🇳🇱 Netherlands Please, Turkey 🇹🇷 Cannot Win So The Coach Needs To Step Up And Put My Husband

All hail the queen

🙇🏽‍♀️

The most sweetest and gentlest Jason Todd fic I have read 😖💕

𝓜𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝓐𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 — 𝓙. 𝒕𝒐𝒅𝒅

𝓢 YNOPSIS : : you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love, love, love you.

𝓒ONTENTS : : yearner!jason todd. yearner!reader. female!reader. injuries( his scars. not detailed, the fic is sfw ). mentions of the lazarus pit. povs are separated ( still in second person. jason's first, then reader's ). ooc(?) jason feeling underserving woah woah woah. fluff. angst (?). mentions of sex. some parts are inspired by lyrics. ( new ) established relationship. no beta read, we die like bruce's parents. wc : 2.4k

BOOKS — DC BOOK

REQUESTED ; SUGGESTED : : @yeoniverseee && @laufeysgoddess

ᨦ𓏲 ، ݃♟❜ : : this is kind of,, a remake of this,,, if u squint.. layout slightly inspired by @laufeysgoddess ' carrd mwah mwah.,, ig it can be gn!reader, ithinkitjinkiithink also. i made hannie & ellie pick a fic to remake & they picked this !! & i was feeling very most ardently these days lolzsk. i am a STRONG believer that jay cried the first time he has sex with someone he really, really loves. like my "my love, mine all mine" fic,, JAY DED CRIED THERE SHUT UP. okay, now im really just recycling the pictures and layouts hehehehe. also,, 800???? YOU GUYS?????? ARE???? 800??? EIGHT HUNDRED ?????? EIGHT FUCKING HUNDRED ???? IM MAKING BABIES W U ALL. some parts here are actually what i said to @fromdove 😋( this is also dedicated to her btw. all of my works r prolly dedicated to her, hannie & ellie ) i love her ( including my cherries ) as much as i love jay, btw !! i tried to be poetic, guys. i really did🥀. idk if i hate this or love THEM. also... @yintous jinxed the crying part........ yin, you freak. this took me a whole week gng #writersblockslanderer. probably not ur taste in fics bc it's more focused on how they love

every time. every single time he finds himself staring at you too long, he hears it in his head like a fucking prayer. not that he's still into that kind of thing, but anyway. there's something sacred about the way you smile at him. something that gives him the sense that he has god's favorite secret beside him on the couch, his hoodie wrapped around your with her hair tied up in a bun and your toes against his thigh.

he thinks you're unreal. and maybe a little unfair. because you're soft with him. too soft. you're gentle in ways he doesn't think he deserves, like you were made to prove him wrong just by existing in his space. just by existing on this planet, actually.

it's a new relationship. not new in the way that it's uncomfortable or awkward. just new enough that he still feels the flutter in his belly when you kiss him first. just new enough that anything little you do still surprises him.

like how you touch his scars.

not with pity. not with horror. and obviously, not even with that unattached interest people sometimes get. no. you touch them like they're part of a map you're memorizing. like your fingers are tracing out every inch of what made him and you don't want to miss a single marker.

"this one," you said once, tracing over the raised scar near his ribs, "looks like a half moon."

and he looked at you like you'd said something ridiculous. because who the hell gazes at a scar━━a remnant of a knife that nearly killed him( not really )━━and thinks of the fucking moon?

you do. apparently.

he wants to write that down somewhere. with a permanent marker. place it into the back of his head so he'll never forget the way you looked at him that way. like you saw something lovely in all the spaces he thought were destroyed. maybe a tattoo would do.

sleeping beside you is its own kind of pain. he doesn't sleep much, usually. his body doesn't find stillness comfortable. but when you're in his arms, curled into his chest, breathing slow and steady and trusting him with your entire heart, he sleeps like the dead. it's dangerous. it's silly( not to you ). it's addictive. he wakes with his arm around your waist and his nose pressed to the back of your neck and wonders if perhaps this is what peace feels like.

god, not once in his life. even when bruce wayne took him in, thought he'd get to feel that.

and when you kiss him━━god, when you kiss him━━it's like you can feel what he wants before he can. you kiss him slow. careful. sometimes sloppy, sometimes quick. but always as if he belongs to you. as if there is another place in the entire world you'd rather be. and he breaks down. melt. dissolves for it every time. he leans into it with his entire body, as if the only thing holding him to reality is your lips on his.

having sex with you isn't forgetting. not with him. not anymore.

it's not an escape. or temporary. it's a return. a coming home. it's permanent.

you're kind to him. not only in kisses. but in the way you look at him when he undresses in front of you. in the way you stroke his back like it's holy. in the way you whisper his name like it's fragile.

he recalls the first time you had sex. the day he first cried while having sex with you. recalls how he attempted to hide it. bury his face in your shoulder and try to convince himself that it was merely sweat. but you were aware. of course, you were aware. and you kissed his temple and whispered, "i've got you," as if he wasn't shattering in your hands.

you make him believe that he is worth the gentleness. worth, this.

and perhaps he is. perhaps, with you, he is.

because you stay. even when he's not speaking. even when he's being grumpy or distant or two steps away from breaking. you stay. you wrap yourself around him and fetch him tea and refuse to ask him questions he doesn't want to respond to. and somehow, that gets him to speak. not everything. but enough. enough for you to understand.

he spoke to you about the pit. once. and only once. you didn't flinch. just gripped his hand. and said he was here. now. with you.

he trusts you.

and that shit scares him.

love was never simple for him. even before the pit. it was always rough. always a distance. but with you, it is. still. not in the boring sense. in the safe sense. in the "i can finally breathe again" sense. it's rough. but no longer a distance.

sometimes you're singing in the kitchen. poorly. on purpose. or not. and he leans in the doorframe and listens to you spin around in your socks, spatula clutched like a microphone, and he thinks, i could die right now and it would be enough.

he doesn't say anything. not yet. but he thinks about it all the time.

and he loves you. most ardently. passionately. in every possible way that a person can love.

in the way he remembers your coffee order and has a hair tie wrapped around his wrist for you.

in the way he allows you to see him when he's at his worst.

in the way he handles you like you're fragile. like you're not. like you're his.

in the way he sleeps more soundly when you're breathing next to him.

in the way he wishes to believe again in the future.

he loves you. hurtfully. shamelessly. completely. perfectly.

and if he could cut that into the sky, he would.

he loves you in the "let's run barefoot across the universe together" sort of way.

to saturn and back and then beyond.

to the spaces between stars where time loses track of how to move.

and jason todd━━jason peter fucking todd━━doesn't want to be rescued anymore. the child. the second robin. red hood. jason todd.

they all just want to stay.

with you.

he has no idea what he looks like when he is in love. but you do.

you've committed it to memory. tattooed it( at least, in your mind you did ) near your heart. the gentle droop of his eyelids when he gazes at you as if you're a dream. the slight opening of his lips, as if there is something he would like to say but can't. how his hand lingers in mid air before it settles on the small of your back, as if requesting permission still, even now, despite all that has happened.

he stares at you as if you're the last sacred thing in a world of tombs.

and you feel it. every ounce of the burden he bears. not because he loads it onto you, but because he never does. he bears it all as though he was meant to endure it alone, and you have to press yourself into the crack just to make him remember that he doesn't have to. not anymore.

you love him like breathing. all the time, without thinking, with no effort at all. it's just there. like his name on your tongue. like his shirts in your drawer. like the way your heart slows when you hear the front door open and it's him. again. and god, you never felt more real.

you remember the first time he told you about the pit. how his voice sounded like it was scraping the edge of something sharp. how he didn’t look at you, didn’t blink, just stared at the floor like it held the truth and the punishment and the apology all at once.

he said it like it was a confession. like it would be the thing that finally pushed you away. that will make you want to not stay.

it didn't.

you simply leaned over, wrapped your fingers around his, and told him, "you're here now."

he blinked then. just once. as if he was trying to process your words. as if he had no idea that something so simple could mean so much.

sometimes, you wonder if jason todd doesn't know that he's still alive.

not just breathing. but alive.

in the way his eyebrow creases when you laugh too loudly. in the way he rolls his eyes when you steal fries from his plate but pushes the rest up towards you anyway. in the way he allows you to sit on his lap with a book in your hand, not saying a word, just,, existing.

his scars don't frighten you. they never have.

he showed them to you as if he was getting ready to be turned down. again. god. it's like he expects you to just vanish. as if he was showing you the remains of a city he didn't think anyone would want to live in.

you touched them all. one by one. kissed the one under his rib. trailed your fingers over the one that curves into his shoulder. learned the mosaics of him with devotion. patience.

"you're not broken," you told him. "you're written."

he didn't say a word for a long time afterward. just gazed at you like you'd reached into your pocket and pulled out the sun and given it to him.

he tries━━no━━he does his best. every day. every time.

that's what bothers you the most. the way he's doing so hard. not to be good. not to be complete. but to be gentle with you. to be with you. even when it hurts. even when he's afraid.

you notice it the way he cradles your face like you'll disappear. the way he asks you "this okay?" even when it's just your limbs knotted up on the couch. the way he wears your keys around his neck( just to make sure he won't lose it, he told you once. ) like they're where they're supposed to be.

you recall the first time you had sex.

how he touched you like prayer. how his lips shook against yours. how his voice cracked when he said your name.

you knew. immediately. when his breath caught and his chest faltered and he tried to hide his face in your neck, you knew.

and so you cradled him. gently and slowly. allowed him to rest in your arms as if he were something fragile. kissed his temple and said, "i've got you," repeatedly until he accepted it. until he relaxed.

you don't realize that no one's ever made him feel little before. like that. little as in the safe kind.

he clung to you as if he thought he'd lose you if he relaxed his hold.

he didn't have anything to say then. just sat there. still. for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

he looks at you as if you're cut out of finer stuff. but you look at him and observe someone who has been to hell and is still willing to be kind. still tries. still wakes up every morning and makes coffee and leans his head on your chest as if he's found home.

you'd adore him in all the iterations of this life. even the ones in which you never get to hold him.

but you do. and that's the part that takes your breath away.

when he kisses you, it's all. everything. like he's famished and you're the only thing that ever satisfied him. he kisses you like nothing else exists. like if he died the instant after, it'd be alright. because he got to have this.

when you kiss him back, you kiss him with the same desperation. the same longing.

he once held your face in his hands, he didn't say it. i don't think he needed to. you don't either. the words, "you feel like home." was a line the author made solely for him. to recite it to you, the love interest. his love interest.

and you smiled as though your heart was breaking.

because that's what he is. to you. every hurting bit of him. every bruise and sigh and quiet stare and kisses. he is home. he is the place you come back to. the one you'd wait for lifetimes. the one you'd fall in love with all over again.

he can't say it in words, so he says it in everything else.

he gives you flowers wrapped up in yesterday's newspaper. leaves you little notes in your pockets. sits with you through thunderstorms just because you hate the sound.

he stays.

even when he's exhausted. even when he thinks he shouldn't.

and you do, too.

you stay when he's quiet. when he's distant. when he's hurting and doesn't talk until you're kissing his bruised knuckles.

you stay when he's laughing and when he's too far gone to remember why and how.

you stay because there's not a piece of him you'd want to leave.

you love him in the gentlest ways. in the harshest ones. in all the ways he doesn't believe he's worthy of being loved.

you love him when he's in your bed, breath warm against you, arms wrapped around your waist like a lifeline.

you love him when he's disappeared for hours and returns with your favorite pastry because he "just happened to pass by."

you love him when he refuses to say he's hurting but lays his head in your lap like a silent surrender.

you love him because you do.

because something in you saw something in him and chose him anyway.

and you think━━no, you know━━that he is the great love of your life.

he doesn't think in miracles. but you do.

and you think he could be one.

because somehow, some way, despite it all, despite the blood and the grave and the fucked up environment, he's here.

with you.

and if you could have him write that in the stars, you would.

because you love him in the way the sky turns soft pink when the sun forgets how to hide, disappear, go down.

because you love him in the pauses between words, in the spaces between stars, in every what if, could be, maybe, probably, really, statistically speaking, almost, & someday.

he has bewitched you. body and soul.

and you never want it to shatter.

© spcherryygirl

“is this all you got? they locked me under the floor for sixteen years just for being born!” - octavia blake

favourite characters one / three the best of the hundred

sleep well tonight, lt. curtis biddick

pairing: lt. curtis “curt” biddick x black fem oc

content: curtis isn’t a writer, but he’ll do whatever it takes to keep in contact with his wife during the water.

an: thanks to @turn-thy-paige, we’ve got some new content. thank you for the ideas!

Curtis wasn’t much of a writer. Most of his expression came verbally through run-on sentences or curt responses. But that wasn’t so easy being thousands of miles away from home with no access to a telephone. He hated writing, but he did it for her. He’d do anything for her.

The barracks were quiet. Most of the men had fallen asleep long before he had. The sky was dark, like a blanket had covered the sun. The sounds of wolves howling in the distance and insects chirping in the grass were a gentle melody to his ears.

Curtis tapped the blank paper on the bedside table and brought a pen in his hand. Slowly, he began to write.

Hey honey,

It’s been a long day. I’ve been awake for almost 24 hours and I still can’t seem to go to sleep. Crazy, right? I’ll try my best once I finish this letter.

How have you been? I hope you’re keeping that beautiful smile on your face and staying in the highest of hopes. I miss you dearly. It’s hard to sleep without you; but I guess that’s what happens when you’ve been married to someone for so long. I’ll be back soon, believe me.

How’s the baby doing? I’m hoping this will all be over by the time you go into labor. I try not to think about the possibility of me missing the birth of my son. And yes, it’s a boy and you can’t fight me on it, either. I can’t wait to see what he looks like. Will he have my eyes and your curly hair? Or will he surprise us both and look like a distant family member? Who knows; I’ll love him just the same.

The newbies are interesting to work with. Every time they put on their gear, they start shaking like a leaf. Their fantasies are gone and reality has sunk in. War isn’t for the weak. To be a soldier is more than saluting the flag and shooting guns. It’s a way of life. But, it gets tiresome.

I’m getting tired now and my hand is starting to cramp, but, whatever you do, keep the faith and rest easy. I’ll be home before you know it.

Sleep well tonight.

Love yours forever,

Curt

Soo....ummm

Let's talk abut Boys in the Boat and Masters of the Air because why are the release dates so far away. Someone tell me why hasn't BITB done any press or whtv

Alright, your girl has done it.

It, being -written Brady smut 🙈

Her soul belongs to words and books. Every time she reads, she is home.

Harsh Night

Leave me on the side of the road, pack up my bags and toss them right over, forget the scent of my clothes in your car, pry me out of the depths of your mind, breathe new life into our room we shared, I don't want to know of your new found joy, please be wary of my bare cold shoulders, for the night is harsh on me

~ mitski inspired me to write this short passage on the feeling of being replaced and on the verge of being forgotten

( constructive criticism is welcomed and much needed )

XD

— A. Y.

Hot take but… “Gale was a teen soldier who got brainwashed, by a manipulative dictator, into the idea that sacrificing a small number of troops was worth it to definitively stop the government that had spent years ruining the lives of him and his people” and “Gale’s gross disregard for human life directly led to the death of Prim and thousands of other civilians including children, and Katniss is justified in her anger and has no obligation to ever forgive him” are two statements that can and should coexist together.