#( a hero will save queue just in time )

[keferon]

I’ve been reading through your Spellbound AU and thought of something funny, so naturally I wrote a short story for it.

My take on how Jazz came to work for Orion.

———————————————————————

Jazz slunk across ruined stonework overtaken by forest growth. Form shifting as subtly as the shadows he crossed.

Which would it be?

Tall and slim? Nah, that one already served it’s purpose. The twins saw something lank and dark looming in the trees, and now the young knights were distracted looking over their shoulders.

A hulking brute? No, that’d inspire an all out confrontation. Jazz already had all of them keyed up to act on instinct.

The twins were easy. Young and expecting a straight fight. Pax, his target, was harder to ruffle. He had the reputation of a courageous selfless hero and damned if the mech wasn’t dedicated to the ruse.

Pax wasn’t spooked, but he did take his underlings concerns seriously. He marched forward as a pillar of confidence and safety, but Jazz caught the way his gaze scanned the ruins. His white shadow seemed indifferent, but he was just an audience member anyways, not a real fighter.

Primed to play the part. Pax just needed his queue.

Jazz got into place on his stage. He shifted into something small and weak (in appearance alone). Bent a leg at an unhealthy looking angle, and slumped like he was exhausted and chased here.

Jazz sat with his back against the wall, the partially collapsed stone room was small enough that a mech of Orion’s stature would have difficulty moving quickly. It had the nice bonus of blocking anyone else from coming through the main entry point as well.

Through a crack in the wall, Jazz watched as the leader in blue and red got closer, his “loyal knights” lagging behind. The white one lagged as well, distracted by scolding the twins for being distracted.

Jazz focused on his target. Pulled at a thread from within Pax and strung it within his own chest.

Jazz set his new voice and with all the terror and innocence he could conjure screamed.

H̴͉̮́͂͗̐͌̍̇E̸̡̞̅̎̒͗͂L̷̛̻͎̮̽̏͝͝P̴̛̭͈͌̔̃̊͛̓ ̶͉̩̖̔͛͋̃ͅP̴̫͔̖͔̼͗̑̔͘͝L̸͓̣͖̫̭͎̊́̑̀͐̈́Ḙ̶͕̪̳̟̥͂̓̈̅͂͝Á̵̖̳̱͙͋ ̸̭̤̹̔͑͒̈͆̓͘Ȏ̵̡̥͈̪̟͛́̑͆̐͜Ḣ̷̡̻̪̘̯̹̊̂́̒͠ ̷̭̭͕̙̟̬͈̇̄̌̅̂̚̕W̸̺̯̦͔̼͇̄H̷͖͛̎͐̄͊̂͝À̶̘̙̈́̎͛̒͘ͅṰ̴̻͉̜͂̐̽̀̇ ̴̬͓̝̞̀̆̕T̸̙̖̲̺̯̆͛͜Ḥ̵̱͚͕͔̆̉ͅȆ̶͙̆́́̌̋ ̵̧͔͔̰̰̰͕̿͂̆̂̅̅F̵͕̘̰͓̓̔͜͜U̵̧̝̳̔̍̇̅̿͜͜͝Ç̵͎̎̓̒̓̊̂K̷̨̈́?̶̱͈̖̺̘͓͆̄͒͋

He slapped a hand over his mouth.

Outside, everyone went deathly quiet. Jazz didn’t dare move.

“Um.” Spoke their fearless leader.

Who apparently had thing for asthmatic dragons.

“Are you alright in there?”

Movement started to approach his hidey hole. Jazz could still salvage this. He could.

The white shadow came through first. Damn it. New plan: save own life.

Jazz plucked a new voice from him and made himself look as unthreatening as possible.

“ - ?! !”

Nothing. He loves the concept of nothing. Not even a celebrity crush? A favorite singer? The sound of his own voice?

Some of the functionalists were like that. That’s probably half the reason they “allowed” him to take on their commissions. All the money in their coffers wasn’t worth this however.

The white mech frowned, scanning over Jazz with a cold blue look. He turned back to the entrance, “Sir, there is a ‘hypothetically’ injured person inside the building. Most likely they orchestrated our current circumstances in an attempt to assassinate you.”

Jazz lunged from the wall, dagger slipping between armor gaps to pierce the spoil-sports spark, ready to dash past in the resulting chaos when his lifeless body guttered before them.

And just like his voice, Jazz got nothing instead.

He gaped at the way his blade cut into hollow air beneath the plates. Numbly, he pulled out his dagger and stabbed again, like it’d do something different this time. The mech was unamused.

“Sir, the assassin is trying to assassinate me.”

Jazz pulled a working voice, “I̷͕͍̓̒͝ͅ’̵̝̂m̵̼̲̓́ ̷͚̑́͗͜n̶̢̬͈̉o̷̦̓̎͝ṱ̶̟̼͒͊ ̵̨̮̠̿̀ǎ̷̫̹n̶̫̜̚̕ ̸̹͙͐a̵̛̯̻̹s̶͍̈́s̵̳̲͎͂a̷̻͉̅͆̑s̴̛̫̞̽̈s̵̳̑į̸̝̽̊n̷̙̟̤͊!̸̪̃”. And discontinued his failing assassin attempt to cringe.

A massive hand closed around Jazz’s wrist, stopping him cold.

“Do not.” Orion lessened his grip but did not release him, “Harm my friends.”

Jazz had to crane his head back considerably to make eye contact. Orion was built like a brick house and Jazz had enough experience fighting mechs like him to know his kill window was gone.

Groveling it is!

“Į̷̧̲̍͝ ̴̟̩̗̀̿̊a̵̹͙̔m̵̀̽̾��̠̜̳͍ ̷͕͕̔̿͆̂s̸̡͋ơ̵̦̜ ̶͍̫͔͔̒̈̈́̌s̶̻͓͔̆͜ò̸͙̥̻̀r̷̢̠̈r̵̘͑̎͂y̸̰͓͆͗̔.̵̯͇́̌͒ ̵̳̞̏̇̕I̶̦͚̦͠’̸̞̯͙̟́ḿ̵̢̜̅̍͜ͅ ̴̮̩͓̀̓̈͜j̷̻̒̀u̷̯͂͋ŝ̴̭͇̱͎͑͆ẗ̶͎̬͗́͝ ̷̥̰̗̃a̸̼̫̦̾̚ ̶͕͉̓͌͋͝d̴͖̗̰̒̎̈͘ͅe̸̗̞̤̲̽͗̈́͛s̸̖͐p̵̢̎͊e̴̢͖͉͑̿̾͘r̶̩̬̰̈́́ą̵̧̰̋̊͝t̶̻̯̞̦̆e̷̱̥̪̍͜ ̴̠̱̼̣̌̾t̴̙̐̔h̵̟̪͈͛̚ǐ̶͕ě̴̻̺f̸͕̠̯̤̀̆!̷̗̩̩̃̽ ̷̮̩̆̾Ǐ̷͍̭ ̴͕͕́ṅ̸̗̰e̸̯̱̝͚͆͂v̴̛͓͉͇̍́e̴̺̞͖͂͑̏͐͜r̶̢̼͠ ̴̗͙̐͒̋̚m̸͓͆͐e̶̱̩͕̐̚͠a̵͉͇̟̺̋̇̑n̶̢̖̙̣̾͝t̷̘̔ ̵̦̉̈́̈́͗t̵̳̻͇̔̎̃͜o̴͈͖̓ ̵̬̦̞͖͌͋͂͆h̷̲̓͑̎̃a̵̛͇̾͗r̵̠̗̩̾̏̈̚m̸̭̃ ̷̢̗͇͈͑͊a̵̧̠͑̒̚ ̵̢͉̮̌̀k̵̼͈͎̳͒̀̐͂ǹ̸̛̘͈͔í̶͓̜̜͉g̸̨̖̗̜̽͊ĥ̷͉̫͉̻̾̽̉t̵̜̣̲̹̑ ̸̡͒̃o̶̮͉̺͝r̷̬̎̓̚͝ ̵̡̠̩̓̈́̐̏ḣ̶̨͖̼̥̎́i̶̖̋͝s̷̻͍̭̒͜ ̵̢̖͓̿̍̌̾f̶̣̜̒̎r̶̝̈͊̍̋ǐ̶̝͓̱̱̆̐ẹ̷́̅n̴̢̛̘̍ḑ̷̪̈́̀͒̚ŝ̷͍̹!̷̪͙͕̬̐ ̵̨̡͆̏P̸̧̢̼̿͝l̶̡̧͔̳̍̉͋̆ẽ̶͉ȁ̸̦̜̤̀̉ͅs̴̮̙͍̘̐̂̉e̴͇͚͊̔̈́͋ ̸̧̳͒̈̃͠h̸̡̧̰͛̈͐ͅḁ̷͔̗̱̓̌̉v̸͖̼͓̜̽̏ę̵̬̤͎̄̅̓͆ ̷͍̯̗̥̋̀͛̉m̸̹͈͔̑͂͠ͅé̴͎͕ȑ̴̢̖̘̎c̴͙͇͙̤̐̔͒̕y̷̨͈͗͛͛!̶̹͝͝”

Orion cringed behind the mask.

“I- I’m sorry I don’t think I quite understood that.” He paused, “Would…you like a cough drop?”

Orion seemed to take stock of what he had on him, patting his sides with his free hand. He turned to the white mech.

“Prowl, would you happen to…um nevermind.” He turned to the twins, “Sunstreaker?Sideswipe? Do either of you have a cough drop?”

The twins searched their pockets for a magically appearing cough drop. Jazz searched for his sanity.

Jazz plucked a voice from the twins and couldn’t care less which it came from.

“Listen!” Oh thank fuck the twins were normal.

Jazz smiled while slowly uncurling Orions fingers from his wrist. Prowl narrowed his gaze at the new voice.

“You got me! I’m a thief! And I panicked! And I am so, so, so-.”

“A mimic.”

Smile frozen in place, Jazz turned his head so slowly there was an audible grounding noise.

Prowl remained impassive.

“Um.” And Orion…let him? Pull his wrist free. “Are you going to continue trying to kill me?”

Jazz snapped back to Orion, his target. The words aren’t what gave him pause, but how he said them. Like he just asked Jazz “Are you sure you want to go with puce green?” As if the mech was more concerned that Jazz was going to make a poor decision than for his own wellbeing.

“No.” Jazz said definitively. Because Primus knows he lost the upper hand now and wasn’t aiming to try again so soon.

“Are you genuinely in need of money? Food and shelter?” Orion continued, optics softening.

Jazz didn’t recognize the play. He bit his lip beneath the cowl.

Jazz decided to capitalize on whatever got him the most sympathy. He nodded seriously. “Yes. Of course. It’s not easy when the functionalists decide you’re a monster.” A bit of a lie and a bit of the truth. His favorite combination.

“Do you like your current employers?” Orion asked and Prowl started to narrow his optics.

“No…I don’t.” Jazz answered without enough dishonesty to feel comfortable.

Orion kneeled so he was on optic level with him. “Would you like to join my order?”

And when Jazz just stared at him he continued. “You’d be free to leave if you ever found it not to your liking. And your skills would be very useful in keeping people safe. And of course we’d ensure safe lodgings, fair pay and-.”

“Sir.” Prowl ground out with the most emotion Jazz had ever seen from the guy. “He tried. To assassinate you.”

“Well, he wasn’t very invested.” He shrugged.

Orion looked at Prowl. The twins looked at each other. Jazz looked at an opportunity.

“Deal.” Jazz took Orions hand, shaking it before his better thinking caught up to him.

Orion’s optics crinkled in delight. “Wonderful! Welcome to the Autobot Order!”

Prowls face betrayed nothing, but Jazz hadn’t spent his entire life studying people to miss the way something ever so subtly cracked under Prowls stoney facade.

Jazz didn’t need their Order to survive. But he had become desperately curious to know what in Pimus’ sweet name was going with those two. And more importantly, after outing him twice in a row, Jazz was going to BREAK Prowl.

“T̴͓̹̚h̸͖̘̀̈͠e̸̡̗̳͊̓͝ ̴͚̘͆n̶͉̰͐͜ą̸̦̉m̸̮͙͋é̴͉̫̥͘s̴̮̔͑̄ ̶̰̚J̷͎̀͝a̸̟͎̽̒̇z̷̰̆͑͜͝z̵̨͎̈́.̴͎́ ̷̡͉̱̒̾̕N̵̳͚̈͘i̴͙̓̎c̶̪̅̆ḛ̸̂͂ ̷̰̻̊͝ͅt̷͖̤̓͋o̴̗͇̭͑̿͛ ̴̮̹̉̃͜m̴̼͈̝̍ë̸̗̫̘́̊͌ē̸̘̹̅t̷̛̞̙̫ ̵͙̎̄y̵̩͂̓̚a̴͉̲̪͌̍.̶̖̻̒”

———————————————————————

The silent sentence was “Did you hear that horrib- Huh?! OH COME ON!”

I just really liked the idea that because Jazz talks in Shockwaves voice around Orion, the first time it happened everyone nearly shit themselves.

-SSTP

"Who apparently had thing for asthmatic dragons."

LMAO

"The twins searched their pockets for a magically appearing cough drop. Jazz searched for his sanity." AHAHAJCZTYLVXFUJKCDYKFSS HELP

Jazz, looking at OP: There is something really wrong with you. Five weirdness points out of five.

Jazz, looking at Prowl: ........I need a new scale

[uhhhj13iguess]

my hero

peter parker x gn! reader

summary: pt 2 to large cheese pizza, please. peter has you stay with him after rescuing you from your abusive (ex)boyfriend, and years of mixed feelings flood you both.

wc: ~2k

cw: talks about dv, not much detail. talks about bruising/injury from dv. hurt/comfort but mainly just the comfort portion. might pt 3 this with a love confession, idk!! loving this tho

masterlist and taglist!

though both of your feet had landed firmly on his bedroom floor, neither of you let go of the other, your hands still wrapped around peter's neck tightly as he held your waist with just as much intensity.

neither of you spoke, peter knowing it wasn't yet the time to ask you about it. you needed to decompress first, and he understood that. he was just happy to see you safe.

relectantly, peter pulled away from you to meet your gaze, a frown setting on his lips as he saw your black eye again, the split in your bottom lip still bleeding ever so lightly. with extreme caution, he raised his hand to your jaw, watching for any sign of discomfort or flinching. you didn't, though, immediately melting into his touch and eyelashes wet again.

"thank you, peter." you whispered, eyes fluttering closed as you took a full breath for the first time in hours.

his shoulders relaxed. "i will always protect you. thank you for calling me, i... I'm sorry i didn't get there b-before... he..."

his fingers grazed over your battered lip, his other hand lifting to your swollen eye, tracing the outer edges of the bruise. he let out a shaky breath, his own eyes growing watery. "i'm so sorry, (y/n)."

you held his wrists in your trembling palms, bringing them down so you could have his full attention. "you saved me, peter. if you hadn't shown up when you did, i... i don't know, i mean..."

"hey," peter grabbed your shoulders, forcing your wandering, anxious eyes back on him. "none of that."

you took a deep breath, trying to ground yourself again. "m'sorry."

"come on," he slid your bag off his shoulders and handed it to you slowly. "go take a shower and get changed, bug. i think that'll help you calm down right now. i grabbed what i could, but take anything of mine that you need. i mean it, stay with me."

the way he said it made your heart flutter. it wasn't a question. he wasn't asking if you wanted to, if you'd feel safer doing so. it was a statement — protective in nature. you nodded shyly, turning towards the door. you stopped in its frame, looking back towards the tall brunette.

"thank you. really," you paused to clear your throat, voice still shaking with adrenaline and mixed feelings. "my hero."

it was meant as a joke, but the sincerity in your tone was genuine. peter felt like he could pass out. "always."

that evening, he made dinner for the two of you, queueing up all your favorite movies and loading the couch with every pillow and blanket he could possibly find. it was getting late, and though you still hadn't talked about it, you felt safe and calm, and that was all peter could ask for.

the heavy fog of sleep slowly but surely crept over the room, you and peter exchanging occasional yawns as moonlight flooded in through the windows. you turned to him next to you and bumped his elbow, pulling his attention from the screen. his curly hair was messy, glasses hanging loosely from his face as the glow of the tv made him look impossibly heavenly. you hope the otherwise dark room hid the flush of your cheeks.

"you can take as much of this back to your room as you want. thank you again for letting me crash on your couch, pete. you didn't have to do that, i could've gone back home tonight." your voice was soft against the background noise of the movie.

peter shifted towards you, eyebrows knit together as a question formed on his lips he didn't quite know how to ask. "(y/n), you don't, you don't have to sleep on the couch."

you laughed at him like he was insane. "and make you sleep on the couch in your own apartment? you're crazy, parker."

he let out a frustrated sigh, sitting a little taller. "no, i just mean, if... if you don't want to be alone, y'know. you're welcome to... to sleep in my room, if, if you want." the last few words were brought to a whisper.

now you desperately hoped the darkness covered your blush.

peter stood quickly, anxiety taking over his actions. "if you want! you know, if you want. just, putting the invitation out there. i'll be, uh, in my room, if you want. or not! that's just, where i'll be."

he let out a nervous laugh, bounding down his hallway as he left you on the couch, wide-eyed and frozen still. after taking a few minutes to compose yourself from his offer, you crept after him, reaching his door with hesitation.

you wanted nothing more for peter to have meant it that way, like something more, though you knew he didn't. you'd cuddled plenty of times before, as so many best friends did. especially when one of them was hurting. that's what that was. a pity invitation.

you took a deep breath, contemplating whether or not you wanted to bother him more than you already had today. with a pained sigh and unrequited feelings creeping on your chest, you turned on your heels, heavy stomps signaling your retreat back to the couch.

peter had watched the shadow of your feet under the door the entire time, heart panging in embarrassment as he watched you backtrack.

fuck.

the next morning, peter woke up to the sound of his shower running, signaling your rousal too. he groggily trotted down the hallway into the living room, taking in the folded blankets stacked on the couch and last night's festivities cleaned up and lined on the coffee table. he smiled at your hospitality, his heart warm as he made his way to the kitchen to start on breakfast.

not long before he was done with his famous pancakes, he heard your pattering footsteps enter the room, the smell of his body wash on you overwhelming his senses. he turned to see you, clean skin glowing and hair damp from the shower.

"morning, pete. makin' breakfast?" you motioned to the stove.

he nodded back, eyes wide as he noticed you wearing one of his shirts and a pair of your shorts. you followed his gaze down to your torso with flushed cheeks.

"oh, yeah. i didn't sleep well and in my haze just kinda grabbed what i saw, sorry. did you want to wear it? i can change?" peter shook his head quickly, a soft "no" falling from his lips faster than he meant.

"no! i mean, no, that's fine. really, take anything you need," he handed you a stack of pancakes, fresh fruit piled high next to it. his brows furrowed and his lips hung with a frown. "i mean it, i want to take care of you. i'm sorry you didn't sleep well."

you felt a pang of guilt in your stomach, remembering recent events. "s'okay."

you took the plate, not meeting his eyes as you turned to head into the living room. tension filled the air as you came to terms with the fact you couldn't escape this conversation much longer.

peter took a seat next to you on the couch, concern lacing his features as he studied you. he spoke cautiously, "do you want to talk about it?"

you felt heavy.

"i can't put that on you." you let out quietly, not meeting his gaze still.

he took yours hands in his as you began to fidget, nerves taking a physical hold on you. "hey. you aren't putting anything on me, okay? please, tell me what's been going on."

so you did. you sat and told peter about brad and his drunk rampages, how he'd get aggressive and physical, but never leave marks in places people could see. so you kept it to yourself. you felt stupid enough for ending up in each situation, each fight. you couldn't put that on someone else. peter listened in enraged horror as you told him of all the times he'd put his hands on you, each time he'd hurt you with his words and actions. he watched as tears formed in your eyes, voice growing strained as you willed it not to shake. he couldn't take it.

"oh (y/n)," he lunged towards you, wrapping you up in his arms as tight as he could, running his hands through your hair as you sobbed into his chest. he cooed at you, whispering to you how you were safe, how sorry he was. how he'd never let anyone hurt you ever again. he held you for what felt like a lifetime before you pulled back, wiping the final tears from your cheeks.

"i'm sorry i didn't tell you sooner. i'm sorry i had to tell you at all, this is all my fault." you let out with a pained laugh. peter didn't reciprocate.

"(y/n), don't you dare say that. this is not your fault," his words echoed through the quiet apartment, lifting a heavy ache from your chest. you nodded slowly, leaning your head back on his shoulder. he rubbed your back loosely, his chin resting atop your hair.

"i'm never going to let anyone hurt you again." he repeated. you believed him.

over the course of the day, you each worked lazily on your schoolwork, bumming around peter's apartment and enjoying the peace between the two of you. you both lay on his bed, laptops open and textbooks scattered about. you let out a soft yawn, earning the attention of peter.

he looked up from his notebook to glance at your over his shoulder, watching as your eyes grew heavy and your shoulders slumped. a smirk played on his lips. "baby, you tired?"

you felt yourself go red at the pet name again, shifting to sit up to distract from your glowing face. "yeah, jus' didn't sleep much."

peter frowned. "i'm sorry. i really would've let you take the bed, i didn't mean to..." he let out a nervous chuckle, "to make it weird."

you glanced up at him, taking in his demeanor. he was nervous, remembering his offer to share his bed and getting bashful. you gave him a remorseful smile, sensing his embarrassment.

"you didn't, pete. really," you shuffled closer to him, leaning down to look at his pretty face. your heart fluttered when his beautiful brown eyes met yours. "i meant to come in. i wanted to. i just... felt guilty, i guess. to intrude on your space even more."

you let out another yawn and peter smiled at you, moving to sit up and gather your collective schoolwork. "baby, you could never bug me. promise,"

he smirked, definitely aware of the pet name's effect on you. he scooted towards his headboard, moving under his covers and lying on his back. "come'ere, bug."

you blushed as he held his arms open, offering for you to snuggle into him. it wasn't like you haven't cuddled peter before. after years of friendship and countless movie nights, it wasn't foreign for one of you to fall asleep on the other. but this time felt more weighted.

you climbed up towards him, making your way under the blanket as you clung to his side. he immediately wrapped you up, nearly pulling your body on top of him. you rested your head on his chest, praying he couldn't hear just how fast your heart was racing.

he could.

"this okay, baby?" he slurred, sleep already rasping his voice.

you nodded against him, wrapping your arms up around his neck. "more than."

[caledine]

Types of whumpees in a team

( This is just a few, lmk if you can think of more c:<)

Youngest teammate Whumpee

You get your reckless and brash whumpees who’d who’d do anything to prove themselves

Unknowledgeable new to the field

“ I can do it, on my own.”

Angry and defiant till their hurt

Trying to act tough but just people pleasers

Being left behind for ‘safety’ and probably the easiest to break

“ it’s for your own good Whumpee. It’s not safe out there.” queue them getting captured from said place that’s deemed safe

Stupid plans?? Youngest learns just how bad not thinking things through results in

Doing things due to pure peer pressure

A go to hostage since team would fight tooth and nail to get them back (?)

Always doing busywork and never on the field

“ I have done everything from making coffee to doing your laundry— How is this hero work? “

Being deemed not strong enough

Medic/ Doctor whumpees

Either stoic or overly doting

Exhausted from caring to much

Just exhaustion whump in general !!

Always the caretaker and never taken care of

Full ER / too many patients

Natural disaster or a horrible fight leaving them swamped with injured teammates ( maybe they’re hurt too)

“ I know everyone’s hurt— hold on i need a second…”

Getting hurt and knowing just how doomed they are

Using all the good supplies on the team and leaving themselves with ‘alternatives’

Trying to talk other members through healing themself, knowing if they faint they are as good as dead

Does your Medic snap?

“ How many times have i told you to be more careful?! every single time your in my office you’ve brushed death again—“ ( Angry or worried?)

Stitching themself up because they think they have the knowledge to keep themselves healthy too ( knowledge ≠ strength to save themselves )

Second in command/ Right hand ( Could be a sidekick?) Whumpee

A glorified PA juggling all the ‘less important’ tasks or running errands

Never getting the authority / leadership they want over the team

Always picking up everyone else’s slack

Paperwork and all the busywork and never getting the full credit

Sometimes people are too tired to be nice

Snappy, defiant and never backing down

Always trying to one up other team members or get recognition or affirmation because they never seem to get credit

Stuck in Leader’s shadow

The moment Leader is out everyone expects them to know what to do

“ I don’t know— Leader never let me have any say-?”

Loyal beyond fault ( too much so) maybe they let people be dicks just because they’re teammates

Too forgiving

Maybe Leader sticks the blame on them for failed missions

the perfect stoic whumpee 🌟

Leader Whumpee

Exhaustion, overworking, passing out , thugging through sickness — Leaders normally the one who checks in on people, but who checks in on them?

Putting themselves last

Guilt of failed missions, maybe blame from other teammates

Trying to guide the team while injured ( concussions 😌)

Never really being part of the team just there to keep themselves healthy too in check

Breaking under pressure

Survivors guilt

Being replaced

Leader being held hostage because the team would be in shambles without them

Humiliation— make the team stop believing in them

Self sacrifice

“ I’m sorry i know it’s my responsibility…”

Struggling to ask for help because they’re scared the team won’t come to them

Their life revolves around keeping their team safe, too selfless

The team just expecting them to know what to do

Trying to juggle looking after the team with Hero work

Doing all the chores, being expected to do the most and be selfless

Their higher ups see their overworking as a good thing and feed into it

Everyone just always assumes they’re fine because pfftt they’re Leader of course they’re fine!!

Stoic but pathetic ejenkeosos

Sighhh i just adore team whump. I could always go on about this because the amount of possibilities are near endless. Give me complex relationships between characters!! Make your whumpees suffer while no one around them bats an eye, toxic team dynamics suck but the whump around them… Found family but make it hurt comfort!!

[sserpente]

For Old Times' Sake

Synopsis: When your landlord drags you before Lord Gortash to settle your debts, your life gets turned upside down. It is not the fear of imprisonment that paralyses you at Wyrm’s Rock—it is him. Enver Flymm, as you’d once known him, a shy and clever boy and your only childhood friend. Will he recognise you and show mercy, help you out?

A/N: My obsession with Gortash is getting out of hand. I don’t think I care.

Words: 2853 Warnings: angst, homelessness, mentions of death and abuse

The number on your tax letter was bright red—quite possibly scribbled on there with the previous tenant’s blood. Three thousand and five hundred gold pieces. That was more money than you had ever seen in your life.

“I’m a little short.”

The half-orc—your landlord—rolled his eyes. “By how much?”

“Um…about three thousand and four hundred ninety-nine gold pieces.”

“Are you mocking me?”

“I’m not, I…I am trying to find work right now. I was preoccupied with organising a funeral and scraped together the last of my savings to buy my parents a coffin. I will start paying off the debts and all the money I owe if you give me just a little bit more time…”

The half-orc scoffed. “Funny, that’s what your parents always said too. Just a little bit more time. I’m done playing games, kid. In times like this, the Fist can’t let this keep happening. You pay your rent, you pay your taxes, you contribute to the city’s safety—and you face the consequences if you cannot do so.”

It was this new Steel Watch mainly that ate up most of the tax money. An entire Foundry had sprouted from the ground down by the docks seemingly overnight. They were rather scary automatons and they were not known for their mercy.

“It’s Friday,” the half-orc continued. “We are settling this once and for all. Your missing payments are biting a hole into my coin purse.”

Your eyes widened. Each Friday, Lord Gortash—the city’s new hero, protector, and saviour—held public hearings where citizens could voice requests, concerns, or other pleas. You’d never seen the man in person. He looked handsome enough on the posters, you’d read about his good deeds and heard about his generosity. But apart from that, he was a stranger to you. You’d known a young boy once called Enver though—Gortash sharing the same first name could only bring you luck, no?

Perhaps…perhaps it wouldn’t be too bad. You could make your case—explain to him that when your parents died from sickness, the remaining debts from all the medication that didn’t help in the end had been passed on to you.

You inherited a small house with broken windows, corroding wood and a serious rat problem in the cellar rendering food rations useless. Not that you had many to spare. You’d always wondered what a full stomach felt like.

“Will you come with me willingly or do I need to get a Fist?”

“This really isn’t necessary, saer. As soon as I’ve found work—”

“I am done making exceptions. We are leaving for Wyrm’s Rock. Now.”

You didn’t want to make a scene, not here. Not with the Steel Watchers within reach. With a sigh, you folded the letter from your landlord and handed it back to him, then followed him through the Lower City to Wyrm’s Rock as if you were walking to the gallows.

The place was packed. You’d expected little else. Lord Gortash was very much in demand. There was a long queue when you arrived, several Fists positioned at every possible entrance along with some patrolling Steel Watchers to ensure no one cut the line.

Five minutes turned into ten minutes, ten minutes into twenty. With every passing second, you felt the nervousness tightening its iron grip around you more. The punishment for evading rent was eviction, for one, and imprisonment for another. But perhaps Lord Gortash would hear you out.

It took another ten minutes before you were called up to the audience chamber. As if he was worried you’d try and make a run for it now, the half-orc grabbed your upper arm, dragging you with him. At the far end of the hall, two Steel Watchers were positioned on either side of a pretty throne in front of which stood a handsome man with short black hair and elegant black armour.

“Lord Gortash…thank you for your time,” your landlord began. He bowed—and so did you. Gortash’s eyes skimmed over the half-orc with mild interest before moving on to you. Dark orbs boring into yours, stirring…recognition within you. His face…you could have sworn you’d met him before.

“How can I be of service, hmm?” he asked with a sly smirk. Your heart almost leaped out of your chest. That scar on his chin…that little boy you knew from your childhood…a boy named Enver…

“E-Enver? Enver Flymm? Is…is that you?”

Your landlord’s head whipped in your direction, the disrespect apparent, even more so when Gortash began to frown. Who were you to call the archduke by his first name? But this…this was different. You knew him. He was…or used to be…your friend.

“It’s me!” You told him your name, excitement washing over you like a wave. “R-remember me? We used to play together as kids. You…you just disappeared one day. I never found out what happened to you and your parents wouldn’t talk to me…”

Your landlord cleared his throat before Gortash could answer—the archduke’s face, however, was painted with recognition. He did remember you.

“Whatever, Lord Gortash, this…tenant of mine has been behind with paying rent for months. I am currently missing nearly four thousand gold pieces which she claims she’ll be able to ‘pay back soon as soon as she finds work’.”

Enver knew your family was poor, they always had been. He himself didn’t have a lot growing up. While other kids would brag about the new toys that they got for their birthday, Enver got a beating out of asking for some simple tools for his special day. He’d always been a tinkerer.

“I see. I am going to deal with this. Would you excuse us for a moment?” Gortash finally spoke.

Taken aback, your landlord nodded. Dismissed. You breathed out audibly. Good, this was good. You’d get to tell him your side of the story and he’d help you, he had authority now, he had the power to…

“You have chosen a criminal career then?”

Your heart dropped. “C-criminal? I’m not a criminal.”

“You refuse to pay rent. And tax evasion too?”

“I don’t refuse. I simply…I can’t, I have no money left. You…you remember my parents, right? They passed two ten days ago. We spent all we had on medication and healers and that was after they started struggling with their health. They couldn’t work as much anymore and so we fell behind.”

“Hmm.”

He tilted his head and for just a brief second, you saw the young boy flash before your eyes again. You couldn’t help but smile despite your sad circumstances. Gods, you were a childhood friend of the archduke… Now that your parents were gone…perhaps you wouldn’t be all alone after all.

“I…I thought about you a lot. You were my only friend back then. I always assumed your parents sent you off to some private school outside the city to give you better opportunities or…or that an incurable sickness claimed you. Just earlier today I thought I once knew a little boy who would have loved these Steel Watchers. And now it turns out it was you all along. I shouldn’t be surprised.”

“I put my talent to good use.”

“You did. I remember when we were little kids we would roam the streets and search the city for old metal parts. You’d tinker away and build your own toys with them. This one time you made me a dancing ballerina, do you remember? You…you found this old music box a merchant had abandoned. The music was all distorted at first but…you made it work again. That was the best toy I ever had.” You paused. All of a sudden…you were mourning him. Mourning your childhood friend you thought you had lost for good.

“What happened to you? Where did you go?”

Gortash’s brown eyes locked with yours. But then, his expression hardened. “That matters not. Your landlord expects a solution for his dilemma.”

Your face fell. “You…you could help.”

“I could,” he mused. “But I am the archduke of Baldur’s Gate now, my dear. If I start waiving laws in favour of an old acquaintanceship, people are going to start questioning my reliability.”

“But—“

“Your landlord is in the right. If you cannot afford rent, he has the right to evict you. I am going to spare you the dungeons—for old times’ sake.”

“Enver…”

“That is Lord Gortash to you. We are not children anymore.”

Your lips parted. “Is…is that it?”

“Yes. You are dismissed.”

You didn’t even notice your tears until they wet your cheeks. You turned around without a word of goodbye, without a formal bow. Your landlord was seemingly pleased as you rushed out. You didn’t wait for Enver to tell him the good news.

As of right now, you were homeless. And even though you hadn’t seen your only friend in years, against all reason, your heart shattered into a million pieces.

You just didn’t understand. Enver used to be such a sweet boy. Innocent, full of visions and dreams, shy, quiet. Everyone who knew him including his own parents labelled him as ‘odd’ but you knew better.

Now, he was the reason you’re homeless. Wait, no. That wasn’t right. Your landlord was the reason you were homeless. Enver had simply honoured the very rules set in place before he became the archduke. Perhaps he was right and he couldn’t make an exception—it would be unfair on others. He could have sent you to prison but he didn’t. That had to be enough.

As you made your way through the Lower City past merchants, civilians, and Steel Watchers a few weeks later, wondering if you’d be able to have a meal today, the sudden tumult right in front of Basilisk Gate had you pause. You frowned, hurrying toward the crowd of people that had formed before the gallows. Three men with nooses around their necks stood on the wooden platform, in front of them, facing the citizens, stood Enver.

What in the hells was happening?

“…so let this be a fair warning. These are the consequences of disobedience. I am not going to tolerate disrespect. I have led this city to glory—and I ask for recognition and your trust in return.”

Your frown deepened when Enver gave a court nod to the hangman. The very moment the trap doors gave way under the prisoner’s feet was the moment you looked away—but not before the archduke’s eyes met yours.

“I am telling you,” you heard a citizen whisper to another, “there’s something foul about this man. He acts like a bloody Banite.”

A Banite. You swallowed. That was a serious accusation. Surely, a sweet boy like Enver wouldn’t turn to Bane worship.

“My words exactly,” the other citizen responded, “I heard he is friends with the chief editor of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette and only what he approves of gets printed.”

A scoff. “Talk about propaganda.”

You’d heard enough. With your heart in your mouth, you stepped away, attempting to disappear in the crowd and perhaps ask for a gold piece or two. You flinched when a Fist touched your shoulder and flipped you around to face her.

“Lord Gortash has requested your presence. You will follow me.”

“W-why? What does he want?”

She didn’t respond. And if you refused to follow her? You didn’t want to find out.

You hadn’t expected to return to Wyrm’s Rock any time soon, nor that you’d be led up the stairs to Lord Gortash’s private quarters. The place was imposing. And of course, when you spotted him behind his desk, he was accompanied by two Steel Watchers.

“Ah, hello, my dear. Have you been faring well?” he mused. You could have been mistaken—but it was almost like you sensed scornfulness swinging in his voice.

“I am homeless. How do you think I’m faring?” you snapped before you could stop yourself.

“Oh, don’t give me that reproachful tone. We are all bound by laws and order, my dear.”

You blinked. “What do you want from me?”

“I have a proposition for you.”

“You do?” Hesitation mixed with suspicion. After seeing him hang people in public today…you weren’t sure a proposition would do you any good.

“It’s quite simple, really. Serve me and I shall give you a roof over your head.”

“Serve you?”

“I’ve had my Watchers keep an eye on you. It is quite noble of you not to resort to stealing. Surely, you understand why the citizens of Baldur’s Gate are becoming more and more hesitant to spare a few coins, though.”

You’d read in the Gazette only yesterday that the tax rates were going to be increased yet again starting next month. Both the Fist and the newspaper itself had become very vocal about their dismay when it came to the poor and those in need. It was concerning—terrifying, even.

“Being archduke comes with a lot of responsibilities. My hands are full with political duties, I need people around me to run errands for me and assist me. What do you say? For old times’ sake?” he continued.

“You want me to work for you?” Only weeks ago, you would have jumped at the opportunity. You and your childhood friend reunited at last. Him being the archduke, you being his assistant, his right hand. Now, however, the request left a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. You did not agree with his cold-hearted choices to hang usurpers. There was always a more peaceful solution. Imprisonment, for one.

“Do you know what people are whispering, Env-…Lord Gortash? They have suspicions you could be a Banite. You hung people for disobedience! How is that a fair judgement? How can I work for you if this is how you—”

“One of them plotted an assassination against me. You have no right to question my rule, my dear. Lest you’ll end up like them.”

Your lips parted. He didn’t even deny it. He…he didn’t deny he was worshipping Bane… Damn all appropriation. “Enver, please, what happened to you? You used to be such a sweet boy, you comforted me when the other kids picked on me, you—”

“My parents, my dear, sold me to a Warlock. I disappeared because I was shipped off the hells to serve a devil called Raphael in his House of Hope. I faced years of degradation and abuse until I finally managed to escape. I had nothing, I was nothing. The Black Lord picked up the pieces that were left of me and made me what I am today. And I am giving you a chance now. You have potential. Serve me and we can rise together.”

You blinked, processing his words. Sold? To a devil? No wonder his parents had refused to speak about him after his sudden disappearance. The torment he must have experienced…you could almost understand why a tyrannical god like Bane would infiltrate his dreams and promise him power and glory.

“I…I don’t know about this, Enver. This…this is tyranny.”

“In times like this, tyranny is what people need. They don’t listen—and they need a strong leader to help them make the choices that are best for the city. As of right now, free will is their greatest enemy.”

“Is that truly what you think?”

Enver’s expression darkened. He took a menacing step forward. All of a sudden, you felt so much smaller than before.

“I will not have you belittle my faith.” He paused. “I expect an answer. Now.”

You were torn—way too much so. This answer should be a decided No. Working for a Banite, for a worshipper of one of the Dead Three…it was wrong. It should be wrong. And yet…you were hesitant. Not only did Enver promise to end your homelessness but also an alliance. You were clueless as to how he assumed you would be of any use to him but you’d be damned if you didn’t admit that ever since he’d stepped into your life again…it felt like a part of yourself had returned to you. Against all reason, that made you happy. Relieved, even. You weren’t entirely alone—and you certainly wouldn’t be if you accepted his proposal.

You took a deep breath. “F-fine. I…I accept. I…I don’t want to lose you again.”

If he’d expected you to agree, he didn’t expect this. For just a split second, his composure faltered, surprise and something ever so soft washing over his face. It was gone again as fast as it had appeared.

“Splendid. A wise decision, my dear. I shall have one of the empty servants’ rooms prepared for you. Unless of course, you’d rather stay with me?” he mocked.

“You know, I would actually like that,” you said with a weak smile. Because you’d missed him. Banite or not, you were grateful he’d found his way into your life again. Not all was lost—perhaps you’d be able to talk to him. Help him be a better person just like he’d helped you be one when you were young. You’d find a way. For old times’ sake.

A/N: I already have an idea for a Part II.

[legendofmorons]

Oh my gosh I love your Bingo idea!! Could you do the used as bait with either Legend or Wars please??

Bait and switch

Pairing: Warriors x reader

Rating: T

Summary: Cia has decided to pull some new stunt, and you get swept up in it. Queue a sweet get-together and Warriors spotting a fake you immediately.

Warnings: Cia, captivity, cursing,

Other:

You officially hate strange people in purple. Most of them are probably lovely, but the tall, skimpily clad woman before you wears purple and is holding you captive, so you're a little bitter today.

Sue you.

She's got some sort of vendetta as she looks you over. Rude but she also kidnapped you so being rude is to be expected.

Unfortunately, you've been here for four days, and you are getting really sick of this lady. You're mostly sure she's called Cia. Whether that's accurate or not, you would like to call her a criminal. Maybe even an asshole, what the kidnapping and what not.

She's spent the last ten minutes or so monolouging about how her hero is just confused by you and is going to choose her when he comes. She's also insulted you and told you he should break up with you. That's just today. The last three days were more of the same.

That last part of her rant is the most confusing because you aren't romantically involved with anyone. You aren't even entirely sure which Link she is talking about. You're narrowing it down to Warriors, Time, or Twilight.

"The Hero of Warriors will forget all about you when he sees me. Oh sure, he'll come for you, but he's just confused." The woman croons, waving her hand at you dismissively.

This is about the capatian? Really? He's certainly handsome. He's smart, kind, hard working, honest, and funny. He's quite the catch, but this seems a tad far, especially since you are confident he dosen’t like you as anything more than a friend.

"Wait- this is about Warriors?" You blink, trying not to laugh. It seems like a bad plan to laugh at your captor. "He isn't coming for me, no one is."

You hate that it's true. You know they have to keep on their path, even if they want to save you, there's little chance Hylia cares to give them time.

"Of course he will. They all will. I don't know how you have enchanted them but they will come for you. You've stolen Link from me-"

"Wars isn't going to come for me." You say again, trying not to let the truth burn your mouth. "He dosen’t love me and we aren't together."

The woman turns to you, raising one impeccable eyebrow. "Do not lie to me."

"I'm not." You say tightly. You bite back the bile in your throat as you try to ignore the heart ache. "Wars dosen’t love me and even if he somehow did, he wouldn't waste time saving me when he has a mission."

He is so hard working... how could your capture ever outweigh the Goddess' will?

She laughs at you coldly, not saying anything else before she disappears, leaving you to your own devices.

You sigh, looking at the shackles around each of your limbs. They're heavy and well maintained, chafing your skin. None of your gear is here, left only in your under shirt and pants.

Whoever this woman is, she sucks. Like- sucks so much.

She is also very stupid. Wars won't come for you and he dosen’t love you.

No one is coming. You'll just have to save yourself. Now, you just have to figure out how to get these pesky locks handled.

-------

Warriors tears through monsters with vicious single-minded focus. He's here like Cia wanted, but she won't like how this ends.

Golden three above, if you're hurt even a little - well... Warriors dosen’t have forgiveness for that in his heart.

He dosen’t think he can find any either.

It's been six days! You could be-

Warriors can't let himself think about all the negative possibilities. He has to focus on getting to you.

The others fight near him in ways he can't focus on. All he knows is that his brothers are still standing.

His focus is on trying to find some trace of you. Some sort of proof that you are alive and unharmed.

"Link!" Your voice cries from further away, the sound a sweet balm to his aching heart.

Warriors is moving faster than he can process. He tears through enemies until he can finally see you without obscuring vision.

He stands before you and almost kisses you. He dosen’t because that would be rude and disrespectful, but the sheer relief of seeing you makes him want to.

You're there, clothes torn and body bruised.

But you're there.

Golden three, you're breathtaking even now, roughed up and all.

"Sweetheart." Warriors breathes out.

You smile at him, sweetly, just a little off in a way he can't place. "I was so scared, I knew you'd come for me."

Except... something is wrong. Your smile is off. He's already noticed it, but it keeps naggingat him. It's just a little too sharp. Yes, sharp is the word.

Like honeyed silk stretching over a blade.

"Why wouldn't I?" Warriors asks, trying to figure out what is happening.

"I just thought... I just thought you'd be scared... Cia is so powerful... and you're so strong, but... I'm just your partner and-" Your voice says, but the show is officially up.

You aren't his partner the way the tone implies. Warriors would like you to be! But you aren't.

He narrows his eyes, something hot crawling up from his chest and settling onto his tongue.

Warriors grabs the imposter by the shirt and presses his sword to their throat with extreme biaz. "Where are they?!"

His voice is a snarl that has his teeth baring into a dangerous threat.

"I don't-"

Something blows up and throws a metal door of the hinges in the background. The door skids across the floor with a horrible sound like nails on a chalkboard and a wailing banshee.

"I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR SHINS!" Your voice shrieks as footsteps enter the hall.

That- sounds like you, alright.

"That's a fake!" The imposter protests quickly, gripping his wrist tightly.

Warriors snorts, "Uh huh. Cia, you're going to call your monsters off."

"I'm not Cia!" Cia lies through your voice and your face stares up at him with wide eyes that look wet-

This isn't you.

"CIA WHEN I CATCH YOU!" Your voice calls loudly as a metal bar is being used as a weapon. "WHEN I CATCH YOU CIA!"

"That's obviously a fake! You could never love someone so brash!" The fake- Cia protest.

Warriors drops the woman to the ground, ignoring the face she wears. "Start running."

"I-"

"OH, HE'LL COME GET ME?! HE WILL SAVE ME?! BULLSHIT LADY! I'M GOING TO KICK YOUR SHINS! I TOLD YOU NO ONE WAS COMING!" Your voice bounces off the walls as what must be your figure bashes a metal bar through the monsters around you.

Warriors flinches immediately.

You... thought no one was coming? That he wasn't coming for you? You felt you had to escape all by yourself if you were getting free at all?

He's failed you. Horribly and unforgivably.

The fake you frowns. "That's got to be a fake-"

"Shut up Cia." Warriors snaps.

Your voice gives a guttural screech as you fight.

Warriors starts towards the sound, that has to he you. The real you.

He trusts the others to handle Cia. His concern is you and nothing else.

He finds you mid swing, aiming at a fire lizafos.

You connect the swing and Warriors lunges forwards, skewering it and watching it puff into smoke.

"Sweetheart." Warriors says, looking you over for any hint that this is another trick.

You choke on something, "Wars? What are you doing?"

"Rescuing you!" He says quickly, "Looks like you beat me to it though."

You break into a nervous laugh, "I can go back to the cell?"

"Don't do that. Just - let me see you. Are you hurt?" Warriors sets his hands on your shoulders as he scans you.

You are bruising in a few places, abrasions, and raw wrists, but you are mostly okay. You stare up at him with wide eyes but this time they aren't wet. This time your eyes are wide with a positive emotion he can't quite name.

"Just a little banged up."

"I'm so sorry. This is my fault-"

"Nope!" You cut in, placing your hands on his wrists where he still holds your shoulders. "It is not. The only person to blame is Cia."

"I- I suppose."

The fighting around the two of you dosen’t matter. It is all but gone from your minds.

"I didn't think you'd come." You breathe out.

"I heard."

"Why did you come? You have your quest-"

"To hell with the quest!" Warriors declares as he pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly as he begins to shake. "You're more important!"

"I'm not." You laugh shakily, leaning into his hold ad you snake your arms around his back.

"You are. Golden Three, sweetheart when you went missing I all but lost my mind."

"I'm right here."

"And I can never thank the stars enough."

You don't know what makes you ask the next thing that falls out of your mouth, but you do anyway. "Wars... Why did Cia tell me you loved me like we were lovers?"

His breath hitches. "She did?"

"She said she took me to bring you here. That I stole you."

"Oh."

"I don't know how I stole you." You huff.

Warriors pulls back, looking away as he takes a deep breath. "I'm sorry, (Y/n)... You didn't steal me because I wasn't hers ... but my feelings put you in danger."

You frown, wheel turning as you try to figure out what feelings he is talking about. That sounds an awful lot like Cia was right about Warriors loving you.

But that would be ridiculous. Right?

"I understand if you want space from me after this... This isn't how I wanted you to find out I was head over heels for you, but I guess the cat's out of the bag." He chuckles dryly, looking to you.

"Link." You breathe out.

Warriors pulls you closer to him so you can avoid a stray shield flying through the air. "Sorry-"

You laugh, pulling him into a hug. "We are so stupid."

"What?"

"Here I thought you couldn't ever see me like that, nursing my heartache." You snort, "But here you are, apparently in love with me too."

"Too?" He asks weakly.

You look at him, smiling softly. "I'm so in love with you, Link. You're smart, capable, honest, hardworking, loyal, and funny. How could I not be?"

His breath hitches again but he just hugs you closer. "We are stupid."

"She's going to be so mad that this is how we get together." You laugh.

Warriors laughs too, "It is?"

"Well, I think you coming to save me from evil pants over there and your confession make a pretty convincing case that we should be together."

"I'd love that." Warriors says breathlessly, eyes holding your gaze before flicking to your lips.

He's been wanting to kiss you for so long... perhaps he can?

"Lovebirds come on!" Legend calls from somewhere else. "It's time to go!"

"Together?" You ask with a smile.

"Together." Warriors agrees.

If on the way out, you kick Cia's shins just so you can make good on your word... no one protests.

Warriors leaves hand in hand with you. His heart relaxing as your presence sinks into him.

When you're cleaned up and in fresh clothes, he feels even lighter.

Now, you know that he will come to save you every time. Always. He just hopes he dosen’t need to because he doesn't want you taken hostage.

[eri-pl]

TLDR: good!Maeglin in the Fellowship, he fits there so well!!!

Long post under cut.

So I was thinking about Maeglin and what if didn't betray Gondolin, and about his father's curse and I realized that if he was more heroic, Maeglin would inevitably have died killing a balrog. Because, you know, for some reason the only way to kill a balrog is to fall with it from a great height.

(To clear any doubts: I am assuming the interpretation where (pre-capture) Maeglin behaved like a decent young adult, and Idril behaved like a decent adult and none is to blame.)

There are different ways to do it:

He tells Morgoth where the city is but then warns Turgon, Turgon doesn't evacuate the city anyway, Maeglin does protecting Idril &co from a balrog OR

He doesn't tell Morgoth anything, is allowed to escape and Morgoth learns the location of the city by having someone follow Maeglin

He's lucky and doesn't get captured at all, someone else betrays the city, or Morgoth just brute-forces the location OR

Anyway, Maeglin dies fighting a balrog and it's a hero

So, he's sent to ME instead of Glorfindel, because:

A smith (and we have to get rid of a metal thing so it fits?)

Sneaking skills 100/100

He's got a talking sword!

Therefore:

→ → → Maeglin in the Fellowship ← ← ←

(Glorfindel didn't get in because he was too noticeable; Maeglin is not noticeable, he's good to go)

I think he'd replace Legolas. He can have all the same BFF beats with Gimli, it just starts different, not "sorta-enemies to BFFs" but "one-side racism, one-side fascination to BFFs" because Maeglin sure loves Dwarves. And tbh Gimli is less against him than against Legolas (see: Thranduil's behavior in "the Hobbit").

Also also:

Aragorn: You have my sword. Gimli: And my axe. Anguirel: And my Elf.

@lanthanum12 you may like it (and maybe he'd be able to talk to the ring, because of his awesome skills with metal, and well, I can't imagine him persuading Sauron to be better but you probably can. :) )

Also: "Boromir, you think you have a difficult father?!? You know nothing."

Also, Anguirel. In general.

…If anyone feels like writing this fic, have fun!

Edit: ok this goes up in the queue (my posting methodology is elaborate and makes no sense ok?) because I got hyped because this means Maeglin gets to save Frodo after he gets stabbed by the witch king, and the location and vibe of the wound is (iirc) the same as the the wound with which his father killed his mom??? Ooooh! I want this fic to exist

Ok ok ok did I just find a way to get more invested into Maeglin? (He's less evil in here but anyway)

Also: Anguirel talks telepathically with unconscious Frodo but it's nice, not like Anglachel was to Túrin. Yes, we need to figure out how even Anguirel got back with Maeglin. I guess it was in the Gondolin-stuff-heap in the Hobbit, with Glamdring and what not. And then Gandalf gave it to Maeglin later.

Also we need a way for Gandalf to die on the Balrog and for Maeglin to survive but not to be a coward. I say: just wound him enough or something, it shouldn't be very difficult to make it work.

Mmm I'm more and more hyped about it.

OK tbh he'd likely go by Lómion, but I'm too accustomed to calling him "Maeglin". Sorry.

Maeglin would have a *perfect* chemistry with Frodo, they both have this particular vibe, how do I explain it, perceptive, quiet and somewhat dark but not evil. I mean this AU's Maeglin and Frodo after some time with the Ring. The trauma, the healing… seriously I can see Maeglin as being the person who spends the most time with post-ring Frodo and introduces him to Undying Lands and later holds him as he dies.

Also:

Maeglin: Oh, you found the chainmail I had made for Earendil! Hi, chainmail. Nice to see you. Frodo (scared): …does it talk too? Maeglin: No, but that's not a reason to be rude to it! Frodo (to the chainmail): …nice to meet you.

Also with Elrond: both had absent fathers but one because the dad was so good, the other because the dad was so evil (and also bc Turgon). Both grew up without their mothers and with a parent figure being someone who caused (at least partially) the absence of their parents (Maglor and Turgon, also both of those are kinslayers idk what the official version is about Turgon).

Also, Maeglin lived very short (only 190 years! Another reason to let him spend more time in ME!!!) so outside of Aman he behaves a bit child-like sometimes, he generally feels much younger than he is, because old habits kick in. And Elrond is reacting to this in a parental way. But also Maeglin is older than Elrond, probably even without counting the years in Mandos he's a bit older, and is Elrond's weird-kind-of-granduncle (+ had had a crush on Elrond's grandma… took some time in Mandos to get free of it).

Oh and in this AU he saved Elrond's father's life.

I don't think he'd have much in common with Elrond's children. They respect each other, of course, but they just don't vibe together much.

But with Aragorn, oh, Maeglin would see Aragorn as a parallel of Tuor, and therefore an opportunity to address his regrets. Yes, even though Maeglin behaved ok in this version, his intense emotions still prevented him from forming a friendship with Tuor (until Aman, at least) and generally ... he has regrets.

And he is really invested in the Aragorn x Arwen thing. Maeglin the shipper. :D

And as he replaces Legolas, we are having the whole "three hunters" part, so Maeglin does get to spend a lot of time with Aragorn and do cool stuff together.

Also: Maeglin being the one to reforge Anduril? (This might have some side effects in the form of: Anduril kinda talks now)

He would also have interesting interactions with Celeborn. Not very intense, but he is distantly related to Eol (probably) and I imagine he's got similar ethnic/cultural/whatev background, so looks a bit similar to Eol, just is nice and respects his wife and doesn't hunch or work with metals… And Celeborn would be likely aware of this, he knows the stories. It would be a little awkward and both would be very emotionally cautious at the start.

And with Eowyn, he'd vibe with Eowyn too. Her feeling locked, all that stuff, she's got Aredhel vibes. A lot. Hmm now I want Meaglin to be involved in getting Eowyn alive from the battlefield and getting her healed. So many opportunities to relive and heal his past griefs!

Also he of course sees the whole romantic mess of her-Aragorn-Faramir and actively ships her w Faramir because he's got experience and doesn't want Eowyn to end up sad due to unrequited love, like he was. Mmm Maeglin the shipper again. XD

I need to reread LotR or at least rewatch it, I had to check whether Legolas was there. (And yea, we're basically replacing him with Maeglin without large-scale changes of the journey path).

Earlier, of course Maeglin would figure out that Gandalf the White was Gandalf, not Saruman, but Maeglin is a quiet guy and doesn't like to speak loud unconfirmed guesses, so we can have the suspense anyway.

[chobblesomewrites]

Grumbo Professional Esports AU (abandoned work)

A collection of drabbles/scenes rearranged in chronological order featuring Team Coach Mumbo x Pro Player Grian. Warning; makes use of League of Legends/MOBA Mechanics. Unrealistic depiction of the esports scene.

No, this will not be fully written or edited. Prepare for weird pacing and incoherence. I'M JUST POSTING THIS SO I CAN STOP BEING ASKED ABOUT IT </3

—————

[ READ BELOW ]

Mumbo wasn't one for competitive games, but he had made exceptions from time to time. Those times mostly due to his online best friend wanting to drag him to experience almost anything and everything with him.

He wouldn't have even dreamed of touching MOBA games if it weren't for Grian begging him to, excusing that no one else but Mumbo was actually willing to deal with his competitive nature. He had first refused, firmly wanting to stick to his farming simulator games, but Grian knew too well how to act like a brat to get what he wanted.

So he found himself on [                ]’s tutorial screen, anxiously going through it while Grian remained in the Discord call with him, giggling at every noise he made every time he jumped from the sight of an enemy NPC.

“You lied when you said this game had a farming mechanic,” Mumbo accused his friend with a whine as he spam clicked on a highlighted enemy minion, clicking his tongue when he missed the gold.

Grian cackled, “Well, killing minions for gold is called farming. So technically I wasn't lying?”

Mumbo let out an audible huff of betrayal, which made Grian laugh even more as he tried killing his character to the minions out of spite.

—

Mumbo had thought he wouldn't be playing the game as often, for the main reason he had the game at all was because Grian occasionally didn't have anyone to play with, as he said. But he had plenty of friends so Mumbo didn't feel the need to open the game as he would probably be the last person on Grian's friendlist to be asked.

But dear lord was he wrong.

After getting bullied for his lack of game knowledge for one night, Grian kept inviting him to duo queue every single day. Mumbo would've been led to believe that Grian actually didn't have friends except for him if it weren't for their friends occasionally coming by to 5 man queue with them. But even then, that led Mumbo questioning even more of Grian's motives to specifically invite him of all people, adding to the fact that Grian apparently hated playing ADC but specifically only played it when in duo queue with Mumbo.

It was confusing. So, so confusing. Mumbo was so pants at the game yet Grian just kept inviting him nonetheless!

So, Mumbo thought; if Grian wanted to play with him that badly, he'd have to adjust his mentality to make sure that his best friend was actually having fun. He wasn't just here to keep Grian company anymore, he was here to now help Grian actually enjoy his games.

On weekday nights Grian would be too busy to get online, Mumbo used his free time to get on custom and try out other heroes outside of just support. He specifically tried mid laners in hopes to give Grian more opportunities to play roles outside of ADC, trying to prove that Mumbo was more than capable of handling himself!

He learned the map, how to invade, how to dodge, how to properly farm– everything. He needed to learn everything.

If it was for Grian, he'll take on everything.

–

[ DEFEAT ]

“....”

The call was silent, save for Grian who did horribly to muffle his laughter. Mumbo groaned in embarrassment into his hands, “Midlaning is hard,” he admitted in a mumble, which caused Grian to outright laugh into his mic.

“You didn't have to force yourself to try.”

“But you like playing jungle.” Mumbo pouted.

“Not all the time! Who on earth even says they like playing jungle?”

Mumbo sighed as he clicked off the after-game stats, returning back to their party lobby to see Grian already waiting to start the queue. The man already set himself back to the ADC role and it made Mumbo slump even more in guilt over his desk.

By some magical force, Grian probably felt his bad mood and he reassured with a smile, “I still think it's more fun if we're laning together.”

“You get to spoil me and you'd only have eyes for me!” Grian teased.

Mumbo felt himself flush red at that. Not knowing how to quip back, he simply said, “Shut up.”

–

5 man queues are always fun. It means Mumbo could just turn off his brain and listen to his friends talk and trash talk without having to say much because there's enough of them to hold the conversation together.

Mumbo was about to fully zone out while watching Grian’s character farm freely in their lane when he heard him speak up about something in their team's idle conversation on call.

“You know, I actually plan to be a professional gamer.”

From whatever conversation the call was going through, everyone in their friend group broke into laughter at Grian's admittance. Mumbo could hear Grian's pout as he tried to defend his dream, “I'm serious here!”

Their friends laughed even more, “How plausible would that even be as a job? We're just teenagers, dude. Who would wanna sign kids like us?”

Their words were obviously just trying to tease Grian, but Grian didn't take it lightly. The ADC went quiet as the friends in call continued on about how ridiculous of a scene it would be if anyone of them were to actually turn out to be 

Out of nowhere, Mumbo suddenly spoke up, “I think it's not impossible.”

The conversation paused and Mumbo suddenly felt conscious of the attention on his words. Nonetheless, he continued on, “I believe in you, if you are still going to try.”

“I'll try it with you.”

The call bursted into laughter again, even Grian couldn't help but giggle, which made Mumbo feel hot in the face from embarrassment. He spent the rest of the game making so many mistakes because the entire call kept teasing him for making such bold declarations.

He was able to live through 2 games of that until the other 3 friends in their team decided to log off, leaving him with Grian. Mumbo had thought that he would log off too, but he simply clicked the queue button without saying anything, leaving 

2 minutes into the queue, Grian finally spoke up, “I'm holding you up to that promise, you know.”

“You better go professional with me.”

Mumbo wonders if he's gonna regret promising that, given how ominous Grian makes it sound as if he's sold his soul to the devil. But if the devil were Grian, he finds that he doesn't really mind missing a part of himself.

–

Ever since that promise, Grian had been relentless with playing with Mumbo. Not that he wasn't always relentless before, but Grian was now determined to actually help Mumbo catch up to his level. They've even started custom 1v1s in hopes to improve.

Other people, if they were in Mumbo's position, would've been annoyed. Given how Grian tends to get frustrated eventually, Mumbo just takes it as a sign to be better. He couldn't slack.

He knew that Grian wasn't specifically frustrated at his skills, he was frustrated and anxious of the possibility that Mumbo wouldn't be able to sign with him if he didn't improve. They needed to do it together, Grian was stubborn to make sure of that fact.

So Mumbo didn't fault him for he loved him.

–

“Are you signed to a team?”

An account that was obviously a smurf had privately messaged him one time after a solo queue game Mumbo played while waiting for Grian. He ignored it, assuming that it was a scammer pretending to be a professional. He even went to quickly unfriend the account with this thought in mind and sat in the party lobby for a few minutes before a friend request came in.

“Xvoid,” Mumbo murmured out. He frowned and leaned back on his chair in thought, wondering if he's seen that username before. Probably in his other games, but Mumbo doesn't really actively pay attention to the randoms he and Grian match up with.

It was when he was about to decline the friend request that Grian joined the lobby with a very loud, “Mumbo Dumbo Bumbo Jumbo!”

“Grian,” Mumbo returned the sentiment, sounding more exasperated than excited like Grian. His friend must've realized something from that tone difference as he immediately questioned, “What's up?”

“Someone messaged me about signing to a team and now I'm trying to remember who this XVoid person is.”

Grian made a noise of surprise, “XVoid? Xisuma?”

“Who?”

“The Captain of [            ]! I thought we watched enough live streams together to know this?”

“... Grian, I only know Etho in that team!”

Grian made a noise of offense and went off on a tangent about each and every member of the team that was not Etho, scolding Mumbo for being a ‘solo fan’. Mumbo ignored him, hovering his mouse over Xisuma's friend request.

If it is the captain of that team, Mumbo can only assume that this was probably just a fan account. It didn't hurt to accept it. He's had a lot of friends in his friend list that he decidedly ignored a lot anyway. He just accepts them for the sake of filling that friend list.

With that over with, Mumbo started the queue, still ignoring Grian who was scolding his ear off.

–

Mumbo should've known there was going to be more to the friend request than he realized. What he assumed was a fan account was actually just the professional player's sub account.

Xisuma's team had taken notice of Mumbo, and even personally invited him to be their main team's support rather than simply being a substitute. Mumbo was about to disagree at first, discussing with Grian that he still wanted to play professionally with him, but Grian didn't stall him. He simply said;

"Go," and Mumbo had thought Grian hated him for being noticed by a team until he added, "I'll catch up."

And they left it at that. Mumbo signed with Xisuma's team as their support player but didn't even get to react properly that his online best friend didn't message him at all anymore as he was forced to move to a team provided account, leaving his personal one to the dust.

–

Mumbo's esports career didn't last longer than four years, but it was a good start for a while. He didn't have any experience whatsoever but his team was kind enough to help him throughout. He also found that a lot of people seem to like his awkward attitude so he didn't feel the need to upkeep a certain persona.

But with the constant change of meta to aggressive supports, his steady gameplay had no use in any team comps. It didn't help that, at every tournament, he got sadder and sadder the more he realized he couldn't see a certain username anywhere in both domestic and international teams even after a while. 

Grian wasn't there. The reason he was here at all, wasn't there. 

He had been moved to a substitute player midway through his career, replaced with someone more younger and aggressive in playstyle, his other teammates had also either retired or moved to better teams. The team’s management was still fond of him and he was only really kept for the fans' sentiments, but Xisuma didn't want him to live the rest of his life as a decoration, noticing the way Mumbo didn't enjoy his current status. The team they were in contract with wasn't getting any better either. They weren't going anywhere like this. Their skills could be put to more use somewhere. 

They couldn't accept the current state of things when they hadn't even won a single international championship to their name. Xisuma owed Mumbo at least a trophy for signing him up for the big leagues at such a young age that he could've used the time to explore more of his life.

He had offered Mumbo two things; Xisuma would pay so he could go back to college, or he could sign to Xisuma's budding esports company for a new chance.

As a coach, that is.

Mumbo had almost been tempted to say he would rather go back to studying, but Xisuma added more to his offer that he couldn't refuse; "You can choose the team. You'll be their main coach, after all."

Mumbo remembered that someone still promised to catch up, and he'd be willing to be a coach if it meant dragging him up here.

He promised. They promised they'd go together.

For the first time in a few years, Mumbo logged back in to his old account and clicked on a familiar user on his friend list.

"Grian,"

"You there?"

–

Mumbo wasn't confident for a while that Grian would reply back. It had been a good long while, after all. Would Grian even remember him? Mumbo's sure he himself hasn't forgotten the other, but he doesn't know if the sentiments are the same. 

Mumbo didn't really have the time to be too anxious about it either, busy helping Xisuma with properly setting up the company while also looking for managers and analysts to help him with forming the team.

The next time he finally checked his account again, he was disappointed when there was no message back. But one thing that gave him hope was when Grian’s user was lit up. He was online. And Mumbo could see damn well that his best friend, if he could still call him that, was actually just struggling to come up with a reply, especially when the indication of the other person typing kept popping up and disappearing over and over.

At least, with that, Mumbo knows that he wasn't fully ignored.

After a bit of waiting, he decided to give mercy to whatever message Grian is taking this long to send.

"Queue?"

And then the indication of Grian typing stopped. Then replying,

"You literally returned from war after how many and your first message is to ask to queue?? Not even gonna say hi to the kids?"

Mumbo burst out laughing. Somehow, it feels as if he never left for the professional scene and is back to his teenage self.

"How are you?"

"Got wife and kids."

Mumbo frowned at that, "Seriously?"

"No, you idiot. I'm this young and you think I'd have a kid already?"

"..." Mumbo rolled his eyes

"So what have you been doing this entire time?” I waited for you to catch up. Did you lie to me?

“Well one of us had to go to college, Mumbo.”

“Low Blow.”

“My bad.” Grian then typed, “Queue?”

“So now you’re trying to distract me by asking to play?”

“It's also been a while. I'm itchin’.”

Mumbo checked the time. He's fairly free for the rest of the day. And it's been a while since he's had genuine fun in the game, “Well, we ‘oughta scratch it!”

“Attaboy!”

–

They queue together for a while. Mumbo's old account had considerably ranked down so they were in lower elos. It wasn't that hard to win easily.

Grian was still good at the game, probably even better. He could catch up with Mumbo’s thinking, and Mumbo’s got the professional experience. One thing that bothered him was that Grian didn’t initiate a call like they always did years ago. Comms and all. Mumbo was left with Grian’s spam pinging and visual cues. Mumbo was too shy to ask about it, so he forced himself to be happy enough with Grian playing around with the emotes when they were idle in lane.

But surprisingly, when Mumbo thought they were about to log out, Grian told him to get in-game party call;

“Mumbo.” Oh, Mumbo has not heard that voice in a long time. Grian sounds less like a squeaker now. The long duration of having not spoken to each other was now extremely evident.

Mumbo forgot to greet back, and he didn’t get a chance to, as Grian spoke up again, “Why exactly did you message me again? Surely it's not to play, not when we could've done this for the past years.”

Mumbo didn’t know what to say for a moment. Would it be too rude to ask Grian about his previous interest in esports? Would that seem like he’s trying to flaunt at him or mock him?

His mouth twitched in hesitation, “Are you… still interested in going professional?”

“...” Grian didn’t reply, and Mumbo somehow felt even more desperate.

“You said you’d catch up.”

“I…” Grian sighed into the mic, seeming a little agitated, “Opportunities don't come as easily for me as it did for you, Mumbo.”

Mumbo furrowed his eyebrows, staring at Grian's little cat icon in disbelief, “...And so you gave up, just like that?”

“It wasn't just like that!” Grian defended. He sounded a little pissed off that Mumbo couldn't help but go quiet. At the silence, Pesky muttered an apology and calmed his tone, “Look, I- I really tried, alright? It was pressuring.”

Mumbo opened his mouth to ask what exactly pressured him but Grian beat him to it as he rambled on, “I lost my everyday duo to some team I couldn't even enter myself. Mum kept urging me to give up and go to college, but–” the voice on the other end cracked slightly but he took a long enough pause to steady himself, “I didn't want to- You, you were waiting, up on those big stages, looking around those stadiums like some lost little dog abandoned by their owner–”

“I was not some lost little dog!” Mumbo squeaked out in embarrassment, wondering if he really looked like that in the game livestreams, “How would you even know I was looking for you?!”

Grian’s smug smile could be heard in his tone, “I didn't say you were looking for me.”

Mumbo went quiet and murmured whinily, “You implied….”

The call was filled with Grian's giggling and Mumbo let himself enjoy the embarrassment for a brief moment before moving the topic along, “Anyway, I did say I was going to disagree to join them, but you urged me to accept it. I said I could've waited until we could sign together–”

“But you like the game, don't you, Mumbo?”

Caught quite off-guard, Mumbo gave his question a thought. He did like the game. Understanding the mechanics and strategy of it is fun. Winning a game was actually exciting since the winning conditions needed good skill and awareness to achieve, but… 

He only ever truly loved playing it because Grian was there. His best friend was a part of everything he loved about the game.

Mumbo was quiet and he couldn't find it in himself to actually admit his true opinions. Grian assumed that he was just embarrassed to admit that he liked the game and decided to move on, “So it was unfair to you. I couldn't drag you down. I know we promised to do it together, but that doesn't have to cost your possible futures.”

Mumbo chewed on his lip and once again quietly asked, “But are you still interested in playing?”

“Mumbo, I never stopped playing despite,” Grian said. An indirect message admitting that; he wants to play. He's always wanted to play. He never once gave up on the dream to. He's just a little late. “I wouldn't have queued with you today if I wasn't.”

Mumbo was hopeful at that admittance and he was quick to say, “Then play for me.”

“What?”

It was Grian's turn to be caught off-guard this time, sputtering in confusion and in disbelief. Mumbo could hear him sit straight on his chair, judging by the squeaking picked up by his mic, “No, that's- You shouldn't be practicing nepotism, Mumbo-”

Mumbo made a noise caught between a whine and a groan, “It's not nepotism if it's the coach's job to assemble a team of good players,” he defended. Grian was in even more disbelief this time as he caught on as to what Mumbo was getting at.

“Coach? What happened to your original team–? They still had you as a substitute…”

“Capt– X paid for the separation fee.”

Grian’s voice raised a little, “Then who and what the hell are you coaching for?”

Mumbo took a deep breath, needing to steady himself to be able to explain to Grian the situation without making it worse, “Look, I know you said you specifically wanted to play for a well-known team and, currently, X's company is just fairly knew–”

“Oh my god…” Grian muttered, his voice was muffled like he was burying his face in his hands. Mumbo ignored him as he continued to explain.

“He invited me to be the main coach, to set up the team to how I see fit since he had trust in the way I was at least aware of what was right, who was capable– Well, not to be blunt, but I have the skills to be able to strategize for an entire time and–”

Grian cut his ramble off, “You… you didn't do all this just for me, did you?”

Yes, I did. 

But, “No,” was what Mumbo said instead. “I still like the game, but I'm still not overly aggressive and competitive enough to be successful as a player, as you know.”

Silence that befell the call after that and it worried Mumbo as he didn't know if Grian could trust that reason. He was just about to continue his little persuasion when he was cut off again.

“I'm joining.”

“Before you– Wait, you are?!”

“Well, someone's gotta make sure you're not making wrong decisions! Who do you think taught you the game?! And you're planning to be the coach!?”

Mumbo couldn't even be sheepish at the underlying tone of being scolded. He was happy enough to hear Grian agree to joining even when doubt was evident in the other’s tone.

He’ll just have to show he’s capable of being Grian’s support, like always.

–

“Grian!” Mumbo had called out excitedly, approaching the man who held such a name. Maybe he was jogging more than politely approaching. Who was to blame him for being excited by the idea of finally meeting his long time online best friend face to face?

Grian’s shoulders jumped in surprise and he couldn't help but turn to look, looking even more stunned as he wasn't given time to react to the sudden hug Mumbo forced him into. His arms couldn’t find where to place itself, eventually relaxing on Mumbo’s back as he hugged back with equal eagerness.

The shorter man couldn’t help but laugh, “You’re surprisingly taller in real life, coach!”

Mumbo froze and pulled away to look at him weirdly, “Already calling me coach?”

“What? Were you actually not planning to sign me?”

Coach Mumbo winced and shook his head panickedly, “Goodness, of course we’re still planning to sign you, it’s just–” he hunched over and pouted a bit, “Isn’t coach a little too formal for us?”

Grian nudged Mumbo playfully, “Get used to it. You wanted this job. Didn’t you, coach?”

Mumbo pouted even more, slightly red in the face, “You don’t find me calling you jungler, do you?”

“I’m not signed yet so you can’t officially call me that yet,” the dirty blonde man then grinned wide, “For now, you can refer to me as darling.”

“Oh, stop it.”

–

Officially signing Grian up as the company’s first player was like a fever dream, even Grian himself would agree, and he’s had plenty of disbelieving things happening to himself. Even now when he was fully acquainted and settled into the residence provided by the team, he couldn’t believe that he was actually… what he dreamed of.

Grian glanced to his side, watching his coach scroll through some gameplay videos for possible teammates. Somehow, it felt right that the online best friend who nerds out about strategies that he can’t apply himself, was the tall man beside him.

Though honestly, Grian still expected Mumbo to be some hunched over nerd like he was. Who knew the man had not only looks and height, he had better posture than Grian.

The dirty blonde slumped in his chair and zoned out as Mumbo started introducing possible teammates, offering him options to form whatever team he wanted.

Grian didn’t listen much, still a little out of it. It is fairly weird that the coach of all people was asking the player who he wanted as teammates when it was supposed to be mainly the coach’s and the management’s job.

“Can I really pick the rest of my teammates?” He cut off Mumbo’s muttering in a familiar manner. Mumbo, as always, didn’t take offense and answered him.

“Of course.”

“And you’d support me?”

They held each other's stare longer than they should've. Mumbo broke into a smile.

“As I always have.”

–

“You’re stressing out Pearl again.”

Grian was half laying on his chair and lazily scrolling through the Grumbo tag on social media when Mumbo had come up to him with an unamused frown. Grian had half the respect for his coach to fix his seating arrangement and sat up properly to flash an innocent smile at Mumbo.

“I don’t seem to follow.”

Mumbo tugged at his hair in distress, familiar with Grian’s pretend dumb strategy. As a coach, you’d think that understanding strategies would be kept to the game, not applied even to his troublesome players.

“Sorry, let me rephrase then. You’re giving both Pearl and the PR team an extremely hard time to defend your honor.”

Grian sighs wistfully, “But you are my honor.”

Mumbo groaned and flushed red at that, “You’ve made that extremely clear with your interview!”

The dirty blonde shrugged and didn’t seem at all unapologetic. Seeing that he was once again going nowhere with attempting to horribly scold Grian, he leaned down and apologetically pecked the man on the forehead. Grian visibly perked up at that and blinked at Mumbo like he was expecting more.

Mumbo didn’t give him more, simply rolled his eyes and turned to leave, “Redo the interview tomorrow and you can negotiate for more.”

“MUUUUUUUUUUMBOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Grian’s complaints fell to no one’s ears as Mumbo left the training room.

[polin-erospsyche]

Part 2 to my incredibly long reaction to the incredibly short trailer

Part 1

In other news, less dramatic ones, Kanthony are home and they’re bringing with them some much needed order and sense back into the mayhem that is the Bridgerton home and everyone’s happy about it

Yes Anthony, things have been swift. They know. They definitely know the gentleman Colin prised himself on being is long gone, and that he’s compromised Pen and the worst thing is Colin’s not even half apologetic about it. He’s just so pleased with himself? Look at him and his emotional support liquor, he’s li ke « hehehe I did finger her in the back of a carriage, it was wild, I finally know what love is hehe »

El is also hanging out with her emotional support champagne. “Here’s to truly knowing each other, completely” that stings. Also Colin is catching up on the fact that Pen is not being truthful, he’s slowly waking up to all the blatantly obvious clues. Queue to said blatantly obvious clues (also the ring!!!):

The boy is so confused though when she says she’s been writing letters. He’s like “to whom??? I’m right here??? Tell me there’s not another suitor you’ve been secretly seeing” —> actually talking about this do you think that’s how Colin starts to think that he has competition and makes up a completely fictional rival??!

In other news Pen is just there hanging out with a family who finds emotional support in alcohol while she’s just hanging out in her psychological horror show. It’s ok baby, breathe and go tell him. I promise he’ll find it way more appealing than we all thought originally.

Also did I mention I need more horny and domestic Polin??? And they look so good in their new flat??? Like it’s literally their colour. Did Colin really go out there the very next day and was like “I need a blue, green, and yellow flat for the love of my life”?

Ok this is where I start to freak out. First he’s exchanged his emotional support liquor for emotional support tea. So the angst?! I’m gonna need my own emotional support liquor

Also this is so strange to me, he’s in their flat most likely, he’s sitting on the couch. It’s morning so he’s had time to process. Pen (if the shot right after is the same scene) barely dares to go and see him but she also has her hair down and looks to be at home. So are they already living together before they get married? If so the scandal. Or is this ep 8? But there seems to be pillows on that couch too? So did he sleep on the couch? Do we get to see the awkward and fragile state of their relationship, where they’re hurt but their love for each other is still so incredibly deep? If so I will die in the angst ditch that is Polin

And we’re back to lighter stuff, I think this is ep6 so he still had no idea. And just the way she giggles? Oh my heart cannot handle the sweetness.

WHAT AM I GOOD FOR??? So much Colin. You’re worth and count for so much my sweet summer child. Oh hero complex Colin, we love you oh so much. I was dying the whole way through but this is where I perished. THE ANGST. They really need to meet each other midway though. She needs to let him in and he needs to learn that she does not need saving, she needs love and companionship.

Thank you Netflix, I love them ❤️ Polin was getting a bit too real and dramatic for a second there.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Nerull, The One Who Sorts The Bones

It's said they found the god in the old tombs, in that forgotten quiet where long eras had worn away all the epitaphs. They drew in a breath of the still air and on their exhalation the god took flight into the world on vulture's wings. -The Silent Testimonies, book 1

A god not of death, but of the dead, Nerull presides those aspects of the mortal coil that lay beyond the Raven Queen's domain of mourning and memory. Someone must keep vigil for the departed long after their names have passed from the memories of the living, and so that duty falls to Nerull, who's chosen people are the spirits that have lingered in the world far longer than they were ever alive.

Beyond the dead, the vulture’s faithful are an eclectic lot. Itinerant gravetenders, scholars of forgotten tongues, Bonesetters who's experience with embalming helps them minister to the living.  To Serve Nerull you must first die, though this is often symbolic.

Unlike his fellow carrion-bird death god, Nerull's following does not frown on the use of necromancy, or the existance of undead. Ghost stories, whether vengeful or sorrowful are considered holy for the way their memory transcends time. The exception to this reverence of course are those trapped in suffering, and the "hungry" dead who feed on the living. Pain and want are after all the purview of life, and Nerull dispatches hunters and psychopomps to ease such spirits along their way.

Adventure Hooks:

While out on their travels the party encounters a procession of grey pilgrims, masked and shrouded, all silent save for the leader of their procession who carries a staff jingling with bells and welcomes the party to sit by his fire. He tells tale of conflicts across the realm, new and old, shared with her by her flock, and invites the party to walk along with them the next day if they wish to see something splendid. Should the party agree to such unsettling company they will walk until sunset when they come to a hillside dotted with loose stones, where one by one the pigrims will walk out and begin constructing their own cairns. The procession leader will thank them for their observance, not many are so kind to the unnamed dead, and will reward them with answers to five questions before departing on pallid wings.

After inexplicably befriending one of Nerull's agents (and possibly his daughter?) during one of their adventures, the party are liable to be put out when they don't see their favourite psychopomp for a while. Queue sightings of a foreboding spectre that's knocking one by one on the doors of the city at night, sending people into a panic. Imagine their surprise when it turns out this wraith has a message for them... their favourite omen of doom has been kidnapped by a necromancer and her boss (dad?) wants them to get her back.

The Vulture's work is never done, and this time he's decided to enlist the heroes for aid. Perhaps there's an undead spirit that needs to be quieted, perhaps there's something sinister at work in a ruin once consecrated in his name, perhaps it's just making sure they clean up after themselves after their latest stint of tombrobbing. Regardless, Nerull can offer the heroes something far beyond coin... closure with the dead, ensuring visitation with a loved one for some much needed closure.

Titles: The Vulture, The Bonesorter, Dead Ned, the weary reaper, the vagabond end.

Signs: Plants too dry to rot, the voices of the departed carried on the wind, skeletons rearranged into trees or gardens.

Symbols: A scythe or sickle entwined with flowers.

[farfromstrange]

Do No Harm

CHAPTER ONE: Night Shift

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Matt has to accompany Foggy to the ER in the middle of the night because he dislocated his shoulder. In need for some peace and quiet, Matt wanders the halls of Metro General and instead finds you crying in one of the abandoned hallways. A conversation ensues.

Warnings for this chapter: Slight angst, mention of injury.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/n: My brain gets the strangest ideas for fics and then I have to write them or else I will go crazy. This is how this baby was born. Keep in mind, I’m not a doctor. I simply watch a lot of medical dramas and I like to research medical terms for the fun of it. Heed the warnings for the entire series (see Series Masterlist) but also chapter-specific warnings that apply, as seen above. I hope you enjoy!

Read Chapter 1: Night Shift here on AO3

Ever since he can remember, Matt has hated hospitals. The antiseptic scent that lingers in the air, the sterile white walls that seem to close in around him—it all brings back memories of days spent in agony, tied to an uncomfortable bed, and seeing nothing but an endless void of black.

He can only tune out so much. The stench, the sirens, and the overlapping voices in an emergency room—they could easily kill him. 

Hospitals remind him of what he lost. He lost his vision, he lost his father and in the process, he lost his innocence. Matt lost everything, and even though he is well aware that it isn’t the hospital’s fault that he decided to save a man or that his father made a deal with the devil and got himself killed, he still hates the same empty walls that made him feel so small to begin with.

Matt doesn’t want to be a liability, he doesn’t want to be the reason the people he loves get hurt, and yet it continues to happen time and time again.

Maybe he’s cursed. It’s the only explanation for how things are going for him now. Maybe God has a grudge and finally decided to exercise his right to make his life a living hell. There is an infinite number of possibilities, but none of them make sense. 

He’s the anti-hero of his own story and that of everyone else who has ever dared to let him into their lives. He’s his own worst enemy, his personal saboteur. His unwavering pride has a tendency to get in the way of his happiness, which often leads to more bad than good, but admitting that would leave him vulnerable and exposed—and he can’t let himself get hurt again. 

It’s better to push the people he loves away before he can hurt them and force them to walk out on him the same way everyone else in his life has walked out on him ever since he can remember. At least in his twisted mind, that’s true. 

He never thought he would find himself in Metro General again, not since Claire came into his life. Claire, the caring nurse who saved him when he was on death’s door and continued doing so until she realized that falling for the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen comes with its own set of risks. 

Foggy dislocated his shoulder. 

It’s almost laughable. Out of everyone, he chose Matt to come to the hospital with him. Not Karen, Matt. He had the choice between the most empathetic person either of them have ever met, and Matt, someone so far out of touch with his own feelings, living in denial has become the standard for him. Foggy chose the latter, for whatever reason he doesn’t even seem to know himself. It just felt like the most natural thing to do, he told Matt when he asked his best friend, “Why me?”

He should feel honored that he trusts him that much, but being trapped in the sterile four walls of the hospital he only connects bad memories to while Foggy is stuck in the queue for an X-ray feels more like torture than an honorable act. 

The loud, demanding voices of the nurses, the painful groans and soft cries coming from the patients in the waiting area of the emergency room a few doors down, and the obnoxious beeping of the machines lining the walls in every room are like a swarm of bees in Matt’s inner ear. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t get them out. He’s allergic to them.

The room smells of disinfectant, blood, and other bodily fluids. He tries to focus on his cologne and the scentless laundry detergent he has grown so accustomed to over the years, but the balm only lasts for a few seconds before the wound reopens and his senses are flooded.

Matt keeps rhythmically tapping his fingers on his thigh. How much longer he can sit on this uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology area and wait for Foggy to return, he doesn’t know. It won’t be long now until he loses his mind. He is about to drown in his own misery.

He feels the desperate urge to land his fist in the wall next to him. He wants to scream, cry, maybe even both—this night is not going well. He hasn’t had a good night in weeks. Tonight though, he’s stuck in the hospital rather than outside, doing something against the injustice he is forced to listen to every day.

The hits he took the previous night were pretty severe, and his ribs still hurt. The numb ache that tears through him whenever he moves is a temporary relief from the pain induced by the noise around him. Whatever bits of sanity he tries holding onto eventually slip through his fingers. 

Eventually, he can’t take it anymore. He gets up, his head tilting toward Foggy’s elevated heartbeat. He’s still in line. Fifth, probably.

Matt taps his cane against the floor, making his way down the hallway. He’s not quite sure where he’s going or where he will land, he just knows that he needs to get out of there as fast as possible.

Rounding the hundredth corner of the evening, the sound of clattering metal trays and medical supplies disappears behind layers of drywall and automatic doors. Matt takes a moment, and he realizes that right here—right where he is now—he can finally breathe again.

The sound travels more easily. The air wafting through the vents and over the cotton sheets on a row of empty beds is the only sound that meets his ears. They’re lined against one side of the wall. The rooms are empty, the doors locked. It seems as if in a moment of desperation, he found his way to one of the abandoned parts of the hospital. 

A lack of funding caused Metro General to cut their losses. It certainly wasn’t an easy decision, but with capitalism on the rise, public hospitals are barely holding on.

Even though the truth is depressing, Matt still can’t believe his luck when he realizes how quiet it is. That may be a selfish thought, but he can't help it. The world is always so loud and uncomfortable. Finding someplace quiet after torturing himself in the waiting room for hours feels like heaven on earth on such a busy night.

The fog dulling his senses finally dissipates. He takes a deep breath. The air is cleaner here. No disinfectant, only the faint scent of plastic and dust; he wouldn't have thought it possible that he would ever consider that combination a blessing.

That’s when he hears it—a slightly elevated heartbeat followed by a series of muffled sobs. He got so caught up in the fact that he finally found what he was looking for amidst the chaos that he forgot to fan out his hearing.

Despite what he originally believed, he isn’t alone.

The air smells of the salty essence of human tears. Matt stops dead in his tracks, not sure whether to continue his journey or to turn around and return to the uncomfortable plastic chair in front of the radiology department.

“This nervous breakdown space is occupied,” your soft voice bounces off the high walls. It’s thick with exhaustion. Pain. Loss. He almost recoils at the all-too-familiar feeling it elicits in him.

Matt keeps his cane hugged tight to his chest, his knuckles whitening with how hard he is gripping the base. “Oh, I...I’m sorry,” he says, careful to keep his voice light. “I didn’t catch you there.”

You’re essentially a stranger to him. A troubled one, at that. You must have your share of problems or you wouldn’t be here. You wouldn’t be crying your eyes out. He doesn’t want to intrude, but he also can’t turn around. Not now, not anymore. You’ve already noticed him.

You sniffle, your hands wiping against the soft skin of your reddened cheeks. For a moment, your heartbeat picks up in speed before returning to its normal rhythm. “It’s alright,” you assure him.

Matt picks up on the faintest hint of disinfectant and the scent of antibacterial soap on you now, maybe a little blood, and definitely antiseptic laundry detergent—you’re wearing medical scrubs.

Your shampoo smells of vanilla and some herbal element he can’t quite identify just yet. Your perfume isn’t expensive, just enough to last through a long shift and filter the sweat that is seeping out of your pores. It’s not unpleasant. You smell like someone who’s been working hard and far past your limits, too.

“Do you need something?” you ask him. 

He pauses for a moment, rethinking his answer. His lips purse. He’s not sure how to answer that without completely giving himself away.

Your eyebrows raise slightly.

“Oh, just…some peace and quiet,” Matt says, finally finding his voice again. It sounds a bit more nervous than he would like to admit.

The chuckle you exhale is one of surprise and possibly even a bit of genuine amusement. “Yeah,” you sniffle, “I know that feeling.”

“Well, I’ll, uh, leave you to it. Sorry again.”

“No. Don’t.”

Matt stops in his tracks when the words pass your lips. 

You pat the space beside you. Your perfume becomes a little clearer. It’s so natural, so… you. He could get high off of it. Or maybe it’s just the sleep deprivation catching up to him. 

“This is the only quiet corner in this hospital,” you tell him. “Trust me. Underfunding has its perks for introverts. Rest in peace to about thirty internal medicine beds, but lucky me.”

Your chuckle echoes bitterly off the walls. You use humor to cope, apparently, but you’ve run out of strength to pretend.

His cane begins to gently pave the way as he makes his way forward. “Do you mind?” Matt nods toward the bed you’re sitting on. 

You pat the mattress again with a shake of your head. “Not at all.”

Gentle seems to be the one word that is consistent with everything you do. He can’t get this picture he has painted of you based on the sound of your voice out of his head. Maybe you’re an angel and he has officially gone insane, or maybe there are just a lot more good people left in this world than he originally thought. 

Matt folds his cane and skillfully sits down on the edge of the mattress. You smell even better up close. Your heartbeat reminds him of a beautiful symphony, no longer as erratic as when he first picked up on your presence. 

“I’m Matthew, by the way,” he says.

He can hear a sudden uptick in your heartbeat. He may have just imagined it. You suck in a sharp breath, and he’s sure he didn’t imagine that, but then you lift your hand to take his.

“Olivia,” you say. 

Matt listens closely. You have no reason to lie about your name. Your heartbeat may be faster, but it isn’t a lie. You just seem a lot more nervous and unsure than before. It doesn’t quite make sense why you would be unsure about your own name.

“Nice to meet you, Olivia.” His lips curl into a soft smile.

You smile back, he can hear it, but it lacks an essence of truth. You’re trying hard to seem like you’re okay. It’s not your fault that his senses are sensitive to all changes in the human body, even in that of a stranger he just met.

You’ve been crying, so of course, you wouldn’t be alright. The question is, why? 

“I take it you’re not part of the staff,” you say into the silence.  

“No.” Matt chuckles. “I, uh, have a friend with a dislocated shoulder,” he says.

“Ah! Let me guess, his doctor in the ER reduced the dislocation but insisted on doing an X-ray just in case, so now you have to wait because radiology has a hold-up longer than the Nile?”

A laugh rumbles through his chest. “Yeah, that… that’s pretty accurate.”

“It’s always like this,” you say. “A dislocated shoulder doesn’t have priority. We have bigger fish to fry.”

“You work here?” he dares to ask. 

You pull at the bottom of your scrub top. “Guilty as charged. Trauma surgery. I’ve been an attending here for a little over two years now.”

“Oh, wow! That’s…that’s incredible.”

Matt has encountered his fair share of doctors in the past, but no one has ever been quite like you. You’re unique. Mysterious. An enigma. You have piqued his curiosity, to say the least, and your profession only adds to the pile of interesting things he can ponder about.

You smile at him again, but it’s still not a genuine one. “Thanks,” you drag the last syllable out, the air deflating your lungs.

He swallows. “Or it isn’t. I didn’t mean to–”

“No, that’s not… some days just aren’t that rewarding,” you say. “That’s all.”

“And today has been one of those days?” Matt asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Your eyes roam over him once again.

He reaches for his hair, running his hand through it. He ruffles the brown strands until they’re covering his left temple. Matt’s not sure if you saw; there is a high chance that you did, but he can't anticipate your behavior. Not yet. 

You let out a longer breath. “Not a fan of hospitals, I take it?” you ask.

He shakes his head. “It gets… loud,” he says. 

“Sensitivity to sound.” You nod. “Noted.”

He hears the fabric of your scrubs brushing against your skin and the cotton sheets on the bed. You cross your legs, opening yourself up to him just slightly, and he wonders if you really are comfortable around him or if you’re just being kind. 

“Probably to smell as well? Feeling? Taste?” There is a soft smile laced in your voice. This time, it’s real. 

Matt chuckles. You hit the nail right on the head. You’re simply not aware of how sensitive he is to these things. “Pretty sensitive, yeah,” he says. 

That about sums it up. You nod, but you don’t push him any further. 

“Well,” you say, “The ER is pretty disgusting. And loud. And to be forced to wait in front of radiology is probably a scenario they offer as a torture device in one of the seven circles of hell.”

He can’t help himself, “It’s nine, actually.”

“Sorry?”

“Nine circles,” Matt clarifies, his lips twitching in a faint grin. “Dante’s Inferno. A good Catholic boy’s guilty pleasure.”

You let out a genuine laugh this time, and it warms his senses. It’s a rare sound in a place filled with so much pain. He can almost hear the weight from your shoulders hit the floor. The tension in the air seems to ease, if only for a moment. You allow to let yourself go. 

Your grin turns into a smirk. “Catholic, huh?” you retort. 

“Since the day I was born,” he says. “Are you religious?”

That seems to steal your breath away. You have no words. For a full minute, silence settles in between the two of you. It’s almost uncomfortable, and Matt fears he must have crossed a line. He just doesn’t know how to apologize for something he is truly curious about. 

The topic of God and religion seems to hit a nerve when it’s not used in a humorous context. There are many reasons why that could be. He spends every day battling his own religious trauma and the demons that he feels he’s harboring deep inside, but he still holds on tight to his faith. If he doesn’t have an excuse—if he doesn’t have anything to hold onto other than what broken self-respect he has left—where would he be?

You finally clear your throat after what feels like an eternity. “No,” it’s a simple answer. “I don’t believe that there is a God.”

Your mouth stays open. You want to say something else, but your lips close within seconds after the thought has passed by you, and you swallow it. He wonders what he could have learned about you if you had allowed yourself to say what you were truly thinking when the words first left your mouth. You’re holding back, and it is audible. It might even be visible. Your cheeks are running hot. 

Matt nods. He doesn’t question you. Your beliefs are yours. Most of the time, he doesn’t even believe that there is a God himself. 

“It’s hard to keep the faith in this world, especially when you work so hard every day trying to save people’s lives. When you are forced to see what the system does to those who can’t defend themselves over and over again, but you can’t do anything about it. Or when you see what people do to each other. I mean, the cruelty of human beings is unmatched, and it makes you wonder if God is just a sadist, or if maybe he isn’t even real because a gracious God wouldn’t let innocent children die,” you cut yourself off in an instant, and he tilts his head toward you in surprise. 

Your breath shudders. “I… I’ve seen too much bad to believe that there is an all-merciful God,” you say. “So I simply don’t.”

You try to meet his eyes, but all you see is your reflection in the red of his rounded glasses. Your heart breaks a little, he can hear it. Your shoulders slump. You’re defeated.

He isn’t sure how to react to that. How to help. How to be a decent human being. Matt just doesn’t have the answers you need, and it makes him question his own faith for a minute. Not that he has ever not questioned it; his relationship with God is as complicated as it gets.

You catch yourself after a moment of staring into the void of his glasses. “But… that’s my opinion. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

“I’m not offended,” Matt says.

You were smiling, and now you’re not anymore. He doesn’t like that. He liked it more when you were more open with him. Your legs have moved back to your chest, your arms clinging to them. You’ve retreated. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. The edge in your voice breaks his heart. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. I get it. Injustice…it’s a parasite. I’ve encountered my fair share of good people who deserved better than what they got. You try and you fail over and over again because the world isn't fair. I’d be the last person to judge you for not sharing my beliefs.” He breaks off in a chuckle. “I'm not that kind of guy.”

Your eyebrows shoot up to your hairline. “What is that you do again?” You didn’t ask that question before.

“I’m a lawyer,” he states. “Defense attorney.”

“Wow,” you let out a soft puff of air, “And you chose to go to Metro General instead of jumping on the big money train to the Upper East Side?” 

Although your tone is joking, Matt can tell that there is an ounce of truth in your words.  

He hides his laugh behind a cough. He’s not sure if he’s surprised or if he actually finds that assumption hilarious. Maybe a bit of both.

“Oh, no.” He shakes his head. “I have never even been in the same station as the big money train.”

“Oh?”

“No. We, my partner and I, do pro-bono work. We don't get paid for our services. Well, other than baked goods and overdue bills in the mail, of course.”

You chuckle. “That’s a relief. Not so much for your bank account, but ethically.”

“Yeah.”

“Sorry for assuming. That was prejudiced of me,” you say. “I’m not trying to judge you. I’m sorry. Rich or not, it’s none of my business.”

Matt shrugs. “It's okay. Lawyers and doctors are the two professions so many think make millions of Dollars a year, and while that may be the case for a few, a lot of us just… don’t,” he says.

“Amen! If I had a drink, I’d toast to that.”

“Yeah, well, an intoxicated doctor would not fare well in the legal sense.”

“You think that would end my career?”

“I can’t even give you good legal advice other than, don’t.”

Your giggle turns into a laugh. “Thank you for the advice, counselor.”

He joins in. “Anytime.” 

For a moment, only the two of you exist. Matt adjusts his position, but he doesn’t take his bruised ribs into account. His wince is barely audible, yet you notice it in an instant. And when his hair slips, you can see the gash on his forehead. The one he tried to stitch up himself but probably did an awful job at concealing. 

Your eyes narrow in concern. “What happened to you?” your voice barely breeches the sound barrier. 

“Oh, nothing,” he tries to shrug it off. “Just an accident.”

“An accident?”

“I am blind, you know. I tripped, hit my head. It happens.”

“Hm.” Much to his surprise, you don’t press him further. Instead, you gently reach out to brush the sweaty strand of hair from his face that he used to cover up the aftermath of his latest endeavor. 

Now that he thinks about it, his ribs really do hurt. He’s sure nothing is broken, but they are severely bruised. Even he can feel the blood pooling under the skin. 

You bite your lip, not wanting to pry. The urge is obvious to him, but only to him. You’re good at your job. You focus on the task at hand. That is probably why you became a doctor in the first place; to help people, not to pry. 

But Matt Murdock doesn’t need help. 

“It’s fine,” he assures you. 

You nod. “I believe you.”

You don’t. You’re lying. He appreciates the effort though. You try your best at making him feel comfortable and welcome. Asking questions would only drive him away; you wouldn’t be able to satiate your pathological need to help. It’s who you are.

“Whoever patched this up did a terrible job,” you say, “and I don’t want to know who did it because if you tell me it was you, I will lose my mind, so, I choose to believe you for the sake of my own sanity.”

His lips part in a soft laugh. “Yeah, you don't wanna know,” he says.

“Can I fix it?"

He opens his mouth to decline, “You don’t have to, I–”

“Please.” 

There is no arguing with you, it seems.

Your footsteps echo in the empty hallway. One of the drawers in the cart across from the bed slides open at your touch. Matt can hear the distinct crinkle of packaging and the clanking of metal. When you return to his side, your steps are a little heavier. 

“I’m going to clean the wound and then apply a butterfly bandage to help the skin grow back together,” you explain. “The cut isn't that deep, but you must’ve hit your head pretty hard when you fell. I can’t force you to get a head CT, so… If you experience any nausea or neurological deficits in the next few days, you should come back to run some tests. But—and that is not my expert medical opinion because I don’t have the tests to back it up—I think it should be fine to heal on its own.”

“Any other advice, Doc?” he jokes. 

“Well, I can’t give the same good news about your bruised ribs.” You only have to place your hand on his side and his lips come to press tightly together. “I’m guessing third and fourth,” you say. “If one of them is fractured, it makes you run at risk for internal bleeding, but to see the extent of your injuries, we’d have to get an MRI. That is not my call to make. I can’t force you to get your battle scars checked out, I can just advise you to think about it. Really think about it.”

Matt sighs. His laughter has long died. “I know.”

He doesn’t want to repeat himself. He’s fine. He has to pretend that he’s fine because he doesn’t have time for doctors or questions. Neither you nor the law can protect him from the damage that the truth would do. 

You’re disappointed, but you swallow your pride. With delicate precision, you start cleaning the wound on his forehead, the cotton swab dabbing at the dried blood. He winces at the sting of antiseptic, a subtle twitch in response to the pain.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

Matt manages a half-smile. “It’s alright. I’ve had worse.”

That doesn’t make you feel better, but you accept it. You’ve learned to respect your patients’ wishes, even if that means swallowing a lie. 

As you work, your fingers graze over his skin with a careful tenderness. It’s a stark contrast to the harshness of the world he navigates outside—a double-edged sword. If he doesn’t go out there, more people die or get hurt. He would sustain the same injuries over and over again and almost die rather than pretend that evil isn’t lurking right outside his window every night. And there is a bigger storm brewing in the distance, one he isn’t fully prepared for. 

Yet.

You finish cleaning the wound and proceed to carefully apply a fresh bandage. Matt can feel the cool adhesive against his skin. Your touch is soothing, almost comforting, and he allows himself to relax.

“There,” you announce softly. “All patched up.”

Matt lifts his hand to touch the bandage, a habit he developed over the years to reassure himself that someone cared enough to tend to his wounds. “Thank you,” he answers. 

“No biggie.” You shrug with a tiny smile, and that makes him smile, too. It shows him that while you are displeased with his lack of respect for himself and his health, you aren’t mad at him. You just care.

The shrill beeping of your pager tears a headache through his skull.

You curse under your breath. “I’m so sorry,” you say as you skim over the text that has been sent to you. “The, uh—the ER needs me.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he quickly responds. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Go. Save a life!”

You’re reluctant at first, but then your lips curl into a broader, more genuine smile, and in the heat of the moment, you grab his hand. “It was nice meeting you, Matthew,” you say. “Take care of yourself.” 

Your footsteps retreat and your heartbeat gets fainter as you walk down the hallway. He’s speechless. He doesn’t even remember how to say goodbye. 

“Oh, and do me a favor?” You stop momentarily just to ask him, “Get those ribs checked out?”

His mouth opens and closes like that of a fish on dry land. “Sure,” he says. 

“Thank you,” these are your last words to him before you take off running. 

Both of you know though that once he is out of Metro General and on his way home, he won’t come back. Not for himself, at least. And it is something you have to accept as much as he has to accept the fact that you are long gone, off to save a life in the very four walls that seemed so scary to him all alone only fifteen minutes ago.

Tag List: @shiorimakibawrites @allllium @siampie @auroraslibrary @roseallisonparker @abucketofweird @thatonegamefish @capylore @kniselle @sumo-b98 @peachstarliight @littlehappyperson @danzer8705

[bomber-grl]

omg saw that requests are opened and i’m begging for hcs of how hiro and his s/o spend a valentines day together?

or!

how hiro’s s/o reacts to finding out that he’s part of bh6 (as are his friends),

would s/o be angry about the lies? shocked? want to join?

who knows :,)

“You’re part of bh6?”

Pairing(s): Hiro Hamada x Gn!Reader

A/n: I never did do the valentine reqs and won’t until next year for Valentine’s Day (unless voted otherwise) so have this :)

“You’re part of bh6?!” You honestly couldn’t believe what you just heard. what the hell!

Hiro scrambled to explain “well- Yknow I had to keep a secret-“ but you quickly shut him up with your next response.

“I already knew” you stood there staring at one another until Hiro finally got the courage to speak up.

“What?”

The day began as every day does

You text hiro on your way to the Lucky Cat Cafe and walked with him and his /your friends from there

The day passed by and it wasn’t until the end of the day did things not seem as they usually did

Hiro had said goodbye to you since you told him you’d stay afterschool in your lab to work on something.

Well you went on over to Hiros lab as you usually did to find something you could use

But something caught your eye and your hand reached for it

It was the helmet that revealed everything

You immediately recognized it as the leader of bh6’s helmet

But what would Hiro have to do with it

Well you’d find out, of course

You began looking right then and there around the lab for any clues

And you found many

You found materials, sketches, drafts for super suits and one notably for Baymax

Not to mention how you saw it now

Hiros face was so blatantly obvious you felt embarrassed

But most of all you were angry, and hurt

Not only did Hiro keep this from you but the whole group did

Not to mention how sure, you weren’t part of it when the superhero group first showed up

But damn…

This was a week ago now and currently you don’t know how to bring it up

But then you got caught up in a villain attack and saved by the hero you know as Hiro

He was carrying you in his arms and set you down now that the scene calmed down and villains were defeated

“Here you go” he set you down on the pavement of a sort of hidden alleyway.

“Sorry I can’t set you down closer, it’s still a scene that needs to be delt with” he goes to walk away but then you say something you sorta regret saying

“I know who you are” hiro flew off on Baymax right when you said that but you knew he heard it, his face said it all.

-

The days following hiro was acting suspicious

He was overly anxious at anything you’d say, possibly searching for a double meaning

But then he’d look into every action you’d do

It was annoying and then finally when you two were alone in his garage you guess he cracked under pressure and told you.

“I’m part of big hero six, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you” his eyes refused to meet yours and he stood there waiting.

“You’re part of bh6?!” You honestly couldn’t believe what you just heard. what the hell!

Hiro scrambled to explain “well- Yknow I had to keep a secret-“ but you quickly shut him up with your next response

I already knew” you stood there staring at one another until Hiro finally got the courage to speak up.

“What?”

“Yeaaaaaaa” you could only stretch it on awkwardly

Queue you and Hiro now sitting face to face on his bed in his room

Honestly he was a bit upset

the audacity

Well he spoke up and asked about it then you explained

This whole thing has put a strain on your relationship and finally it made sense to both of you

The times hiro would disappear and couldn’t make it

Current times where you’ve been avoiding him and detaching

It all makes sense

You two had a good talk

I mean it was inevitable and soon enough you’d speak to everyone else

But for now, Hiro promised to make it up to you

Then you meet with everyone else and they also apologize

But now it’s time to see where it goes here on out

Sure you could join but it sorta not on the best terms and you’d be new

But at the same time you’d be left out

Guess it’s up to you…

-

If you chose to join then they’re happy to accept you in (out of pity 🫠)

But then you really pull your weight

Maybe you became even more well liked than hiro, who knows but alls well that ends well

I mean even if you don’t wanna work on scene you could work behind the scenes

Giving new routes, giving directions, sending out inventions

There’s so many things you could do for them and regardless of what you do they’d be thankful

Or yknow

You could choose to not join

Hiro and everyone else doesn’t put it against you and understand

But it is difficult to have to be left while they go fight

But alas, its the path you chose

You made your bed, now lie in it

A/n: lowkey inspired me to write another story

[sehtoast]

Tender Threads CH3 (Homelander x OC)

chapter three: initiation

chapter directory | slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff, spidersona as original character, original trans male character, smut, sublander

summary: time to make it official. speeches, crowds, and vought's guard dog watching his every move. better not mess up, bug boy.

Word was out by fault of a leak.  Before the official announcement by Vought, news outlets had plastered Spidey over every flat surface and digital medium possible.  It wasn’t the first time Ben had made international news, but it was the first time it was to a scale like this.  He’s been a hot subject since becoming one of the only ‘rogue’ supes to not choose outright crime, though vigilantism was still technically illegal.   But he had droves of public support and pretty much always has.

Spider-Man had been gasoline added to the fire in the debate of unlicensed heroes.  He wasn’t the first, but he was certainly one of the more popular ones– though Ben could never fathom why.  Within three years of first donning the mask, he found himself trending on social media on a nearly regular basis for reasons both good and bad.

Spidey Doesn’t Kill.  Spider-Man Saves Victims Before The Seven.

Debates on his morals or potential lack thereof.

He’s not getting paid for it, obviously he’s doing it because he’s a good guy. 

What if he’s just some sick freak that wants an excuse to beat up on people?  

It was… a lot.

But it’s never been anything like this.  At least the outrage of the handful of exceptionally vocal few was satisfying.  Especially that weird guy that runs The Bugle.

Ben was given a script for his formal introduction.  Vought was going all out.  A stage, cameras, a massive crowd…

It was fucking scary.

He’d met Stillwell a week prior.  Just do it the way Homelander does, she’d said to him.  As if it were that easy.  As if his entire life wasn’t just upended by both the world’s most powerful supe and conglomerate.

So here he stands, just a few blocks away from the stage in Central Park.  Waiting for his little queue.

He can hear her over the loudspeaker.  Insincerity and public posturing dripping from her voice like venom.

Ben hates these types.  He’s dealt with them a lot in his job– well, old job– and something about her was so… wrong.  The way she smiled at him when he lifted the pen from his contract, name forever etched, soul forever sold.  Maybe it was how soothing she tries to be.  Soft voice, gentle eyes, even though behind it all is just another soulless little–

“I am so thrilled to present to you,” she says, voice bouncing off buildings and into Benjamin’s ears.

His queue to jump, to dive low and arc high.

“The newest member of The Seven–”

Go, go, go!   Drag line– zip– push off the wall– dive, momentum, go for the spectacle!  Razzle dazzle ‘em, Ben! C’mon, Stillwell! Say it!  Say the fucking line!

“The Amazing Spider-Man!”

Just as the words fly off her tongue, Ben comes into full view of the crowd.  Cheers erupt like deafening thunder, seemingly drowning out the city.  He peers down as gravity corrects his display of performative agility, sending him on a dive toward the stage.

A zipline to the rafters is all he needs to stick the landing, a quick handstand to add that pizzazz that was demanded from him, and a web from which to dangle upside down as he waved like the good little performer he was.

It wasn’t without its own beauty.  Even upside down those signs were clear as day.

We Love You Spidey! 

You Saved Us!

NY ♥️s Spidey!

The cheers, the kids in shifty little homemade costumes, his signature hand gesture that releases his webbing being held high by thousands...

Even in the air, he couldn’t see the end of the crowd.

But there’s no time for his brain to blue-screen like this, especially not when Stillwell all but grabs him and directs him to the podium.

Oh fuck, public speaking.  Christ, Ben thinks to himself, okay, imagine them all in their underwear…

The roar of the crowd silences in mere seconds as they wait for him to speak.

Thank god for the mask.  And the podium… fuck, are my legs shaking?

“Hi, everyone.” Ben begins, clearing his throat awkwardly.  He had a lot to nail here.  Poise, confidence, and whatever else was gonna help make supes look competent enough to belong in that defense bill.  Yeah, Stillwell made sure he knew not to fuck up their future as Lockheed Martin’s biggest competitor.

One step out of line could be catastrophic.

“I just… I wanna start by thanking everyone, y’know?  Everyone here, out there, friends, family… the whole shebang.”  He starts, letting the thunderous applause run its course before moving on.  “But most importantly, I want to thank Vought for giving me this chance–”

Gag, gag, gag!  This is horrible!  Ben thinks to himself as he runs his script.  Part way through some babble about small beginnings, he notices a flash of red and white behind the proscenium wall of the stage.

Homelander’s here?

“I’m just so incredibly grateful to be standing here today, y’know?  I hope I make you folks proud.  Thank you,”  oh christ, here we go with the raw corporate vomit, “and god bless America!”

Blegh.

Ben takes the slightest step away from the podium, and it’s like a jet engine firing up right in the middle of the park.  Screams and cheers, applause and all sorts of noise making doohickeys.  Beside him, Stillwell ceases her own claps to gently guide him from the podium.  Then, the noise explodes.

Whatever fanfare was for Spidey becomes infinitely louder when those colors sway out from behind the wall.

“Oh, no!  Hey, you guys!”  Homelander shouts to the masses, his smile wide and happy as he makes his way to the microphone.  He claps a hand against Ben’s shoulder and pulls him back to the podium to stand with him.  “C’mon, let’s hear it for Spider-Man, eh?”

Homelander leans in as the deafening uproar picks back up.  “Bet’cha don’t get that as a vigilante, huh?”

Then, as the noise dies down, Homelander begins his own performance.

“I, for one, am incredibly glad to have this fella join our team. It’s unfortunate that Translucent was injured so badly by an unknown enemy during his last mission, and I swear to God that we’ll find whoever is responsible and bring them to justice!” Homelander pauses. “But, I know that Spidey here will bring his own incredible qualities to our team, and I very much look forward to working with him, and the rest of The Seven, to keep our country, and world, safe!”

Perfectly impassioned.  Voice strong, tone bold but somber for his incapacitated friend.  Humble and domineering, but worthy of adoration.

He’s one hell of a spectacle up close.

Homelander’s arm slings around Ben’s shoulders, indicating that he, too, should wave to the masses.  He was showing the world how friendly they are with one another despite the real deal behind the scenes.  Despite what he’d said and done to the bug.

Benjamin wasn’t going on a patrol tonight.  No, no… after today, all he wants to do is curl up and hibernate.  Maybe it was all of the dread and anxiety for his big reveal day that had weighed him down, but he felt so heavy.  There was no way he’d be able to resist a nap on a rooftop at this rate.

Besides, this was probably one of the last times he’d ever sleep a full night here.  Well, most of a full night, given his sixth sense’s tendency to rouse him at odd intervals.  

Vought was moving him in.  Sure he could keep the apartment, but what was the point?  All of his things were going to be transferred by Vought’s moving services, so all he really had to do was pack everything up even though he technically didn't actually have to– the moving team would handle everything.  Not that there was much he could have in a studio apartment, but…

He’d gotten as far as boxing up his clothes, but everything else was still as is.

Instead of doing more, though, he just grabs that same guitar whose strings Homelander nearly broke, lays back, and picks a melody until drowsiness turns to pure exhaustion.

Unaware of the eyes watching him through the walls.

The boy was… a curious thing.  Obligation had turned to fascination, fascination became fixation, and fixation became obsession a little too quickly for his liking.  But that didn’t stop Homelander from continuing with his observations.  

It never does.

He was almost grateful that killing the bug was off the table completely.  Had he done so in that alley, he wouldn’t be here now, being practically serenaded– well, all except for some singing that Benjamin has yet to unknowingly perform for him.  Everything he’d seen over the last few weeks had driven him insane.  

Why in the hell would such an extraordinary supe choose this?   The mundane, the boring, the simple.

The mud.

He could have been so much more so long ago!  And Vought?  Vought waited this long to pursue and sign him?  What a fucking joke!  Homelander would’ve taken him over Starlight in a second had they pitched him earlier.  He supposes, though, that it was because they had been taking formal auditions back then…

But what a specimen this Benjamin was turning out to be.  So bold, yet so timid.  So happy and sad all at once.  Human, yet impeccably super.  And so very fun to watch live his boring little life.  Homelander will almost miss watching the web-head scramble to make it to work on time, swinging around the city in his cheap dress shirt, spider suit stuffed in a backpack, and then doing that stupid job as a… oh, what was it..?  Some kind of tech bullshit, whatever it was.  

Suffice it to say, it’ll be magnificent with the bug living in the same building soon.  Easier to observe that way.

[alan-becker-confessions]

spotted the queue is lacking so colour gang video game head canons be upon ye

Red - my guy is here for a good time, not for a long time. generally rathers fighting games, something they can switch on, burn through some quick fights and switch off to do something else. doesnt strike me as someone to spend much [if anything] on games. f2p options will do them fine. could also see them with driving games for some reason? more like mario kart than serious ones but still likes a bit of racing occasionally. generally pretty chill, would take other options before gaming but still enjoys it when the time comes. plays project sekai for the music, gets wrecked by green most of the time.

Orange - like red, isnt looking for commitments when gaming. would probably enjoy something slow and relaxing, giving them a chance to unwind after the day. i can see them with platformers and roguelikes, games with an end goal in mind. if theres also a cool artstyle they are approaching so rapidly. leaning into more fanon territiory orange would COOK in horror games. living with four sticks who were literally created to fight lead to many suprise attacks, which connected with the horrors™️ they've faced made them practically immune to jumpscares. rarely ever plays them but when he does he is eating it up

Yellow the text is yellow in spirit - okay so we can all agree is an absolute gamer right? right. with that out of the way holy stick. we got the arcade machine first of all, which they have the most high scores on. soo close to beating tetris honestly terrifying. outside of that, you already know my girls feral for a good plot. loves underlying messages and themes, something they can sit down and think about once they finished the story. something like professor layton would keep them entertained for months and they will ramble about it for just as long if you set them off. likes horror games in theory, but thats about it. cannot get jumped to save their life i swear. plays them with orange and spends 90% of the time hiding.

Green - needs to feel his heart in his mouth or hes not having fun. fps are his jam, especially team ones like marvel rivals or overwatch. something about the satisfaction of getting a team where everyone just *clicks* and they sweep the other team, ooh boy they love it. will occasionally indulge in a shouting match if it happens, but most of the time stays civil. a more obvious option, but green also plays rhythm games! prefers ones like guitar hero and friday night funkin', where it feels like youre genuinely preforming on stage. cracked when he focuses, but can get confused and fumble if/when he misses a beat. beats the crap out of red when they play project sekai together.

Blue - lets start with the obvious, loves a good farming sim. a basic answer i know, but you cant deny it. 100% completion on both stardew valley and animal crossing, and if you ask em about it theyll just be like "oh yeah it was pretty easy ngl :]" and wont elaborate. also enjoys rhythm games, but rathers ones like osu and ddr. the warm side of the color gang run bets when green and blue go against each other. similar to yellow, likes a story to follow, but pays more attention to characters and relationships then themes. visual novels are her love language. slay the princess is her wife [projection beam GO 💥]. the most common victim of yellows rambles, and sometimes the roles switch when blue gets started on why those two shouldn't kiss no listen dude you don't understand-

might write up some ideas for a color gang game night at some point, this was very fun :]

- 🎞 anon

Ohh these are so real I love you ohh...

You can see a lot of these in the way they play OTHER games too (or just how they are with eachother) and I really like that you took that into consideration! With that being said, TSC and Yellow should play Phasmophobia with me... Cause I suck at it....

[engineerdz]

MHA bakudeku AU that I am never going to write: Deku and Dynamight get captured sometime and hit with the quirk-canceling poison. As the villains are dragging Izuku away, he leans over and kisses Katsuki (to get some of his DNA in Katsuki's mouth) but Katsuki doesn't realize it at first and is just DEVASTATED that their first kiss is right before Izuku thinks he is going to die. Eventually OFA kicks in and it isn't cancelled out (because it's 'new' for Katsuki) and Katsuki breaks them out. Katsuki immediately kisses Deku back to give him OFA back and they are together officially now.

Later during the final AFO fight, All for One has been able to steal people's quirks. AFO can't take OFA all outright but he can weaken it gradually. AFO keeps stealing Deku's by setting traps. Delu keeps saving people from the traps but one by one AFO nabs the quirks away. Eventually Deku is cornered and AFO taunts him like "you don't have any quirks left to save you know" but Dynamight swoops in and tackles AFO away and is like "I only need 1 quirk to beat you!"

Queue epic fight scene. Dynamight is doing a great job fighting since most heros have lost their quirks at this point. He runs out for sweat so he Plus Ultra's and starts exploding his own blood. It's badass but he's weakened from blood loss and distracted by Izuku being targeted and AFO stabs him and he does.

Deku starts freaking out. He can feel Katsuki dying, because Katsuki was a past holder of one for all and Deku can FEEL himself gaining Explosion. He also now gets a spirit Katsuki in his head where the past holders used to be - Katsuki is the only one now.

AFO taunts Deku again. Deku just says "die" and he and the spirit Katsuki in his head fight but eventually they explode AFO into a million pieces and win. Deku only needed the one quirk (Explosion) to beat him.

2 ending options. Sad ending: Deku goes onto live the rest of his life as a hero with an explosion quirk. One of his eyes is red, and he acts using a lot of Katsuki's mannerisms when he's not paying attention. He passes OFA on again eventually: because it's been "reset" it's power is not overwhelming anymore

Happy ending: Eri rewinds Katsuki's body to an uninjured state, and Deku kisses him to pass OFA/Katsuki's spirit back into his body. Katsuki wakes up, surprised to be alive, remembers everything about his spirit time with Deku. He tries to use his quirk but can't; Deku theorizes that the quirk evolved and Katsuki's new quirk is being alive. They go on to spend the rest of their lives retired and quirkless together.

[im-not-batman]

For the ask WIP game

Spideypool falling please 😊

Oh I LOVE this one!

It's a 5+1 of spideypool falling for eachother and then Falling For Eachother. Featuring Dadpool because I'm a big fan of his work (Ellie).

"It really creeps me out when you do that, Webs." Wade said, sinking deeper into Peter's beat-up couch and kicking his fluffy-sock-clad feet up onto the other half of it that Peter was perched above. "I like sitting up here, sends all the blood to my brain so that I can beat you quicker," Peter reasoned and as if on queue the tinny TV speaker announced yet another victory. "You're such an asshole, Baby Boy," Wade smirked up at him, sounding more proud than annoyed. He threw a couple of M&Ms up for Peter to catch in his mouth, "do the other heros know how much of an asshole their comrade is?" Around his mouthful of chocolate and peanuts, he grinned, "I save all my worst bits for you, Wade." It was true too. He always felt like he needed to pose and posture around his fellow superheroes. Even though he'd come into his own as Spider-man over the last ten years, he still yearned for their approval and strived for their respect. Around Wade though, there was no need to pretend he was any better than he actually was. He didnt feel the need to constantly be on his best behaviour. Peter let his sass and sarcasm, disdain and irritation, good moods, bad moods and everything inbetween run rampant around Deadpool. And he never felt like he was being judged or evaluated. Just admired. Ecouraged even. "I'm touched," he said, throwing up another handful of M&Ms. This time Peter didn't react quick enough, lost in thought, and missed them.

Instead Wade caught the chocolates in his own mouth. Which shouldn't have been a thing but Peter's brain was making it a thing. He couldn't figure out if it was the ease with which he caught them – Peter's attraction to competency rearing it's ugly head – or the fact that the M&Ms were intended for his mouth and were now in Deadpool's. Either way, Peter's brain was doing some sort of horny gymnastics to rationalise it as tonsil tennis by-proxy. He watched Wade's throat bob as he swallowed. Peter's concentration was decidedly broken. He slipped. Usually that wouldn't be an issue; usually he'd have fallen from a much greater height and thus had more time to catch himself. But he was hanging from the ceiling this time. Granted, it was a relatively high ceiling, but not high enough. He let out an indecipherable jumble of a scream/shout/warning and Wade managed to dive out of the crash zone in time to not be knocked out by a 170 pound moron. When Peter didn't feel the heavy, throbbing pain of head trauma, he managed to gather his wits enough to realise that his head hadn't made contact with anything.

After another moment, he realised that Wade had seemingly managed to get his hand between Peter's skull and the floor. He still found himself uncomfortably contorted - half on the couch, half off, in a sort of human pretzel situation - but Wade had reacted in enough time to keep his head from cracking against the ground. And he was still holding him that way.

Peter's brain stopped working again. "Sorry," Wade said, trying to right the hero so that he was no longer lying at a downward 45 degree angle with legs akimbo, "Dad reflexes."

Peter wanted to scream. "You're apologising for saving me from a concussion?" Peter attempted to tease but it fell flat when he saw Wade's face, "Are you okay?" He let out a choked laugh, "Am I okay?" He asked incredulously, "you just fell eight feet." "And yet you're the one looking a bit loopy," Peter half laughed but wasn't able to keep the worry from seeping into his tone. "You scared the shit outta me, thought you were gonna go splat!" Deadpool justified. "From that height? Child's play. If I'd splatted, I'd have deserved it." It was a joke but Wade didn't seem to find it funny. "You should look after yourself better, Petey," he looked like he realised he was being too serious then, and his demeanor visibly shifted, "you don't regenerate, so you gotta look after that sinfully gorgeous meat suit of yours."

Ty ty for the ask! I really wanna get back into writing these two, I love them so much 🥲

Send me an ask with which of my WIPs from This Post you wanna hear about!

[scrunglepaws]

My Main AUs! ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

🌈 Kaleidoscope // #kaleidoscope au Fics: [Act 1] [Act 2] [Act 3] [Mangey Remembers (prequel)]

A scifi/survival/mystery starring Tails, Nine, and Mangey with a heavy focus on introspection and platonic love between friends. Sort of accidentally became a slowburn friendship between Mangey+Nine xD

🌊 Someplace // #someplace au Fics: [Aquarius] [A Drop in the Ocean (prequel)]

A dysfunctional and slightly homicidal, but ultimately heartfelt and sweet KitxSails story. The tag also includes their backstories, including the worldbuilding expansion I did for No Place. Hence the au's name.

🦇 CaveTails* // #cavetails au Fics: [wip!]

Kittails + 50's-ish setting + Journey to the Center of the Earth/King Kong vibes + werefox Tails = au that I can’t think of a name for, so it's still called its working title. Closeted gay research assistant Kit falls into the arms of a MOOOONSTER on a perilous expedition. Can the rest of the research expedition (Surge+the hooligans) save him in time? Does he want to be saved?

🌿 The Kelpie // #folklore au Fics: [The Kelpie]

Fantasy setting where fae creatures and normal mobians are at odds with each other. Tails tries to use his magical prowess to craft something that will surely take care of the local kelpie problem. Well, either that or he'll be met with a grisly underwater death. More kittails.

☣️ No Heroes Zone // #nhz au Fics: [Broken Bond] [Takeout]

Au where the dynamics between the characters have shifted to make everyone more towards that middling grey area. Eggman isn't as villainous, Sonic isn't as heroic. No one really has a good time. A collection of episodic stories that primarily focus on Tails and Metal.

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Yellow! I use this account to post my Sonic-related art and writing! I try to keep my queue full so I have at least one doodle to post a day. Any writing I get done is a bonus. :D (My Ao3 is also scrunglepaws!) I love all of the Sonic characters, but mostly focus on my favorites + my aus. Once in a while I post fanart of other peoples' fanstuff if I get the gumption! owo

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My absolute favorite lil guys: Kit, Tails, Mangey, Nine, Metal Sonic, Tails Doll, Eclipse, Silver

Other guys I really like: Mighty, Ray, Chaos Sonic, Tangle, Surge, Dr. Starline, Mimic, Barry, Omega, Shard, Mecha Tails (the silver one), Rusty Rose, Sails, Froggy (No Place), Dive, Tilly, Thunderbolt

Favorite Character Matchups (x=romo, +=platonic): Nine+Mangey, KitxTails, Kit+Tails, Tails+Metal, Shadow+Metal, Tails+Shadow, Nine+Sonic

Likes/Follows will come from my main, scrungleCLAWS. I use that account to reblog cool art and things with my silly commentary (read: gushing usually) in the tags. I also post music I like and occasional mumblings. You should follow it to see other peoples' pretty art! If you want! 'w'

🌽WARNING: CORN ALERT!!! :D🌽

I am all about spreading joy, creativity, and positivity. I care a lot about the things I make and I hope that my passion shines through to make others happy, or even inspire. I'm also horrendously corny (you were warned!), but that's okay. At worse I'll give off second-hand embarrassment (I’m so sorry! 8C), but at best I'll attract people that aren't afraid to be earnest and cool and fun around me. That is to say: leave that super long comment, send that ask, draw/write that thing, formally request friendship (!?)! And if you're ever feeling shy, embarrassed, or like you're "just too much"… Think of this paragraph some person named SCRUNGLEPAWS wrote on the internet. You cannot possibly be more corny than me. It might even be illegal.

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Other Stories/Ideas I Might Expand Upon: - Second Chance AU (x): Kit works at an animal shelter - The Last Fox (x): Knuckles/Tails swap au - Nine's Shadow (x): The Grim did have variants, they’re just dead / Zombie Tails - Rascals (x): Shadow has to take care of the main cast who have all mysteriously turned into babies - BFF AU (x): Tails Doll makes a Kit Doll for a friend - Alien* (x): Silver is an alien that crash lands on Mobius

That’s all for now! Have a fruitful/cornful day! :D