Parking Ticket - Dick Grayson x Reader

Prompt: Soulmate au with Dick where when you touch your soulmate for the first time you see their most vivid memory and one day you trip while passing officer Grayson in the street and he catches you but you see his parents death???

You’re having a shit day, the kind of day where the entire world seemed out to get you. Yeah, it was that kind of day.

It all started when you woke up and realized that your phone charger died in the middle of the night, taking your phone down with it. You woke up an hour late for work and found yourself hurrying to get your ass out of bed and on your way. The universe decided to fuck you over again when a construction crew had closed the street that had the parking lot that you were allowed to park on and was rerouting all traffic. At that point you decided fuck it, you’ll just park in a two hour parking space and move it during your lunch break, hoping to god that you didn’t get a parking ticket.

The next bit of fuck-youness the world threw your way was the wrath of your asshat boss. He laid it into you for being late and loaded your plate with a fuckton of work as punishment. Your day at work was one of the worst in your memory and it was only half over. You went on your lunch break as soon as possible and left the building to move your car to a more legal spot.

Just to fucking spite you, you got to your car just as an officer was writing you a parking ticket.

“Oh my god! Please! I was just about to move it!” You cried as you ran towards him. You hoped that this man showed you pity but you doubted it, judging by how your day had gone thus far. The officer glanced back at you and dear lord was he handsome, so there’s that at the very least.

“I’m sorry ma’am but this is a two hour parking zone. I have to write you a ticket.” He explained calmly.

“Please …” You pleaded looking down at his name tag, “Officer Grayson. I’ve had the shittiest day you could possibly imagine and it’s not even done yet. Can I get a little bit of sympathy here?” You asked reaching out to still the hand he was using to write your ticket. Instead of seeing his look of sympathy or at worst annoyance you were thrust back into a memory that wasn’t your own.

You were at some sort of circus, you think. You stood high above on the trapeze platform as the crowd cheered loudly from down below.

“Ladies and Gentlemen it is my honor to present to your for your delight and delectation … the FLYING GRAYSONS!” The ringmaster announced from below. Suddenly the spotlight shifted over to the young couple standing at the edge of the platform in front of you. They smiled brightly and waved at the audience before the man took hold of the trapeze bar and began their routine. Soon enough the man’s wife joined him in the air, gracefully flying between the swing of the bars, as if they were born to be in the air.  A small dark haired boy sat cross legged on the platform, happily cheering on his parents but clearly desiring to be up in the air with them. Maybe one day …

Everything seemed to be going flawlessly until you caught sight of the taut line wobbling mid swing. Your eyes focused in on the fraying line but you were powerless to stop what happened next. The line broke and the young couple started falling without a safety net to catch them.

NO!” The young boy screamed reaching helplessly out to his parents but it was too late.

The scene faded away and you were thrust back into reality with the handsome officer staring at you wide eyed. You pulled you hand away from him and wiped the stray tear from your eye.

“I-I’m sorry.” You apologized, not really knowing what to say. He had been that boy from that memory, and if you were seeing his memories that would mean … well that would mean that your day wasn’t complete shit after all. This poor man who had seen too much in his life is your soul mate

“It’s alright.” He dismissed. “You know what? Forget this.” He said crumpling up your parking ticket and offered you a smile. “Would you like to go out sometime?” He asked. You nodded and took the crumpled ticket from his hand along with his pen.

“I’d love that. I have to get back to work now but here’s my number.” You said scribbling down your phone number on the paper and slipping into his pocket. You were just about to turn around and head back towards your work when he called out to you

“Hey wait! You may be my soul mate but you still can’t park here!”

anonymous asked:

I know I'd like to see John draw Alex (or try to). P:

This ends kind of abruptly, but it’s late and I’m tired.


John is a distant, comfortable presence on the edge of Alex’s peripheral vision, seated on the other side of the library table, bent over a notebook as Alex pores over an incredibly dense legal brief about haunted properties. He notices John without noticing him, seeing him switch notebooks and rip pages out and erase angrily without actually watching him.

“If you’re not doing anything important, you should help me with this,” Alex murmurs, chewing on the cap of his pen.

“How the fuck do you know I’m not doing anything important?” John asks. “Also, fuck you, if I wanted to write a paper about parapsych legal precedents, I would have taken a class about parapsych legal precedents.”

“But you love talking about this shit,” Alex definitely doesn’t whine.

“So what? Talking about it isn’t the same as studying it, which is a fucking nightmare and a half.”

John hasn’t looked up for the entire length of the conversation, but he has started to frown down at his notebook. He sighs and rips out the page he’s been scribbling on, crumpling it up and tossing it into the wastepaper basket on the floor next to their table. It’s only when he lifts his hands that Alex realizes that it’s not a notebook John’s been writing in–he’s been sketching. Which is a whole other level of weird: Alex doesn’t think he’s ever seen John physically rip a page out of his sketchbook, but he’s now done it at least twice since they got to the library.

“Are you sketching?” he asks, even though he knows that asking John directly about his art always carries a fifty percent chance of silent rebuke.

“I’m giving up sketching,” John says. He closes his sketchbook and snaps the elastic around it, then drops it unceremoniously back into his bag. “I’m gonna go get a smoothie or something if you’re gonna be doing this for a while. Come find me after.”

Keep reading

Sisterheart you are paindrunk
shaking moondark fingertips map the bones of your shame
I know you your hurthiding your laughlies your fancyfree stumblestep
the streetlights sing to the solar system

we are here
we are lifestruck and hungry for beyond
the sidewalk is the truth
at the end of the world

you should have been my mother’s daughter
you who wear her tightlipped MonaLisa secretsmile
you who are fluent in the language of her silence
you who are melancholy perfection

and I love you for your youness
my soft sad sister in this cobblestone foundfamily
someday we’ll shed the scarscraps from our skinselves
tonight there is hope for us yet

—  Sisterheart, R.A.D.C.

anonymous asked:

What's a scapegoat? How do I ground and center?

Scapegoats! Yes! I love scapegoats! Basically, a scapegoat is a magical representation of yourself that, if any harmful magic is thrown your way, will absorb the energies before letting them get to you. There are many different ways to make and use scapegoats, but I personally like the use of witch’s bottles. 

My Scapegoating Method

Get a small glass bottle or jar. Fill the bottom with sea salt (purification). This is optional, but you can also add in some glass or mirror shards to reflect the negative energies back to the sender. I then usually layer more salt on top of this along with some protective herbs. Add in something black like cloth, ashes, paper, black salt, or a black stone to absorb negativity. Top it off with a physical representation of yourself. Hair, nail clippings, or blood/saliva works best since it’s the most ~you~. Either cork it or cap it and seal the bottle with wax (I use black wax, but any should be fine). Place the scapegoat in a window if you can, but if you can’t, no biggie. Check up on the bottle every so often and see if there are any imprints in the wax, the contents look disturbed, there are cracks in the bottle, etc. This means that it has absorbed enough negative energy to ‘break’ the scapegoat, so you will want to check yourself to see if any remaining curse-juice got on you as well as create a new scapegoat. 

The Theory

Here’s how I explain my scapegoats. You start out with your ~youness~ so that if someone does try to inflict harm on you, the curse senses the energy of the scapegoat and goes to that first. It will target the scapegoat because the energy is much lower; you have natural defense on your energy that are inherit to your being. The scapegoat does not. Curses will always go for the easier target unless they are specifically designed by a talented witch to go through protective charms. Once it reaches the bottle and goes through the first layer (your hair/nails/etc), it’s going to get pulled in by your Something Black and the negative energy is going to begin to be absorbed. If the curse makes it past this layer, it’ll be hit by your salt and herbs, which will remove a big chunk of the nasty. If there’s more of the curse there, it’ll hit the glass/mirror if you decided to include that and what remains of the negative energy will bounce back to the original caster. In the event that there is any curse-juice left, the remaining salt will absorb what remains, BUT this isn’t foolproof, and if it’s a strong curse, it might go through all of the protective measures and still get to you, which is why if you notice a broken scapegoat, you should check yourself for baneful magic as well. 

Here are two more posts on scapegoats: x | x

Now, I don’t do much work with grounding and centering because I’m a pretty grounded person as is, so I can’t help you too much there with my own advice/opinions, BUT here are, like, six people who can: 

Grounding & Centering: I | II | III | IV | V | VI 

Hope this helped!