t bad or wrong. It’s just taking care of myself & doing what I need to do to make it through life without struggling with this forever. I deserve that. I deserve to be free of this bullshit, of this fucking absolute shitshow of managing my own brain and emotions. I deserve to be able to navigate life with the proper tools & abilites to take care of myself, and my own mental well being. 

And it’s time I do what I Can to take my own energy and my own health and make it fuckin better. I am gonna grow dammit.

I changed my twitter handle today to reflect that statement. Lol I feel like I am opening up in ways I never thought. I mean, first of all, truly baring my soul on the internet is totally never what I imagined for myself. I guess really I should have always expected it, I basically grew up online lol. Outside who? Bitch I was on myspace when I was 10, I spent more hours on internet forums and Neopets n shit than I ever did with my family. And repeatedly, I was made to feel bad about it by them. Now, I understand that I did some things that were way way too mature for my age, I know that in my desperate search for community and belonging, I was taken advantage of in ways. The internet is a dangerous and scary place for kids, especially improperly supervised, depressed, lonely, and desperate kids. I am lucky I am alive, and haven’t had anything exceedingly dangerous happen to me. 

That being said, they should have seen those things for what they were. Loneliness. A need for friendship, a need to be understood, to have real human connection. I was far too young to understand and communicate those needs, and due to the absolute neglect of my family, I had yet to learn that (and am still working on learning how to recognize and express those needs) myself. But them? My mom? My father? They were adults. They should have seen how desperately and seriously I needed help.

It was their responsibility to make sure I got help, to make sure I was properly loved & taken care of. And they didn’t. And that is their fault. Their failures to help me are on them. Their inability to give me the proper care and love and childhood that I needed... That was on them. And that is how and why I turned to the internet. 

I mean, fuck, the internet taught me so much that they never did. I learned about sex and relationships, money, life all on the internet. I have lived behind a screen, a secret identity all its own for many many years. I have hidden myself digitally all throughout the years. If you knew where to look, you can find evidence of me growing up everywhere. Little digital snapshots in the life of me.

I wonder what that would look like. If I could go back over all the things I have ever done on the internet. How many hours I spent on websites like Gaia or StumbleUpon or Pinterest or Reddit. How many times have I shared parts of myself for strangers on the internet, praying for an audience, just waiting for someone to see me. Someone. 

How ironic, then, is it that I met the man who really sees me, all of me, in a more tangible physical way? I spent so long aching for someone to find me any other way, never once imagining that if I met him that way.... It could work. I guess that has a lot to do with the neglect I suffered in my childhood. No one ever taught me how to have confidence in the things I do, or in myself. Hell, I can probably count on my hands how many things about life my parents taught me. 

As I heal and grow and look back on my past, I wish I could do so much of it over again. Like, I don’t really because I ended up in a place that is doing so much for me, but at the same time... If I had this kind of knowledge / emotional health then.. Imagine where I could be now? As strong and capable and determined as I am, as much work as I have put into surviving... Imagine the woman I could be if I didn’t have to. If I could’ve developed healthy habits and traits from the beginning... If I could have channeled that energy into something more, something better... who would I be now? How different would my life be if I hadn’t been robbed of my right to a happy & healthy childhood? If I didn’t have to ask myself ‘why aren’t I happy’ as young as six? 

For goodness sake I can remember wanting to run away from home as young as then. I literally remember packing a bunch of stuff into some walmart bags into a backpack. Telling myself I would leave after nightfall. I didn’t even have a plan, I didn’t know where I would go, what I would do. And so even then, in my underdeveloped, underloved child mind, I knew I had to stay.

In my dirty, neglected, God forsaken home. I stayed. 

Where I was lonely, where I didn’t know healthy love, where I ached for someone just to want me, I stayed.

I mean, it wasn’t that conscious of a choice. It isn’t like I had the emotional intelligence then to tell you what I am now. But even then, I could tell you I was unhappy.  I wouldn’t have had the words for why, though.

I wouldn’t have been able to tell you how lonely I felt, how much I felt I didn’t belong anywhere or with anyone. But that’s how I felt. I felt misunderstood. Invisible. I couldn’t understand why my siblings never wanted to spend time with me. Why my father would never come out of his room. Why my mom spent all of her time on the computer, playing internet games with her friends. They were all so caught up in trying to be happy for themselves, that no one had time to care about my emotional needs.

Yeah, I was fed. I never went without clothes or toys or food. 

But all of my most defining moments, happened without any of them. The moments that made me, me. 

I think the reason I find those cheesy coming of age shows so unrelatable (not that I don’t enjoy them, they get me as much as they get others) is because to me... That family dynamic is unrealistic. It feels fake, like who actually lives like that? What kind of kid actually comes home to cry in their mom’s arms about  high school breakups, or middle school crushes? It feels unreal, because for me it never was a reality. I basically figured out how to exist within the parameters of my own mind and body. Most of the things I know about being a person have to do entirely with how I exist within myself. The curves and treads of my mind. My soul’s wishes and whispers and secrets. 

I have to learn how to grow. How to exist more on the outside of myself. How to take up more space. I have to learn to be loud about who I am to just be myself, unashamed and unstoppable. I was not created to be afraid of myself, I was created to be the full sunshiney, hopeful, sarcastic, witty, kindhearted, generous woman I am becoming. 

#my post #long post #me #my feelings #my thoughts #growth #growing #changing #happiness #journal #journal post #feelings #feelings post #anxiety #depression #childhood issues #self love

[segadores-y-soldados]

Hola, amigos!

Hit another follower milestone the other day and like holy hell, I just cannot believe there are so many of you hanging out here??  Seriously, thank you for all the love and support, especially on that “Gabriel/Reaper is mlm/gay-coded” post.  It meant so much to me to see all the people supporting it in the tags.  

Normally when I hit these follower milestones, I do a little introduction about who I am for newcomers and to help older followers remember who I am and what I’m about.  In this one, I’m gonna do something a little different.  I’m gonna do a small showcase of my writing.

Tumblr username: Segadores-y-soldados AO3 username: clickclickBANG Semi-personal info: transdude from California, please use he/him for me Semi-relevant skills: slowly improving my Spanish - feel free to correct my nonsense Content: All Overwatch stuff, lots of Reaper76 shippy stuff - be sure to look at my About page to find my other ships I’ll reblog

Works Showcase:

Old Habits (Rating: T - Action/Adventure - slow-burn Reaper76): 

“We’re gonna blow the train - ”

“Do you think that maybe - just maybe - blowing up a bridge with a fucking military-grade bomb on it is...not a great idea?” Reaper growls, and Widowmaker shoots him another bitter glare.

Hernandez, genius military strategist that he is not, frowns a little at this, before saying, “Ya know… we’re just gonna have to roll with it because we don’t got any other options.”

“...We could hijack the train?”  You know, like normal terrorist assholes.

“Nah, they got extra security on there - brought in some fancy Helix guards from Egypt itself after that shitshow in Grand Mesa two days ago.  Gonna be extra tough to stop it without heavy fire power.”

This is a recipe for disaster.

“Anyways, y’all ain’t even gonna be at the blast site,” Hernandez continues, sliding onto the crude overhead map of the gorge.  Reaper can see some of the buildings that line the winding road of Deadlock Gorge, as Hernandez points a baton of a finger at some of the buildings closest to the entrance to the Deadlock base, “Y’all are gonna be here and here - ” he points to a tunnel on the southern side of the map, cut into the cliffs, “We think that posting y’all up in the tunnel o’ mysteries here and in the guard house here - ” he moves his hand to the building on the north side of the road, the one built into the bluff, “ - will best suit our needs.  The gang and I - we’re gonna be out here, in the diner - ” he moves his finger to the far west side of the map, to the building almost directly under the blast site, “ - so that we can jump on the cargo rapido, get ‘em while they’re surprised.  If everything goes according to plan, we’ll meet up with y’all at the first gate here, and it should be smooth sailing into the base.”

“Except for the part where the military and Helix fucking rain hellfire on us, right?” Reaper asks, and he sees some of the Talon agents glance at each other, “Cause you didn’t mention that part.”

“Well, yeah, no shit they’re gonna be pissed.  But don’t you worry your ugly little head, hombre de craneo, we’re gonna take care of the worst of ‘em.  Got us some heavy duty shit, if you know what I mean.”  Hernandez flashes a toothy grin and Reaper rolls his eyes.

Blowing up a bridge, a military-grade bomb, and rocket launchers.

Fucking swell.

“Why even bring us here if you weren’t gonna let Widowmaker snipe for you?” Reaper asks sourly.

“Well, uh…” Hernandez stumbles over his genius military strategy, “She can, uh...snipe from the cliffside where you’re at.”

“Does it have a view for sniping?” he snaps at the gang leader who mumbles, “I...uh...don’t know?”

Reaper sighs, rubbing at the forehead of his mask as if that would help clear up his real headache at all before muttering, “Alright, listen, here’s a better plan -”

“No one asked you, cabrón -”

“No, no one did, but you know, Widowmaker can’t fail this mission and, frankly, right now, this mission is a failure.  How ‘bout instead, we’re gonna be posted here, on this cliff - ”  Reaper points a talon at the cliff just east across the road from the diner, but on the non-blast side, “ - Widowmaker and - which one of you assholes can snipe?  Oh, Henri, right - Widowmaker and Henri will be up here, and once the blast is cleared, you two will start sniping the wreck survivors.  If they’ve brought in Helix from Egypt, that means Raptora Mark VI units, which are fliers with rocket power, so you’re gonna want snipers on the scene ASAP.  Me and these other assholes, we’re gonna be posted up in this ground tunnel just beneath Widowmaker and Henri, so we can help out with some of the ground units that are bound to show up - they always fucking do.  If we move fast, we can get the payload past this cliff and by this building here before they even know what hit them.  AT THAT POINT, we can start fanning back out - no need to put all of our eggs in one basket, that’s just begging for us all to get blown the fuck up.  Widowmaker’s squad will back out to the positions you originally suggested, but we’ll crawl on it, moving behind that building and up to the tunnels by the first gate.  There’s gotta be a second or even third military train of support for this - there’s no way in fucking hell they’re letting this go with only one train.  That means backup will be hitting us just before the first gate if we’re unlucky, or just past it if we’re lucky - we want it to be past the first gate as soon as fucking possible, so that we can block them off if need be.  Shoring up these tunnels around the gate is gonna be a pain in the ass, why do you even have them here?  But well, I guess we’ll just have to fucking deal with them.  I don’t like the look of this curve with all these buildings here - ridiculously fucking open to airstrikes and heavy ground-level pushes, but we’ll just have to ambush them out of the buildings instead - I take it you don’t give a shit if these shitholes are still standing after this?”

Reaper pauses, but when the tractor of a man doesn’t respond, he finally looks up from the map to see that…

Oh.

They’re all staring at him.

Oh shit. --------- 76 + 127: How We Were Made (Rating: Explicit - Reaper76 (SEP-era Morreyeson)):  Even now, Jack knows Gabriel has already found a way out of his cell. 

Jack just has no idea what he did. 

Think outside the box, he can practically hear Gabriel whisper incessantly to him in his rattling, loose brain. 

I can’t, Gabe - I’m fucking trapped inside the box. 

You just gotta assess the situation critically.  You have advantages, Jack - you just gotta find them. 

Advantages. 

Sure. 

Being locked in a cell has zero advantages over a guard in light body armor and a rubber-bullet gun. 

The haze of sleepiness and exhaustion and pent-up frustration and roiling, thunderous energy in his veins is killing every idea in his head. 

Look at your situation, think of what you have that 16 or 14 doesn’t. 

“...So you are you gonna suck 16’s dick or nah?” 83 asks him vaguely from across the hall. 

Sucking dicks is thinking outside the box, right? Jack half-wonders to himself, half to whatever sliver of Gabriel exists in his exhausted mind.  He can practically see Gabriel’s shrug - Gabriel would understand if Jack sucked a dick to get out of jail.  Gabriel would probably do that himself. 

Had Gabriel sucked his guard’s dick for the key? 

The thought alone makes his head pound harder. 

Jack grunts, “Fuck off.  Get 99 to do it.” 

“Dude, I fucking will,” 99 whines but 100 snorts, “16 won’t want you, asshole.  At least 76 is attractive.” 

Reflexively, Jack makes a face as 78 chuckles. 

“Y’all know I fucking hear you, right?” Jack asks loudly and 100 calls back, “Oh, we know.  We just don’t care.” 

Think, Jack.  Think about your advantages. 

I don’t have any, Gabriel. You can think outside of the box.  I can’t.  I’m not like you.  I’m not good enough.  Not smart enough. 

I’m inside the box. 

I’ve always been inside the box.  

---------

(More content under the cut)

---------

Sharpshooter: Hit Me Like A Drum (Rating: T - McHanzo): At this point in his life, Jesse is used to the stares. Doesn’t matter where he goes, people oogle him. Well, okay, not entirely true - some parts of Central and Southern America still got some authentic vaqueros and oddly enough some banditos, but even there, Jesse’s height makes him stand easily above most heads and shoulders. 

And yes, okay, maaaaybe the hat doesn’t help. But he’ll let the Devil drag him to Hell kicking and screaming before giving up the damn thing. 

So he barely notices the glances the poor patrons of Rikimaru are shooting his way when someone behind him taps him just above his right elbow. 

Jesse jerks a little, startling out of his semi-mosing thoughts and vacant-eyed stare at the menu to twist and little and glance behind him and oh Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Arizona Diamondbacks, what a gorgeous face. 

The man behind him is a beautiful mix of high, sweeping curves and careful angles - his face is fairly chiseled but features a softness to it that is offset by the neatly trimmed beard and steady glint in his deep, dark eyes. His jet-black hair, peppered on the sides with some strands of grey, is pulled back into a small ponytail at the back of his head, and Jesse thinks he sees a long yellow...ribbon holding it back. But otherwise the man is dressed in a simple sweatshirt and some black jeans except that - 

Is that a fucking bow and quiver? Jesse wonders. The man is not much shorter than him - only a few inches - but Jesse can see something slung over his shoulder and something else that looks suspiciously like a bunch of arrow feathers poking out from behind his back. 

Jesse flicks his eyes from the apparent quiver back to the man’s amazing face and his dark eyes and immediately knows two things: 

1 - This man is absolutely the most handsome person Jesse has ever had the blessed fortune of meeting. 

2 - He does not understand a word coming out of the man’s mouth. 

“...Pardon?” Jesse asks absently, blinking awkwardly. The...archer (?) tilts his head a little and scowls a bit - oh jackrabbit turds, I pissed him right off - before saying in flawless English, “It is your turn.” 

Oh. Jesse thinks lamely. English. 

“Oh uh, thanks, partner,” Jesse says awkwardly, glancing back towards the counter where one of the chefs is waiting with an expression of stern politeness that is fading into increasing annoyance. Jesse makes eye contact with the chef and she gives him a small handwave of “hurry up, tourist, I don’t have all day.” 

“Uh…” Jesse glances back sheepishly at the man behind me, giving him an embarrassed smile, “You wouldn’t happen to know which one is the spicy pork ramen, would you?” 

The man’s scowl fades for a quick second before returning, and he says with startlingly serious focus, “Oh. You can’t read it.” 

“Uh…no, sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse apologizes without thinking and the man raises an eyebrow, asking, “‘Darling?’” 

OH FUCK ME AND MY DUMB ASS 

Why, yes, please do, the wiseass side of Jesse cracks in his head and he fucking flounders over the barrage of shame and embarrassment and attraction. 

“Oh, damn, shit, sorry - oh cheese on a cracker, I shouldn’t be swearing, oh god you’re gonna think I was never taught manners - shoot, sugar, I’m so sorry, it’s a bad habit I got from my pa and - Shit, I just did it again - sorry, it’s been a long trip here and, oh Lord, I just swore again, this is so embarrassing -” 

A startled look of wonder blossoms on the man’s face and if Jesse wasn’t so fucking flustered, he would love to try and mentally catalogue how the man looks so open and surprised. Jesse is in the middle of tripping over his words when the unthinkable happens.  

A miracle occurs. 

The man gives a surprisingly broad and genuinely happy grin and starts to laugh.   --------- Segador: It Is Not Him (Rating - T):

Gabriel practically jogs up to her in the hallway to the main entrance, muttering, “Gabrielle…  Gabrielle… Adawe, fucking stop.”

That gets her attention, and she snaps around towards him with a fierce stare, squaring herself up to him rather impressively with her short stature as she whispers dangerously, “Do not take that tone of voice with me, Gabriel -”

“I can’t do this.”

Adawe pauses because -

There’s a cracking in his voice.

Gabriel knows he has problems conveying his emotions - Jack always jokes that Gabriel’s face could make a bed of nails look soft.  Gabriel knows he has problems expressing himself - he can never find the right words to say.  Gabriel knows he has problems opening up - his heart struggles behind the layers of steel and bravado and taunting sarcasm, barriers only a select few have managed to get past.

Gabriel knows he has problems taking pictures.

Gabriel locks onto her dark eyes and -

He wouldn’t call it begging, per se -

But he’s definitely pleading with her:

“Please… Please, Gabrielle - we need to talk about this,” he says softly and Adawe’s dark mood lightens a bit as she says to him gently, “...It is just a few pictures, Gabriel.”

“...It’s not the pictures, Gabrielle.”

Adawe’s eyes - normally so bright and lively, now turned solemn and serious - search his for an answer and Gabriel whispers, dangerously close to feeling vulnerable -

He feels uncomfortable.

He feels unlike himself.

“This isn’t me, Gabrielle,” Gabriel says, his voice breaking under the pressure of a too-tight headset and the pressure of a too-tight chestpiece and the weight of carrying an empty rifle that isn’t his, “The meetings, the Security Council, planning city reconstructions, balancing budgets - I’m a general, not a politician.”

“There are still many parts of the world under great violence, Gabriel,” she reminds him, with a gentle pressure but a pressure nonetheless, “The world still needs you as Commander.”

“Out there, on the battlefield, sure, yeah, fuck, I’ll fight, I’ll always fight, but this?” Gabriel says, gesturing to himself, to the ridiculous blue pieces of armor and the empty rifle, “This is playing fucking dress-up -”

“Funny,” Adawe smirks at him, “I thought you would have liked that, considering your fondness for that American costume holiday.”

“This isn’t fucking Halloween, Adawe,” he snaps, perhaps a touch more...violently than he should have, “This is not what I wore when I was ripping heads off Bastions or tripping up Spiders or even destroying Titans - and it won’t be what I wear when I put down terrorists or gangs or mercenaries.”

“It’s just a photoshoot, Reyes -”

“We need to talk about putting Jack or Ana in charge of Overwatch.”

Adawe stops, her mouth sealing into a tight line and Gabriel scowls at her, muttering in a low, dark, bittersweet growl, his words curling out of his lungs like black smoke, “I’ll fight whatever new battles this damn organization faces, I’ll do whatever needs to be done - whether that’s mercing a few bad guys or cleaning up the leftover Bastions or fucking balancing budgets - but you cannot keep putting this off on me. We both know that this is a fucking sham, my math skills aren’t fucking great, I can't persuade anyone anything for shit, and you need someone who will fight your political battles, who will balance your budgets, who will find great recruits, and who will actually take good photos when you pressure them into it -

“And we both know that is not me.”

#segadores-y-soldados #about me #personal #my writing #my fics #old habits #76+127 #how we were made #hit me like a drum #sharpshooter #segador: it is not him #writing showcase

[to-a-merrier-world]

Webcomic recs!

These are some of my absolute favorite webcomics that I’m reading right now (all are in-progress). They aren’t ranked in any order, since I don’t think I could choose a favorite. Also, all of these have queer themes of some variety, since that’s just how I like my entertainment. Anyways, here we go!

1) Check, Please! by Ngozi Ukazu   (read here)

Description: Eric Bittle—former Georgia junior figure skating champion, vlogger extraordinaire, and amateur pâtissier—is starting his freshman year playing hockey at the prestigious Samwell University in Samwell, Massachusetts. And it’s basically nothing like co-ed club hockey back in the South. For one? There’s checking. It’s a story about hockey and friendship and bros and trying to find yourself during the best 4 years of your life. 

My notes: This is one of the more popular webcomics around right now, at least from what I’ve seen, and that popularity is well-deserved. The characters are well-written, unique, and very fun; the story has a good pacing and keeps you engaged; and the art is really nice. I’m personally very fond of this comic because I, too, am a queer Southern guy person, so I can really relate to Bitty and all his struggles and idiosyncrasies. Plus, it’s cute, sweet, has relatable angst, and is already promised to have a happy ending, so what more could I ask for? Also, pie. And hockey butts. And no need for any knowledge on actual hockey. Need I say more?

2) No End by  Erli & Kromi (read here)

Description: No End is a romantic soap opera webcomic about a group of people trying to survive and make lives for themselves in a cold, post-apocalyptic world ravaged by hordes of undead. Heavy on LGBTQ+ themes, content warning for occasional blood, gore, violence and strong language. 

My notes: This comic guys. THIS. COMIC. It’s so good, okay; so good. I’m not even all that into zombies (I’ve only liked In the Flesh and Warm Bodies, as far as zombie stuff goes, if that tells you anything), and I love this comic. I literally read all of it (that was out at the time) last year in one sitting. That good, y’all. The characters are great and surprise you at different turns, the relationships are engaging and realistic, and the art is drop-dead (ha) gorgeous. 

3) Sunshine-Boy (Leftovers) by Moosopp (read here)

Description: Sunshine Boy is about a boy named Kelly, moving to a new environment and struggling to fit in. Growing up in a loving house hold and having supporting parents. He has to learn that the world isn't as nice as he thought it would be. 

My notes: Y’aaaall, this artist is quite possibly my favorite artist, ever. I don’t even know, their style just makes me feel things, ok. Also, this is probably the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. It’s still going, and there are future content warnings for violence/bullying/drug use/sexual content, so it may not stay so lighthearted and cute, but I love it, so. I also just recommend this artist/writer in general, cause all their works are wonderful and gorgeous. Besides my obvious hard on for their art, though, the story has a nice flow and the characters are all really unique and interesting--you can really tell that there’s more to them than what we’ve seen, and I’m personally very excited to see where all these characters go.

4) Les Normaux by KnightJJ (read here)

Description: Les Normaux follows the lives of a bunch of supernatural beings living in Paris after a human wizard named Sebastien moved to the city. 

My notes: Honestly, what’s better than queer characters, Paris, and modern mythical/supernatural creatures in a slice-of-life style comic? Not much. This is a really cool comic that changes which character they highlight in each episode. The character designs are unique; everyone has different problems, solutions, and happy moments, but they’re all connected in one way or another, which is super cool; and I really dig the art style (ok, I know I say this about everything, but I just really love art, ok? All of these people are wonderfully talented and hardworking).

5) George and Johnny by Savi (read here)

Description: Comics about two unlikely friends, George and Johnny. Stayed tuned for bad jokes, high school, sleepovers, bands, romance, burgers, and tiramisu. ((not necessarily in that order)) 

My notes: A comic that has a sweet, chubby, nerdy guy as one of the main characters? Sign me the fuck up. This is an extremely sweet and wholesome comic about two boys becoming close friends (and possibly something else? yet to see...). It’s very much a slice-of-life kind of comic, concentrating on characters and their relationships, and I honestly love it so much. The art style is also really pretty, especially the coloring, which is typically bright and kinda pastel, which I really dig. 

6) Sharp Zero by robotsharks (read here)

Description: Delivering takeout normally doesn't end with lethal exposure to superscience, but Elliot's habit of being at the wrong place at the wrong time lands him in a shitshow that ends up with being brought back from the dead with the help of Danny, the cute intern who he died hitting on. His new form of undead life gives him new powers and recognition from a high ranking superhero organization. While running with the heroes he used to worship, Elliot learns what it really means to be alive. 

My notes: Y’all. Do words even exist to describe my love for this comic? I don’t think they do. The art? Gorgeous. The writing? Interesting, well-paced, and hilarious. The characters? Unique, beautiful, and deliciously diverse. There’s superheroes. There’s the supernatural. There’s aliens. This comic has got it all and it’s amazing. I’ve never seen something so specifically my kind of thing, but this is hitting everything I love, plus its got gorgeous art. Need I really say more?

7) Long Exposure by mars (read here)

Description: Long Exposure is an ongoing webcomic about a nerd and a bully who are forced to work on a class project together. The story revolves around them developing super powers after an incident at a strange research center, and finding themselves followed by a mysterious car, overcoming personal challenges, and (most importantly) discovering how gay they are for each other. 

My notes: I was actually kinda unsure about this comic before I read it, since the whole enemies to lovers trope isn’t often my thing (only if it’s done really well). But after reading what’s been posted? I love it. These characters are imperfect people who the author treats as imperfect people, and they do it really well. Also, their art style is sooo cool and unique, I dig it a lot. Also, I’m really digging where the story is going and how they’re handling it, thus far, so I’m super excited to keep reading it.

8) Heavy Horns by Joane Kwan (read more)

Description: Guy meets guy, but it isn't love at first sight. Just how will Andreas ever get along with the enthusiastic Beau remains to be seen. An unromantic romance. Warning: Can be nsfw, also, these two swear a lot. 

My notes: Okay, so admittedly the first thing that caught my eye with this comic was that one of the main characters literally has horns. Like. Legit horns. Growing out of his head. It works for him, though. Anyways, this is a cool fic and I really like where it’s going, cause it’s really highlighting some of the struggles that queer people face, especially relationship wise. The art is also really gorgeous, with unique character designs that I dig a lot (no, it’s not just because of the guy with the bull horns... I actually like Beau’s characters design the most...).

9) Griefer Belt by Kales (read here)

Description: Griefer Belt is a slice of life series about queer criminals in the black market! Light-hearted dark humor ensues! Contains violence, gore, foul language and sexual references.

My notes: This is a fun one. All the characters have very... grey morality, considering they’re all in the business of black market organs selling (and no, I don’t mean the instrument). But! The characters are fun, the writing is funny, and the art is great. And, honestly, who doesn’t love a little dark humor every once in a while?

Special Mentions:

Memory Born by theroyalglasses (read here) -- there hasn’t been much written for this one yet, but the art is rad and I dig the concept.

Improvise by robotsharks (read here) -- very new, and very fun; same author as Sharp Zero, only this one is about lady assassins. Nice.

A Turn for Change by Kace (read here) -- not a lot has happened yet in this comic, but I dig the characters, and the art style is pretty rad.

Same Shit Different Day by Moosopp (read here) -- by the same author as Sunshine Boy, this is kinda just a mini comic about the artist’s life. I’m still in love with the art, and we also, apparently, have similar senses of humor, so I genuinely find this comic hilarious

And that’s it! I hope you can find something you love, too, out of this list. And if you end up getting into any of these, come chat with me! I’m always up for chatting about these comics! 

#webcomics #webcomic #rec list #mine #long post